3 poems by Stephen Ellams
9 August 2008 | Published in In the spotlight, Poems, Video | 11 Comments
I Don’t Believe in Ghosts
I don’t believe in ghosts
Especially ones that don’t believe in me!
I am dispirited
Salieri less the bitterness
Immersed in my own misery
The patron saint of mediocrity
Speaking directly to me!
Anxiety lines
Enigmatic smile
Spouting harsh realities
Never was your everything
That equates to nothing
In my eyes
Three candles, exposed & naked
Wishes that were denied
My opposing angel
How can you sit there
Unruffled, stage-lit
Parading your wings
Secure in your skin?
As for myself
I am at odds with the world
God knows an impostor
One final performance
Before I relinquish this chair
So straight through you I stare
Pincers clutching a cross
Scant protection
All courage is lost
My vision is blurred
You are not of this world
Love’s apparition
Thrice I will deny you
My death-bed confession
Before the cockerel stirs
A torn curtain falls
Final round of applause
The lady vanishes
Into the ether
May she haunt me no more
24/7 All Alone
Let in the New Year
The same way I came into this world
& the same way you left me
Alone
Wanted to bless you
Send you midnight kisses
But I knew deep down
They would end up as someone else’s
You would not be alone
Walked the lonely mile
Armed with this brutal known
Through a war zone of revellers
Seeking life’s simple pleasures
Most of whom would go home alone
Such a cacophony of strangers
Intoxicated union of the ages
Falling over hedonistic gestures
I found their happiness oppressive
What a time to be alone!
Called in at my ex’s
To afford her birthday wishes
My arms olive branches
Her eyes broken mirrors
For she too was alone
Bade her adieu
All that we can’t fix with glue!
My thoughts turned to you, Lady Lazarus
& your childless resolution
Just leave me alone!
I staggered back to my coffin
Number 247
Oh the irony!
An ascetic reminder
Each time I pass through the door
24/7 all alone
The Very Thing that Cheapens Me
Hang me from a butcher’s hook
& parade me in Orchard Square
If that’s all I am to you
Just another Benito
One-quarter Italiano
Three-quarters disappointment
Skin me like a Bartholomew
With the palate knife of martyrdom
à la Michaelangelo
August 24th, 2007
Rub salt into my veins & sinews
Gouge-out my ‘bedroom’ eyes
& preserve them in formaldehyde
For it is their viridity that attracts
Not the Alighierian poetic soul
Imprisoned behind the glass
Carve my effigy in plastic
A scaled-up 1:Owenesque preferential
Three inches added to girth & height
Smother my lips with silicone-sealant
So that I can’t answer back
Bury my heart with a weeping willow wreath
Beneath a bleak blank canvas sky
Empty promise - Evasion - Lie
That condemned me to this infernal hell
Lover’s last rites denied
September 18th, 2008at 04:52(#)
Wow…I recognise that face and many of those sentiments!
V.clever stuff…Wilfred Owen’s spirit lives on in Sheffield!
She was never worthy of you! Like with my ex, her loss….what a loser!
Make her History by enjoying the present and the future…pursue felines galore…there are lots of gorgeous women out there who desreve and would love to meet you…and History departments languishing in anachronistic practices that require your creativity and passion!
Can I suggest a few new titles….Eye of the Tiger….Reflections of a Barnsley FC steward (aka who are you calling a wanker?!), Fiorentina…never corrupt, always perfect (even though we threw a 2-0 lead away away at Lyon!), The World is great (and so am I), It’s hard to be modest when you’re as great as I am (apologies to Ali), 9/11 in my past, but 007 in my future!
Come round anyime for a match or just to sound off…what time and where on Friday?
September 18th, 2008at 05:25(#)
24/7 and The Very Thing That Cheapens Me are written from the heart and show a talent for poetry! You’ve a hugely creative flair and an amazing command of language. When are you on next?
September 18th, 2008at 17:03(#)
Whoa. That was both intense and affecting. That last one especially could be used as a psychological weapon; I’ve never heard ‘women are dog turds’ so artfully and accurately articulated. If you broadcast it too widely, someone, somewhere is going to kill themselves. Honestly, its on a par with ‘Of Walking Abortion’. Someone at that gig has to start a progressive metal band called ‘Coffin 247′ or I’ll do it myself. Wish I’d been back in Sheffield for that, I live about 2 mins down the road from the Les!
N.B. This is intended to be a compliment… Upon rereading, my interpretation seems a bit grim… Honestly: top stuff. I respect your wordsmithery. I’d much rather hear your stuff than my old housemates beat poetry about ‘pork medallions’ and Anne Frank. (he was actually pretty good, but your stuff actually conjures emotions besides the mild humour and fear that he could manage (as regards the writer, not the content…which I doubt was his intention)).
Peace.
September 18th, 2008at 20:37(#)
Essential reading for any man whose ever suffered being shafted over by some screwed up self centred female psycho….and needs to exorcise the angst and pain. Stick it to the woman, man!
September 18th, 2008at 20:53(#)
Way to go tiger. Totally agree with this. Many a time have I considered popping a turd into my ex’s letterbox after what she did to me; snubbing me in Spar was a bridge too far! This helped me deal with it all, cos it isn’t just me that been shamefully wronged at the hands of a shallow and cold woman. It’s like it happened in Monkey…stay away from the pretty birds!
It’s good to see a man cut loose once in while…it’s good for any man! Morrissey never crafted words as good as this…I applaud and salute you. Victims of female irrationality wherever you may be, vent thy feelings in sonnet or stanza. Maybe fathers for justice and Sir Paul McCartney should try it sometime?!?
September 19th, 2008at 16:38(#)
Your words paint a vivid, electrically charged field of emotion that all those who have suffered from loves loss will identify with. Your imagery is cleverly caustic yet filled with humanity. Creatively cathartic. I feel your pain but know you can and will love again.
September 20th, 2008at 11:25(#)
‘Wow’ indeed! …. deeper than a coastal shelf! These really are harsh, painful, yet beautifully crafted words. I don’t share the belief that the poet is lambasting all womankind, although admittedly, I would hate to be the woman on the receiving end of this!
To my mind, they are essentially love poems that deal with rejection, loss and grief. The imagery is breath-taking and the opening lines among the best I have ever read!
For Stephen - I know plenty of women who would relish being on the receiving end of any future positive love poems you may write!
Be happy sweetheart! Rx
September 22nd, 2008at 17:37(#)
I believe therapy may be required!
…. joking aside …… intense, intelligent, thought-provoking, creative, destructive, mournful, heart-wrenching, soulful are just a few of the words that spring to mind. A bonafide wordsmith indeed!
Love & peace bro!
November 13th, 2008at 03:49(#)
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November 16th, 2008at 17:28(#)
hell hath no fury like a male poet scorned!, although perhaps ‘rejected’ might be a more accurate word?
I really liked the bleak imagery and historical and art references in the last one.
November 16th, 2008at 18:35(#)
I agree with Kath (and not just because she is sitting in my immediate vicinity) about the imagery and references in The Very Thing That Cheapens Me. I read it three times. The other poems were cleverly constructed, but my god! on a personal level I found this one deeply disturbing. It’s hard to believe that the same charming, intelligent and centred person I conversed with last week would ever have been capable of writing such overtly morose and scathing words - no offence intended darling as you are very talented and should keep writing! Ellie x