Stephen McGuinness makes me happy humans were given the gift of words and thought. To read more of Stephen’s work, please visit poetry with a small p. “Quiet confounds me. I search through a Clam-tight mind To find something, A thing, a piece, a collection Of words, to explain, To describe, to myself Most of all, what, If anything, is going on. Hush rushes, quietly, Through … Continue reading Writing While Walking, by Stephen McGuinness
By Stephen McGuinness I feel my footsteps Count down days With chimed strokes Resonant, reflective. A sinus wave hearbeat Synchronous vibrations of Train beaten whispered Words on tracks. Calm, a balm, a salve. Chantors: ancient haunting Mantras, dripped holy oils. Smoke in tendrils, lifting, Rising: one, two, three, Expectant tension then Reassuring: four, exhale To begin once more. Repetition, confirmation, prediction. We seek out rhythm, … Continue reading Rhythm and the Fear of Death — Writing from poetry with a small p.
It isn’t until I read Stephen’s poetry that I realize how dry and dull life can be without words like his to lift the heart, or make one cry, as the case may be. He has never yet failed to bring a smile to my face or tears to my eyes. Few people are as gifted as Stephen McGuinness. Fine, cold rain paints my face. … Continue reading Rain on my Face — Writing from poetry with a small p.