Paul Stewart
Bio
Award-Winning Writer, Poet, Scottish-Italian, Subversive.
The Accidental Poet - Poetry Collection out now!
Streams and Scratches in My Mind coming soon!
Achievements (32)
Stories (1348)
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Until My Coffin Ignites
I spell out myself Or is it I spill out myself All in the hope Of nothing That's not true There's always A purpose A goal To flexing linguistics Lyrical gifts Syllabic clippings Or entrails of my Ego, superego and Id Or collected scraps On that old dustpan In the corner Set aside until The bin is changed Space among The wrappers and rubble — It's hard to be afraid Of monsters And distant etchings Of humanity When you know How capable I am With tools of Chiseled deception And lingering lies — Sometimes The pen has A mind of its own But often that's Spin Like an announcement You wanted to make But didn't want to feel so blase So you covert it How did that get out Did my feelings run amok I know they didn't # Going with the flow Means you know Exactly where Your words may take you But go there anyway Because reverse Is not progress Regression Is not digression # People often say Your work got darker Less hope Less light Is it midforty crisis Or dead dad dichotomy I wonder So much Until I don't care — Squelching dragon Forlorn kitten — I end this year as I started it Naked though not actually Exposed though nothing changes Unsure if I even want to be your hero Of word and phrase Plot and human emotional dissection # But I do Of course I do I always do # The myth is the cover story The spin — I'm just in it for the dance and the dabbling With my two right feet Because no one is brave enough to say that Always two left feet — Self inflicted Ars poetica Like arse I used to when it was firmer # Control v leakage The dance of the poetics When you find p words instead of d words for poetry For that last bit you fumbled # The search for the dilettante led me Like pencil shavings To versifier But troubadour is what we hope for — The Boss internal That bleeds American dreams Even in Scotland Tales of hope and the other thing My friend the despair — Dead dad dichotomy Dead dad dichotomy I am sure # No one ever gets out of this alive And I am not done Until my coffin ignites # I am Not Horace your poetic horse but I am I am what I am not I am not Othello Always Iago Or the picture of Dorian Not the man —#— Strong like Roman Ego Greek Scottish pride Diatribe Noise moist Maker breath Taker Dead dad vulnerability Dead dad inevitability * Author’s Notes: Aspen Marie deserves a shout-out, because this only formed after we comment-chatted. So thanks, lass.
By Paul Stewart2 months ago in Poets
The Work is Received
As I wake and feel the sun has not forgotten me, I rise and meditate, trepidate. I let the brightness cast shadows against the wall behind my bed as I reflect. Another day. Another chance. I take my leave from the bed and prepare a soothing balm. I apply it daily, morning, noon, and night, using the preserving solution I was taught to prepare, along with cleansers of aloe vera and coconut oil. I tend the flesh to keep it lean, to keep it fresh.
By Paul Stewart2 months ago in Fiction
Subtitled
Precursor to greatness Or hints of provocation The epigraphic prelude Before the lingual deluge Or claustrophobic constraint Dressed up as your formatting norm - The ruse is up before the first line Is uttered and understood - A simple poem or by author’s name Or fancy like “After the Road Less Travelled” - Straitjacket to creative surprise Like placards with applause and canned laughter - White space forgotten As the liminal poesy precipice Before the drop Into literary intrigue and lambastery
By Paul Stewart2 months ago in Poets
Masterpiece. Content Warning.
Francis had a very close and intimate relationship with his manhood. Although he would never publicly attest to the irrefutable truth, he would state in the comfort of his own home, with no hint of irony, that his penis was his best friend.
By Paul Stewart2 months ago in Fiction
Mostly Water
Thyme and sage Wisdom on page Not a philosopher Barely a poet Switch blade Suicide Not a philosopher Rarely a footnote List. List. To sea. The s ea Not a philosopher As the waves c rash free from r ock poo ls and buoyed la goons (They consume.) Early destructor Trying to make 75% (water)whole When. Of water S ource m eets ve ssel Facilitation is takenNot offered. As I sit by the waters edge, fee ding pig eonsreminiscing I feel a clarity e mergefrom beneath the b,(r)each of the fog. Survival is as much within grasp as total era sure Not a philoso.
By Paul Stewart2 months ago in Poets
Refusal
Bullshit . This is bullshit . This That . Old jazzy analogy where the gasps and gaps hold importance . . White space empty . As important as your poesy prose eroticised linguistics . . How the page commands and dominates . The words . Butchered . For consumers Feasters . . Fervent poetry junkies Getting their fix Ravenous . . There’s always some motherfucker waiting to tell you what you can’t do . Spread it wide spread it thin i will . Lose or gain meaning . fuck and clarity . you . in the spaces . up . . .
By Paul Stewart2 months ago in Poets
