Tag Archives: Poetry

Child of the Sun

Posted on March 19, 2013 by stephenarcher

I have four words for my son for his learn­ing. These are spring­boards. They (you know, “them”) will teach him how to read and add/subtract in those rooms. After that (before that really, as in right now), this, these: Pas­sion Curios­ity … Con­tinue read­ing →

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Blue Window

Posted on February 17, 2013 by stephenarcher

This blue win­dow opens, flut­ters an invite: Wind wan­ders through here

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Twenty6

Posted on December 19, 2012 by stephenarcher

Twenty6 A to Z. All of them. The let­ters in my words drift away, unmoored, torn away, taken down, by a rip cur­rent. I have twenty6 to work in to some­thing to say, but they, like me, are em ty. … Con­tinue read­ing →

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Me & This Guy

Posted on August 23, 2012 by stephenarcher

Me and…and this guy Moun­tains, always, between us He gave up I left

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Goes Away

Posted on July 1, 2012 by stephenarcher

It’s mov­ing away. I t i s . The time I thought I had, I had that time, but I don’t think of it that way when I want more… time, I mean. The time I have “used” is not a part … Con­tinue read­ing →

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The Sky Ran Through Me

Posted on June 11, 2012 by stephenarcher

The sky ran through me: It did and I didn’t even know it. It did and it felt like the first orgasm I remem­ber and it was that, in sky form. It did and I wouldn’t make this up, you … Con­tinue read­ing →

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Can’t Make This Up

Posted on June 3, 2012 by stephenarcher

I am only telling you what I saw. Don’t ask me. I don’t know noth­ing. Couldn’t tell you…had noth­ing to do with it. This is exactly what hap­pened: You have no idea what it’s been like here, Besides I just … Con­tinue read­ing →

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Unlikely

Posted on May 21, 2012 by stephenarcher

Even against the back­drop of the world, life, you, I hold my own. I never knew that before.

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U n f o l d

Posted on May 16, 2012 by stephenarcher

It’s morn­ing, noth­ing… the light shows up, per­fect, low I open. to you

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The Place in Me

Posted on March 18, 2012 by stephenarcher

Qui­eter than the end­ing of the night when the gray­ing of the black and the gray­ing of the light meet and it’s dawn; qui­eter than the end­ing cir­cuit of the tires on snow after the engine is cut and the … Con­tinue read­ing →

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