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Steve is a guy from San Pedro, California, USA

"After the final no there comes a yes / And on that yes the future world depends."--Wallace Stevens Choose Archive Page | 20 | 30 | 50 | 100 | 150 | 200 |250 |300 |350 Launch my Music Player

  • Janus

    Created Jan 01 2009












                            Janus

                            The night before New Year
                            you went on ahead,
                            but when I crossed over
                            you went back instead...


                            Namesake waited for the new year
                            to get lucky
                            while Signal pulsed

                            as the ball came down
                            oh yes oh god this Is
                            the coming year

                            Riverbob would not wait and after
                            watched contentedly as in
                            came the new year flowing.

                            Prayerful wanted a second coming,
                            Flavia wanted a second helping,
                            Mysterical wanted it all

                            the time, repeatedly sated,
                            never enough but
                            damn that felt good

                            lasting as long as
                            a resolution.

                            Romanticide pined for Mysterite
                            alone in a roomful of minutes,
                            too glum to realize that

                            had the right one shown
                            it would have felt all wrong:
                            new years would arrive

                            no matter what, and life would go on
                            no matter how badly she wanted to start over

                            And Jackthezipper took himself in hand
                            and after he exploded, told the new year
                            that he had it coming

                            And a couple of once upon a could be friends
                            clinked drinks at midnight, wondering
                            but wary of the new year

                            And 13 blackbirds singing in the dead
                            sang to life perched fretfully
                            on a Fender bumping into
                            auld or new acquaintance come to grind

                            And a solitary scribe,
                            marking time, gamed by rules,
                            tried to write what he meant,

                            plucked a memory,
                            dreamt a friend,
                            rested easy as

                            the old year passed
                            into the new,
                            the new slipped
                            into the old

                            and the fog of their fantasies
                            resolved

                            into now.





    Poem copyrighted © 2009, Steve Wax. All rights reserved.
  • Crossing Christmas

    Created Dec 25 2008



                            Crossing Christmas

                            At the crack
                            of Christmas
                            dawn was
                            all it was
                            cracked up
                            to be: joy to the
                            very next thought lined up
                            at stores for
                            better bargains or
                            returns of merchandise
                            that did not fit or work or play or
                            just plain did not please . . .

                            Trudging down Mt.Christmas, crossing
                            timberline of stunted cedars, crunching
                            across a carpet of discarded ornaments
                            I tripped
                            over this present:

                            No before no after
                            all I know
                            and all I've ever known is
                            snow coming down
                            you log blazing
                            candles in
                            your eyes . . .

                            And yet not yet
                            in my fingers
                            the pure song of Christmas;
                            instead the squads
                            of chestnuts roasting on
                            and on and on an
                            open fire,
                            executed by lying eyes
                            willing to see
                            anything
                            but what's there, Christ,
                            just feeling I am
                            too damn full to eat another

                            Neither did I bring my leftover round
                            to the missions of the second-hand gospel,
                            belated greetings from the conscience of the unavoidable:
                            I hadn't given
                            enough to feel
                            well received, and hadn't
                            received enough to give
                            a left-handed prayer to
                            whatever or whoever follows

                            Xmas, which I
                            for one
                            for all
                            and for good
                            will keep
                            on following until
                            it leaves
                            a perfect present

                            called nothing more
                            or less than
                            our lives




    "The Timberline - Mt. Hood Forest" by Jim Gola


    Poem copyrighted © 2008, Steve Wax. All rights reserved.
  • Created Dec 29 2007

    Photobucket
  • Problems With The Story

    Created Dec 11 2006




    "Doors Within Doors" by Hubert J. Steed

    Problems with the Story

                              The story was too long.

                              Before you told it, you forgot it.

                              Before the snake unwound
                              his infinite body
                              from around the tree,
                              the head forgot where he was going.

                              The story had too many beginnings.

                              If you stepped through a door
                              twelve others might open.

                              Did anyone have time?

                              The story knotted in the throat of a finch.

                              Sometimes the story felt cold after you told it.

                              The story might make his mother nervous.

                              This was only a translation of the story I heard
                              through a small crack while sleeping.

                              This was not the best story.

                              Angels and bells did not follow this story
                              but still, I had to tell it.

                              It was the only chance I had
                              to find you.





    "Le Philosophe" by Andre Martins de Barros (Thanks, hekata!)
  • The Great Merlini on Flickr - Photo Sharing!

    Rated Dec 10 2006 1 review flickr.com


    "33" by Nathan Berry

                        The Look You Tried To Get

                        Watch what you say
                        but it never sticks around
                        for long enough to get a good look
                        or if you happened to get one
                        it fades into her
                        response which no matter
                        how close you watch fades
                        into the look you tried to get
                        at what you said
                        or what you can't believe
                        she said but maybe
                        they meant watch
                        what you're about to say
                        which you'd never say
                        while watching it,
                        probably the point
                        if I could only see it.



    "The Great Merlini" by P.S. Zollo


    Poem copyrighted © 2006, Steve Wax. All rights reserved.
  • Andrew Smith Gallery - Annie Leibovitz - American Music

    Rated Nov 25 2006 37 reviews photography, music, poetry andrewsmithgallery.com

    The Song

    At first, he sang for love
    Of singing and for one
    Who laughed and wept and listened.

    He sang to water falling
    On sand and the steep woods
    And streaming against stone.

    He sang in the cold
    For the lives and deaths of birds
    And forests and elders.

    And then he sang to be
    Believed, waiting alone
    Under a shut window.

    On the shore, at the feet of trees,
    By a creek, by a silent house,
    He changed to what he sang

    And became for a time nothing
    But a voice in the distance
    Touching the ears of others.

    And now he sings again
    For love in a way no stranger
    Or lover will ever hear

    Without remembering her
    In his arms, no matter where
    Or how that singing ends.

  • Annual Photography Contests Page 2

    Rated Nov 21 2006 5 reviews nationalphotoawards.com






    "Native American Veteran" by Alexander Bellotti

                Thanks Again

                thanks for coming

                after me
                when I was lost in all alone

                for not forgetting
                why I went
                and why I stayed

                for not making up stories about me
                to get yourself elected
                thanks for putting country above politics
                family over media

                thanks for the window and something to see
                thanks for the sight
                of your eyes
                smiling into me
                thanks for not giving up

                on me
                for not for
                getting
                I'm still here
                and still there
                for you

                hey wait up




    "A Quiet Talk" by Eric Masefield

    Poem copyrighted © 2006, Steve Wax. All rights reserved.




  • Created Nov 21 2006






    "Alabama Family 2006" by Tim Heinse

  • Created Nov 07 2006




    Cleaning Up The Political Landscape . . .




  • Created Oct 26 2006






    Just To Say

              For longer, far longer, than I expected or knew
              I had no home.

              When what this new one was came over me,
              my old computer could not overcome

              what it is, what it can never be
              again. Soon another will come

              but connection remains elusive
              as time.

              The lake is still
              here . . .

              you are away . . .
              to send the best of what I find

              here there
              is a way to say



    Poem copyrighted © 2006, Steve Wax. All rights reserved.