Tag Archives: stephen mead

Addressing the Impaired

Addressing the Impaired

Delusions on the home front:

the boob tube adjusting sound

levels, this canned laughter

we’re schooled in while, about

town, riots flair.

 

Yet the electric

hearth stays us, places back alacrity’s

presumption:  these neat potted palms,

Cyclamen knitted across bricks,

the functionless poker leaning

in the network of such holy herbage….

 

Here is a country cottage, a garden estate,

enclosed in itself as the globe

by your fish tank is now

a reflection superimposed over

our two stalwart figures, one

wheelchair-bound seeing everything

as is, & the other, a relic:

 

(torched BMW, white bystander outline

on a surface after the bombing),

 

still refusing to witness, grasp, believe

this has become our reality.

 

Stephen Mead, a resident of NY is a published artist, writer, maker of short-collage films and sound-collage downloads. His latest P.O.D. amazon release is an art-text hybrid, “According to the Order of Nature (We too are Cosmos Made)”, a work which takes to task the words which have been used against LGBT folks from time immemorial. In 2014 he began a webpage to gather links of his poetry being published in such zines as Great Works, Unlikely Stories, Quill & Parchment, etc., in one place: Poetry on the Line, Stephen Mead.

In This Landscape

In This Landscape

The morning always comes, brings

with it necessity:  miles traveled, bodies

carried, belongings lessened to nothing

more than cloth.

 

On nominal days this life of

the indispensable drags…

Across the horizon some shanty town burns.

The sky is glazed, brown Vaseline, seems

audible.

 

Hear the cries of someone wearing

a tire set afire?

 

Dryness blisters.  The wireless crackles,

drowning out sound, converting voices to flies.

They drone in the eyes of children.

Light gloats, an oven sucking, its heat

depleting flesh, leather musculature,

the tired, the twig-like

caricaturized by gross irony

into bloated stomachs.

 

Famine festers, breathes.

Around the corner from the Missions,

imported tins, munitions get stocked.

They keep these locked up, soldiers,

government hired, cocking the usual guns…

 

Here is Eden:

Sabotaged, undermined,

this, another land, apolitical as sand

where the water which once flowed

flies blind as wind to sting, to sting…

 

To the bones not a thing but that adheres.

 

Stephen Mead, a resident of NY is a published artist, writer, maker of short-collage films and sound-collage downloads. His latest P.O.D. amazon release is an art-text hybrid, “According to the Order of Nature (We too are Cosmos Made)”, a work which takes to task the words which have been used against LGBT folks from time immemorial. In 2014 he began a webpage to gather links of his poetry being published in such zines as Great Works, Unlikely Stories, Quill & Parchment, etc., in one place: Poetry on the Line, Stephen Mead.

Input, Output

Input, Output

Play it by hand and by heart—–

Through static, censored radio, some tambourine

jangles, interprets a crayon illustration

one child scrawled after his village

was wiped out.

The tanks, the shattered slats,

they are all re-assembled here where

this crayon, this simple tambourine

designates the origins of no particular

culture.  That’s why the child sticks with us:

eyes, shiny olives hardly suggesting deeper torment.

 

Instead, cocoa skin goes running wearing imported

light cotton, a stained glass window array—–

Pinks which gesticulate, buttery yellow, startling

purple and Indian turquoise, dispatched as wings

across this barbed wire play yard.

 

Yes, where such breathing frequents,

little cymbals begin tinkling, rings for passing

palm unto palm ‘til the crayon, the child

pulses brush fire amid jingles for soda.

 

Listen eavesdropper, hear what undercurrent trembles?

It’s cause ‘n effect strumming in and out of each other,

a million tambourines whispering, a million crayons

squeaking, scratching mere paper to resurrect life

across the power, the power

 

falling like his city.

 

Stephen Mead, a resident of NY is a published artist, writer, maker of short-collage films and sound-collage downloads. His latest P.O.D. amazon release is an art-text hybrid, “According to the Order of Nature (We too are Cosmos Made)”, a work which takes to task the words which have been used against LGBT folks from time immemorial. In 2014 he began a webpage to gather links of his poetry being published in such zines as Great Works, Unlikely Stories, Quill & Parchment, etc., in one place: Poetry on the Line, Stephen Mead.

Outside Moves

Outside Moves

The word for today is agony.

Your object is to erase it, release

shafts of sun

through the bricks of this

wall.

Scrape mortar, make a corner

of just light.

Next take paper, any brand.

Then rip up

enough for every child

to color with crayons.

Let them

paste each edge together.

Let them

place that collage

over that chasm where radiance

lives.

My, how miraculous-

this mural kills wounds.

 

Stephen Mead, a resident of NY is a published artist, writer, maker of short-collage films and sound-collage downloads. His latest P.O.D. amazon release is an art-text hybrid, “According to the Order of Nature (We too are Cosmos Made)”, a work which takes to task the words which have been used against LGBT folks from time immemorial. In 2014 he began a webpage to gather links of his poetry being published in such zines as Great Works, Unlikely Stories, Quill & Parchment, etc., in one place: Poetry on the Line, Stephen Mead.