VOICES FROM THE FIRE: Stephen Whitter

What do I Miss?

Your first kiss?
My last hit?
Which of you
Do I most miss?
As time goes on
No easier to say,
life has taken the choice away.
But I know that she lies in wait for me
My arms wait patiently,
Love with harm and Sharp kiss
Steals the memory of the one I miss.

Repugnant

You, repulsive, repugnant, revolting junkie,
Here to get your drugs for free.
Insults thrown my way, by an excitable woman,
at the chemist today.
The whole vile situation she took out on me,
while giving ,unwittingly,
a lesson in her vexation, a fine example of
Alliteration.

  Night, Night.

A cry of pain wakes me at night,
With a start , with a fright
After listening breath held,
Tremulous heart beating time,
I return head to pillow
Realising the cry was mine.

 A Funeral

A Funeral today, I didn’t go,
Though the church but a stone’s throw,
for this was a service for, well,
not a close friend of mine
but more a man of my kind.
I think a better soul than me,
but the brown haze made it hard to see.

His wife and son, loved him, but
still he wasted part of his life.
For I knew, and so did a few,
that he wrote stories you’d swear we’re true.

Hundreds of them, tales I’d have given
a arm to have written.

So for him,  no clocks stopped,
no dogs silenced with juicy bones.
A Funeral I didn’t attend,
His stories wasted,
his story ends.

New Tenants

Kindness, friendship, respect, no more,
a long time ago they left your door.
They slammed it hard as they made their escape.
Keys down the nearest drain.
As they left they passed the new tenants.
Ego, Spite and nasty habits,
Out from their of abode of before,
under a stone by the Shithouse door

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