|
|
(The Late) Stephen M. Wilson is Poetry Editor for Doorways Magazine, editor of the Twitterzine microcosms and co editor of the annual Dwarf Stars Award anthology. Some recent publications include: Paper Crow, Vampyr Verse, The Huffington Post, The Book of Tentacles, Scarlet Magazine and She Nailed a Stake Through His Head: Tales of Biblical Terror. Wilson is a regular contributor to Poetsespresso. More at: [ http://speceditor666.livejournal.com ]
His writing has appeared locally in ¡ZamBomba!, ArtiFact, FinalDraft, Fig Leaf, Poet’s Espresso, Darwin's Children, Naked Poetry, Midnight Dance/Pathos, Outword Magazine, Connections, and Sun Shadow Mountain.
His writing has appeared locally in ¡ZamBomba!, ArtiFact, FinalDraft, Fig Leaf, Poet’s Espresso, Darwin's Children, Naked Poetry, Midnight Dance/Pathos, Outword Magazine, Connections, and Sun Shadow Mountain.
On seeing you again (by Donald Anderson)
Stephen, there is not just one star in this planetary system.
There another alights the flame of poetry,
the poem everyone asks for is one of many.
The magazine you edited last is one of many.
The friends you met along the way.
The sides each person sees of you.
The dimensions of what is possible in a world too complex for explanation.
One side of many.
The transformation will be like a flower.
One sees it wither briefly,
then no longer is a flower.
What it becomes, is hard to define.
What the outside is, we each see.
What the inside is, is hard to define, one of many dreams on and on.
The moment is remembered, the bonds ripple in the future to some distant shore.
And, authorities permitting, ashes might be spread somewhere
to blow and ripple to distant galaxies over time,
who knows if existence in them will be experienced the same.
Or if we slide out through a hole in time,
to the dreams that only partially were lived before,
and if you shape your world of dreams,
shape us with you,
so that you are not alone in the great mystery.
You are a kindred spirit to our circle,
a piece of us was filled by your personal quirks and boldness, intelligence and eccentricities.
We will think of you from time to time and wonder
if you’re in the air around,
and the wind,
the trees,
the ocean waves.
And long after you’re gone,
we’ll be still saying our goodbyes.
Stephen, there is not just one star in this planetary system.
There another alights the flame of poetry,
the poem everyone asks for is one of many.
The magazine you edited last is one of many.
The friends you met along the way.
The sides each person sees of you.
The dimensions of what is possible in a world too complex for explanation.
One side of many.
The transformation will be like a flower.
One sees it wither briefly,
then no longer is a flower.
What it becomes, is hard to define.
What the outside is, we each see.
What the inside is, is hard to define, one of many dreams on and on.
The moment is remembered, the bonds ripple in the future to some distant shore.
And, authorities permitting, ashes might be spread somewhere
to blow and ripple to distant galaxies over time,
who knows if existence in them will be experienced the same.
Or if we slide out through a hole in time,
to the dreams that only partially were lived before,
and if you shape your world of dreams,
shape us with you,
so that you are not alone in the great mystery.
You are a kindred spirit to our circle,
a piece of us was filled by your personal quirks and boldness, intelligence and eccentricities.
We will think of you from time to time and wonder
if you’re in the air around,
and the wind,
the trees,
the ocean waves.
And long after you’re gone,
we’ll be still saying our goodbyes.
