When I was young, I wrote a lot of poetry. I am now revisiting this side of my personality. One of the samples here, "The Waking of the Poet," I wrote when I was about 25, though the first half of it (which replaces the old first half) I wrote very recently. "In the Cemetery" is also recent. Will add more poem pages to this site in the future, I am sure.
Samples From My Poetry
Steven C. Scheer
The Waking of the Poet
He wakes when dawn disrupts
The restive dreams of paltry somnolence.
He showers in the precipitate mist
Of iridescent shimmers as mock rainbows
Chase the stirrings of his reveries
To the slippery brink
Of the light of the morning sun.
The ghosts of everyday things dissipate
In the cunning ostentation of lucid day,
So he walks where shadows precede him
And the sound of pattering footsteps
Drops backwards in time,
Fading and fainting on the blank asphalt
Of the moment before,
While in the eternal calm
Of ignorant human memorabilia
Restless dancers gather their airy garments
And, without waiting for applause,
In the Cemetery
In this timeless city of the dead
Stone saints gaze at nothing
But the motionless fading of
Unmoved flowers. Desolate longing.
The decay signifies nothing but time.
The past gnawing at the future.
The future consuming the present.
The present forever passing.
Time is that which will be is/was.
Standing here is like being in a place
That vacancy never lets go.
The good earth absorbs its own.
Nothing makes it infinite.
Like zero. Life is skittish in
Numbered dispensations, each
An attempt to divide time
Indivisible. My footsteps resound
As I steal away. Eternity is nothing
But time without time with time
To do absolutely nothing but time.
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