Melancholy

Winter had died a slow and lingering demise.
As springs subtle silhouette hinted at better times.
Warmer fruit filled days will soon come, 
and the sun will break from behind the clouds.
This was a  promise that mother nature,
had never once failed to deliver.
She will lighten my mood just as quickly as winter had dampened it.
but: inevitability the seasons return
and that will remain forever more.



A version of this poem has now been published in AD LIB 2012 - A poetry collection from Rising Brook Writers. 
ISBN 978-0-9557086-9-5

Ad lib 2012 collection

I am pleased to announce that six of my poems have been published in the Rising Brook Writers poetry collection 2012. The poems are from this BLOG which has had an amazing 5620 views so far and most of these from the USA and Canada.

I absolutely over the moon to be noticed so 'thanks Rising Brook Writers its fantastic to be involved1

Ad Lib is a culmination of library workshops and online contributions and is supported by The Arts Council.The anthology features twenty four poets from all over Staffordshire and will be launched in August this year.

Rising Brook Writers

Laconism - Stephen Harvey

What is she thinking?
Her smile reveals nothing to me now.
No hidden words.
No glances with twinkled eyes.
No history.
The clock seems too slow in time with my heart,
It still remembers better times.
A day when her eyes aluminated life,
A day when our secrets were king,
Furtive and camouflaged.
She was the queen of cloak and dagger,
But now Silence is her weapon.
I have no reply.


This poem has been published in 'Still Waters 2011 poetry collection'
ISBN 978-0-9557086-8-8

Think?

Silence is my enemy,
I don't need time to think.
My thoughts betray my emptiness,
then deeper down I sink.
I hide myself in masquerades,
behind a serpant smile.
On the outside often gladsome like,
On the inside just a child.
You've never seen the real me,
he's trapped inside my head.
Exploring paranoia,
reviewing whats been said.
He seeks out hidden meaning,
disguised in words of love.
looking for a normal life,
that he knows wont be enough.

This poem has now been published in AD LIB 2012 - A poetry collection from Rising Brook Writers.
ISBN 978-0-9557086-9-5

Castles

Why do we build castles,
that wash away with the tide?
It's because life is a journey.
You pay for a ticket,
Climb aboard.
Then, hold on tight for the ride


This poem has now been published in AD LIB 2012 - A poetry collection from Rising Brook Writers.
ISBN 978-0-9557086-9-5

Still Waters - AVAILABLE NOW

Rising Brook Writers presents 'Still Waters' 2011 poetry collection.

The collection features 4 of my poems written in 2011 alongside Stoke On Trent's best local poets. It is available to purchase from the registered charity

RCN :11117227 for £5.00

The book and group is supported by their patron and renowned poet Ian McMillan

ISBN 978-0-9557086-8-8

Purchase here

The Tommy Knockers - Stephen Harvey

Knock, knock, tap, tap! What’s that sound?

The soul of a collier trapped under ground.

He'll stays down there till the end of time.

Buried under mountains of darkness and slime

Knock, knock, tap, tap! Who goes there?

A Tommy Knocker whispers in the midnight air.

The sound of his tapping will serve no doubt

To warn us of a danger when it's time to get out

This poem is loosely based on an old skiping song of unknown origin - If you can discover the original poet/author I would love to find it out this information.

Information

The 'Tommy Knockers' were believed to be the souls of colliers that had been killed in the mines, and would warn other miners of impending danger. The mining industry was filled with lots of superstitions including 'Blue devils' 'mining dwarfs' and the 'Whistling witches' who all warned of dangers in the pit.

They believed that they had been given a 'token' or a 'chance' by the ghosts of miners lost or trapped underground and to ignore them would bring on impending danger. Some miners also believed in their dreams, and dream about a 'burning shoe' was one such warning to stay at home the next day.

Common superstitions

If a pitman met a pig or a woman on his way to work, for example, it was a sure indicator of disaster, and he was to return home and miss his shift. 

Another belief was that if the pitman set off for work and found he had forgotten an important Item, he should not return to fetch it; he should either carry on to work or go home and stay there. 

Certain acts were unlucky: in parts of the North-East it was not safe to use the word ‘pig’ (but the dialect equivalent ‘guissie’ was allowed); to rob a robin’s nest could lead to an accident at work, etc.

Such superstitions held less and less power in the 20th century, but recently I heard from an old collier that the term "blue devil" was used for “the ignition of localised pockets of gas" 

It doesn't take much imagination to turn a blue flame into a devil or imp, and when your are a mile underground with only a candle as company, they must have been a very frightening sight.



This poem has now been published in AD LIB 2012 - A poetry collection from Rising Brook Writers.
ISBN 978-0-9557086-9-5



Contact the author

The old man of Mow

He sits alone in his old arm chair,
the guardian of all he surveys.
His quarried featureless expressions,
are a constant in an un-certain time.
A world where he has no voice,
only time to kill and weather to storm.
He lives only for the now.
His ancient morals like granite stand,
the mighty man of Mow.


This poem has now been published in AD LIB 2012 - A poetry collection from Rising Brook Writers.
ISBN 978-0-9557086-9-5



The Old Man O’Mow is situated on the site of an ancient cairn that was said to be a burial mound, and linked to the Bride Stones of Cloud End, approximately 3 miles away to the North. However it is more likely to have been just a boundary marker separating two counties and two manors on the Cheshire side of the hill, Rode Hall Estate and Moreton Hall Estate. It was described in about 1530 as a `Roke of old stones that of old times have been reared'.
The cairn disappeared as centuries of stone quarrying took its toll; this however does not give us much insight as to just why a large rock edifice of some 65ft in height was left. I have heard several theories as to why it was left, the first to aid lifting the large grit slabs, the second that the stone was not of the right quality. It is more likely however that it was just left as ground marker, out respect for the old cairn. If any reader can offer me proof for any of the above it would be appreciated.
The top of the Old Man O’Mow stands 65 ft high, with its top some 1100 ft above sea level. Its shape from certain angles does look like the form of some giant man, thus giving us its name

http://www.mowcop.info/htm/industry/oldman.htm

Princess

Daughter of the red giant Jupiter
Princess of Sun and grantor of life
Your embrace radiates warmth my way
I find myself dreaming within your light
Yet, hopelessly lost for perfection in prose
A name I dare only to whisper in sleep


This poem has now been published in AD LIB 2012 - A poetry collection from Rising Brook Writers.
ISBN 978-0-9557086-9-5