Steven Stone

I am originally from Flushing, Queens. I went to Queens College and graduated in 1973 with a B.A. in Drama & Theatre. I began writing poetry when I was in high school. Also, I am a painter, starting from about 1969. I have been published in many online magazines and some print magazines.


I am
fond of seclusion
of Samuel Palmer
of the Ancients
I recuse myself
from needless misery

to the point of
no tunnels or trapdoors

A blaze
is not the
essence of

The darkness
creeps like a
broken merry-go-round
(will break down)

I suppose there is 
more garbage to
get rid of

on the spotted sun

I’m grieving
for all the
knocked down for superstores

clouds in the ears
for brains
can I get a hug for this?

too much sky
for one fine morning
i chew on my throat
bringing up the sun

brain sitting on
the window sill

watching the bus
sneeze to a stop –

I don’t get on


Perhaps I should accept the
murderous fact that I am a
second-rate poet;

perhaps I should also accept
that I am a second- or third-rate

What does it matter as long as
April dawns crisp and clear
and furnishes us with lilacs,
daffodils and forsythia;

especially forsythia, those
erstwhile yellow stars hiding
partly behind the green;

is there a better metaphor,
perhaps unknown, than the

mortality of frost-brushed
yellow blossoms

awaiting the summers
of green; a season too

a season of pallid
lakes and dead

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