Yet Still I Fall

Although I’m wide awake, yet still I fall 

as if in some dark dream I am confined 

I find myself oblivious to it all

I’m often trapped inside the lines that gall 

or words that hold my conscience in a bind 

Although I’m wide awake, yet still I fall

When all about me plaintive seabirds call 

and billows roll above the ocean brine 

I find myself oblivious to it all

I face the rain, my back against the wall 

and march my feet toward the battle line 

Although I’m wide awake, yet still I fall

Through deserts of the heart I slowly crawl 

to reach the cool oasis of the vine 

I find myself oblivious to it all

I sadly took my eye from off the ball 

and failed to see the final warning sign 

I find myself oblivious to it all 

Although I’m wide awake, yet still I fall

Steve Wheeler © 29 March, 2022

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War Child

It has been quite a while since I last posted anything on this blog. I guess it's the same for many folk right now, what with all that's been going on in the world. It's probable that many have written much less because of lockdowns, wars and rumours of wars. But for me, it has been the opposite. I have been writing. I just haven't been writing academic material. My attention has turned to poetry, and as the most recent previous posts on this blog indicate, I'm deeply involved in reading, editing, publishing and performing poetry in numerous contexts. 

My most recent publication reflects the situation right now in Ukraine. A few weeks ago I was contacted by Save The Children - a global charity that supports children in crisis. Currently they are struggling to help all of the refugee children that are coming out of Ukraine, and they need as much help as they can get. So I took a few dozen of my older poems and a few new ones that focused on the theme of war, and put them together. The result is the book you see here - it's called War Child and it's just been published. All profits from the sales of the book (which is in both Kindle and paperback formats) will go to support Save The Children's efforts in Poland, Romania, Hungary, Moldova and other areas where Ukrainian refugee children are being cared for. Please, if you can, support this effort by purchasing a copy! 

You can buy through Amazon at various sites across the globe, including....

Amazon UK, Amazon USA, Amazon Australia, Amazon Canada, Amazon Germany, Amazon France, Amazon Spain, Amazon Italy, Amazon Netherlands, Amazon Turkey, Amazon Japan, Amazon Brazil, Amazon Mexico

That Would Take the Biscuit

You try to shoot down Army drones

Go walking down dark streets alone

Get chilled through to the very bone

Live in glass houses and throw stones

Then overthrow the British throne

While texting on your mobile phone

I don’t think I would risk it

‘Cos that would take the biscuit

You could drive an ambulance

Blindfolded in the South of France

Or set fire to a heavyweight wrestler’s pants

Lie naked in a nest of ants

Be a doormat for the elephants

Make crocodiles your confidantes

You could eat the uncooked brisket

And that would take the biscuit

You could drive us all insane

Attempt to board a speeding train

Hitch a ride on a hurricane

By getting high on crack cocaine

Then cause your friends and family pain

Again and again and again and again

Then find you couldn’t fix it

And that would take the biscuit

Steve Wheeler © 21 February, 2022

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Hidden Eclipse

Disappointment crawled inside us like some small creature trapped within the crevice of a rock. We stood, faces upturned into the darkening sky in small hope of witnessing the ellipsis of eclipse. But the clouds had come to obscure that moment. That moment of totality, swathed in a leaden, unbroken eiderdown of grey. 

The eclipse arrived on time, total, in its estimation, and strangely, otherworldly, the sky fell into darkness, and we observed the eclipse, a once-in-a-lifetime-experience; but without a glimpse of the paso doble of two perfect spheres.

My children stood with me and gazed up expectantly as the skies dimmed to midnight at noon; the summer air grew chill and birds panicked and squawked into the trees in their confusion.

There were no other optics except a sky the colour of a dead television channel. It was all over in minutes, no checkerboard tree effects, no spectacle for our eyes to avoid, no pinhole camera projections. Just a sense of anti-climax, a total eclipse of expectations, and a corona of speculation. We watched an invisible eclipse, a drama hidden behind grey curtains.

Steve Wheeler © 28 January, 2022

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Rich Pickings

There’s folk worse off than us, by far 

Worse off, worse off than us, by far 

Pass another drink across the bar 

There’s people worse off, by far

There’s people in dire straits they say 

Dire straits they say, dire straits they say 

I’ll sail my yacht across the bay 

There’s folk in trouble they say

There’s people with no food to eat 

No food to eat, no food to eat 

There are no food banks down our street 

There’s people with no food to eat

There’s folk who can’t afford their rent 

Can’t pay their rent, can’t pay their rent 

This mansion’s my main residence 

There’s people who can’t pay rent

There’s kids who have no shoes to wear 

No shoes to wear, no shoes to wear 

My Rolex watch shows wear and tear 

There’s no shoes for their kids to wear

There’s poverty in the neighbourhood 

And poverty ain’t particularly good 

It’s not good press and it sours the mood 

There’s poor folk in the neighbourhood 

Yes, there’s poverty in the neighbourhood

Steve Wheeler © 24 January, 2022

Photo by Steve Wheeler

Tramadol Dreams

After-images glare 

Red orange outlines flare 

Strange hallucinations rare 

Floating off to everywhere 

Nothing what it seems 

In hazy tramadol dreams

Spaced out in yellow sky 

Earth breathes a peaceful sigh 

Pain flees like a butterfly 

Live forever, never die 

Riding on a laser beam 

In vivid tramadol dreams

Steve Wheeler © 15 January, 2022

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Star of Mons

Nineteen-fourteen, the battle for Mons 

First mass offensive on a foreign shore 

Two tribal gatherings, juxtaposed 

Intent upon the brutal art of war

My grandfather, still a young man 

I see him now, astride that gelding horse 

Above the thundering hooves that lifted soil 

He galloped hard across the burning gorse

I see him now, upon that desperate ride 

Important message clutched within his hand, 

Racing down the lethal lines of fire, 

A signal delivered to the high command

Then back, returning down that torrid line 

With guns and rifles blazing all around 

Dodging the shrapnel and the mortal fire 

Deafened by the conflagration sound

Mentioned in dispatches for his deeds 

His courageous act above the call, beyond 

Although grandfather bravely soldiered on 

He never made it to the river Somme

Steve Wheeler © 11 November, 2021

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