(c) Steven Pottle 2007

Friday, 16 May 2008


The shades of light are a difficult omen
You feel love and your heart is open
He is full of promise, plans and X-Ray glasses
What happens if Winter appears in the middle of August?

The phrases of a beautiful night
May give way to the on-coming hearse
And these early days can only delay
They will make falling such a painful birth
What’s in his palm?
And what’s it’s worth?
You’re usually pulled out screaming with such terrible burns

It doesn’t always have to be like that
This time you may be surprised…
Just three little words said without guilt, fear or loathing
And what makes him different is that these words are always spoken

Give him a chance and love could be real
Making you happy that you finally feel.

© 2008 Steven Pottle

“A Ray Of Son”

If I had a son
I’d call him Patrick
He’d be blue eyed and smile wide
He’d fall about laughing while learning to stand up straight
I’d slowly reveal the world around him and explain about the sky and stars
We’d look to the moon with the lights turned off every night before bedtime
All helping to stretch his imagination way beyond the need for a television education

We’d be best friends, but understand that he is son and I am Dad
He’d get upset at my ‘unfair’ demands, sulk and then agree with me as we both shake hands
Every morning a breakfast together of toast, cereal and real orange juice with bits
All ready for another exciting day of house work, playtime and maybe a chocolate milkshake
We’d explore the garden for tiny creatures scurrying and interesting pebbles to collect in his bucket
And out in the backyard we’d find thick hedges with secret hiding places
And giggle behind our hands as Nan tried desperately to find us

When we are walking he’d ask me endless questions that I hope that I could answer
If not, then we’d find an explanation later in an encyclopaedia or on computer
Counting would be fun with buttons and bottle tops, chalk then a calculator
He wouldn’t want to stop at a hundred as a thousand is too easy peasy
He’d love cartoons and understand their friendship- he gets that from me
He’d sneakily drink milk from the bottle when no one is looking- that’s what I used to do too
I’d love every hair on his head and keep him safe from harm
Protect him forever even when he’s left home and has children of his own
And as the day fades I pray to whoever that I’m so happy that he was made…

But today I sit and wish that he could be around
As it’s probably never going to happen now
I’ll never know how it feels for real
So I hold myself back from tears
Of men that will never exist.

© 2008 Steven Pottle

'My Indian Summer"

Here with me
Down in the depths in the worst of messes
Look at me
Drawn to the dagger black and dark of hearts
Speak to me
I'm unable to see the dawn that brings with her a new day
Feel for me
I thought bird song was a horrible noise that was out of my control…

Talk to me
He tells me all about the things he sees and it isn't all badness
Words for me
He convinces that just over the horizon there is a future waiting patiently
Hold onto me
Just one touch blows away the cobwebs and makes the limbs feel real
Care for me
An embrace that lasts the whole night long and well into tomorrow…

Returned to me
I was afraid I'd be alone and that you wouldn't ever come back to the house
Stand with me
I was about to give up the ghost of myself and slumber into an endless rest
So I turn to you
Your warm breeze that whispers to the sky and asks for constant sunshine
Praise to you
I thank you for keeping me safe through the worst of the Autumns
Love for you
What would I have done without the warmth from my Indian Summer.

(For Matthew...thank you.)
© 2008 Steven Pottle

“Heaven On Earth”

So if heaven exists then does it ever appear here on Earth
Does something from above ever descend to mend these men
Does the feeling ever reach out and creep around these streets
Will angels shine bright over moss roofs and bird shit lampposts
Will they fly over and smooth out all of these complicated rough roads
Will the light ever find us here leaning up against this wall
The place where all the bad and dog piss falls
As nobody here wants to believe in anything other than celebrity and T.V.
But the convenience of his existence during heartache and loss is overwhelming
And you hope that he’s alive the next time you sit and cry
So could we ever find a God who will sit comfortably in our lives?

© 2008 Steven Pottle

"The Beginning...Or The End?"

"The Beginning...Or The End?"
(c) Steven Pottle 2007