Center Stage On Saint Patrick’s Day A Word Or So By Stephen Craig Rowe

 
     Though the day was long and gray I took to walking in soft spring winds just this side of rain and mist where each step felt good.  A quiet inside kind of good rather like a knowing and not a fear as I tried to wrap my mind around current events while walking.

     I thought of Irish things and places in my dreams rich in County Cavin Riley lore that flows in my blood, touches my heart enough to cause words of light even during the seemingly darkest days.

     I took it upon myself to enter a tavern where I was unknown.  A stranger seeking nothing but a pint of Guiness and time alone with thoughts of those.  There was not an interruption as I sipped in thought.  There was a din of conversation and some Irish music in the background but I did not hear for I was alone by choice.

     I finished my beer and silent conversation with ghosts, tipped the bartender and made my way home thinking of how very fortunate I am to never be alone.

     I came home and took to center stage as a poet is wont to do in honor and respect.  As ever be well, Stephen Craig Rowe

Liberty And Dragon Cry In The All A Word World Poem By Stephen Craig Rowe

Liberty shed tears and woke the Dragon as the Ice Princess touched the core of the earth and shifted things about a bit. 

Teutonic plates deep within the Pacific rim moved not only the earth but also the seas as the sea rose and fell, falling city, town, village and all in the wake of the quake. The tsunami rage and roar touched and changed the world.  Countless deaths, individual pain, suffering and grief compounded with possible nuclear disaster has caused pause for the poet-painter to wrap my mind around an event of such magnitude. 

Dragon woke and nearly blinked curled upon his treasure trove, the Old Boys sing and gain profit by the loss of countless others in pain and suffer.  Scales and tails slapping each other on the back yelling in stock market stalls,  Up the price of oil!  Buy body bags!   Go green!  Drill now!  Nuke plants are clean safe source of power!  Not. 

Poetry is only spoken quiet in the space between the words.  The reality of events is explosive, evident, clear and concise.  A moment in time twisted like a slide shown sideways in the present.  In the Light of the world and the tears of Liberty as she shines.  As ever be well,  Stephen Craig Rowe