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Best Poems Written by Stephen Allen

Below are the all-time best Stephen Allen poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Fall the Night

Fall the night upon me dark
Naked born this journey embark
Of friend or foe as yet unknown
Time will tell in deeds be shown

In shadow times when virtue fades
Within a soul love does degrade
All around in greed and pain
A girded heart with taut refrain

Fall the night upon me dark
Tend this weak eternal spark
Battle scarred and scarlet stain
Upon this hallowed ground remain

Details | Stephen Allen Poem

In Babbling Brooks

The flow of time and I but a stone in the current

Upstream I cannot know,

Downstream but a memory.


Piece by piece I am worn,

To the past I become,

A shadow of what went before.


But I stem the flow, life's blood,

Staunch and strong,

Present in this single moment.


Stoic

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End of Seasons

Leaves fade and die beyond their season,
Falling to dried grass, never questioning the reason.

All things end, beyond a whispered promise,
The purest intent, reality and time paying homage.

Love sadly forgotten, never knowing the reason,
Fades, festers and dies beyond its season.

To have and to hold, as long ago we both vowed,
Creating two lives bound by love, a sacred shroud.

Within my heart, I have given you my soul,
For all time, your heart to mine, you will have and hold.

Stoic

Details | Stephen Allen Poem

Ashes of Eden

We all fall, one by one
Time spent, and spent
And we are done

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Lives that we treasured
Passed, as we all must

Treading others, dark to dark
Never caring for the cost
Yet all deeds bear a mark

Sometimes a word, one to one
Passes to another
And finally see, done in done.

Details | Stephen Allen Poem

Archer

Tension on fingers, drawn to face,
Eyes ahead, judging time and space.

A life in the balance, measured and weighed,
A breath no longer, will be taken this day.

Smooth release, as fingers relax,
Shaft accelerates, flash in time, looking back.

Heart of antiquity, a soul of eternal light,
Air through feathers, guided by ancestral sight.

One single shot, in this senseless time,
Remembered connections, awaken and we find.

That which once was, will always be,
The flight of an arrow, released and free.

(Stoic)

Details | Stephen Allen Poem

Timeless

Timeless

To the grave I will fight,
tooth and nail, for the right,
to be, 14 years old.

For I am, the stubborn child,
the know it all, I will always be wild,
and will always be, never what I am told.

Years go by, but pay no heed,
time has no dominion over me,
I am as I was, I will always be.

So much time has come, and gone,
Those around me age, before long,
I remain, a child in an old world.

(Stoic)

Details | Stephen Allen Poem

Early Days

Early Days

The highchair beside the kitchen door
my domain, vantage point of my world
on the linoleum checker board floor
I played until my knees were sore

The center of the world to me
I learned to know as my mother
cooked and cleaned while I was free
to grow into what I might be

A world consisting of black and white
as appropriate as the days television
images remembered vivid and bright
raised by my mother in love and light

Stephen

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Lonely Walk

Lonely Walk

Cold gray dawn, mist overcoat
comforting as damp muslin gauze 
shrouding the eyes of the detached and departed.

Decrepit footpath, cracked and neglected
as the mothers graves across the field
backs cracked by careless footfalls no doubt.

My own gone these many years now
the Belfast cemetery not far from here
her stone unfound after searching.

Somber Irish mist, where legends and relatives mingle
sometimes seen, always there
waiting.

Stephen (Stoic)

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The Watcher

She thinks that no one knows,
the games played in dark corners.
Out of the sunlight, words whispered,
to one whom the truth is never told.

Affairs of the heart where rules bend,
break more than the branches of family trees.
New leaves trying to break forth,
in poison earth nothing of worth grows.

Watcher lower your weary eyes in sorrow,
lessons too often learned, too late to matter.
Walking along a lonely one way road,
Watching as the victims fall one by one.

Stoic

Details | Stephen Allen Poem

I Am

For we are love,
anything I do must be of,
from, for, and is born of this,
Unless this child is lost.
 
If by chance this fool does anything,
from some smaller place,
the suffering is truly mine,
against my true nature,
from the mind steeped and chained,
mans machine of pain and poverty.
 
So far from the deep wood mist
Scarlet dawn flared dragonfly wings
The rising miracle of all things
As I sit, sunlight on my face gently kissed.