Willow Lake Press
by Stephen Mead © 2005
The following are spoke word compositions. These works are fiction and bear no resemblance or likeness to anyone living or dead. All opinions and interpretations expressed here are entirely the authors. Copyrights are held by the respective authors.
Stephen Mead © 2005

A light to wake to,
The eyes not open yet
Though there is
That particular cove
Against the lids &
Maybe a voice, husky
Warm butterscotch
Which is the sun
Of whom, what
The day may love
The Clutch
Stephen Mead © 2005

Heads enclosed
By the necks, a pulse
Along the edge of felt
Collarbones, shoulders
Molding to ears & two
Backs perfectly heart

Whose is whose if this
Shape defines neither me
Or you but an Us thrumming
Quite intricately circular?

I find your hands as though I
Misplaced & rediscovered
My own, find your sighs
Syn-chronic to the breath
Only these few moments
Could stretch over time,
Time holding how we’re

& knowing more
We’ve Seen
Stephen Mead © 2005

The walls, the holes from explosions
Big enough for a soldier to walk through
With an infant.

This is the city. These are its arches,
Hungry old stones. One

Could be a woman with an 8 a.m. beer.
A few more could be a cause. Another is

The cost of medicine. Sick, sick. Open
Your mouth. Pour this down. Maybe it’s

Empty. Maybe that’s imagined. Pry
Eyes. Stand you up, & keep standing…

Standing by, withstanding-----
How long? O

Good stones, we’ll light a candle, set
A plate, have a cemetery picnic
Tender as a hyacinth

In some soldier’s hand
Stephen Mead © 2005

Was it
Just his breath

Lips to sip from
Pouring storms but

See friends

Do you not see

Resounding , ringing round


Perfume sweat

The blessed echoes

The melody which wafts

Pierces clean to refresh


Its lament

These breezes


Are they not the plunge
To take

The surge to head for

& expire, sink


the obsession staid
Now Voyager
Stephen Mead © 2005

This is no joke.
This is us on crystal girders
Above a meltdown.

Voyager, now fired by the adventure,
Wire yourself to touch.

The space between us, the
Space between our astronaut zoot
Suits, our life support cables, our
Precarious perch, swings into zing
& the zing sings of serenity.

Here’s an abundant focus.
Here’s a zone composed only of gazing
Intention, of pulses steady &

Watch how close, how the moment
Approaching will launch this crystal
Girder & throw us straight off towards

The others hands. Watch the catch occur,
The parachutes furl open & our arms

Be of sheer knowing that time is of
The voyage & that this voyage is

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