The Bravery of Being


I remember how I thought it very important
not to remove my eyes from that place on the wall
where the sharp edges froze.

The lack of motion felt hypnotic.
I knew I had to keep focusing, some
heated piece of blown candle glass,
or I’d shatter into bits.

As I watched I lost hold of myself,
grew light with the clarity
contained in that area.

It occupied my fascination.
I stared, waited, & stared so long
I became a part of the wall.

We supplemented one another,
gave need, recognition, credibility.

Believe me, it took courage.




upward tilted, chins
striking nothing but
a sky ocean, an ocean,
period, with perhaps
mandolin-playing donkeys,
the eyes, el hombre, of
Orion, of Orpheus thick
behind this cloud, that
ever-reaching elm as winged,
no, we won’t need wings,
the mercy of prayers
in what we, Brother, are,
Sister: earth voyagers
on the lam &
fighting another cold again &
rising Empire State high,
Everest -wide because
we want it all still
to be living,
rich asphodel singing:
Yes     Yes     Yes

When we return


Stephen Mead is an Outsider multi-media artist and writer. Since the 1990s he’s been grateful to many editors for publishing his work in print zines and eventually online. He is also grateful to have managed to keep various day jobs for the Health Insurance.