Stephen Mead




The smell in our clothes, our sheets,
The skin itself –
Dawn of grey salt sea, the teary veil
Of diamond dew, drop upon drop, &
Beauty in the glimmering light
Scooped up –
Reflections pouring fog, the aerial
World  I love –

Happily flapping laundry, Dover
Gulls knowing sun, feathers
Nestling meadows for the chill

In our spirits,
For the solitary poignancy felt,
Assuaged by mead, by rainwater,
The weather’s cup drunk daily &

Breathed back, miraculous, this
Life apart from but, as well,
A part of the dying flight, the uprush,
The very air




As a writer and artist publishing for the last three decades, Stephen Mead has finally gotten around to getting links to his poetry still online at various zines available in one place:  His latest Amazon release  is entitled Our Spirit Life, a poetry/art meditation on family heritage, love,  and the evanescence of time.  For Christmas 2014 he released a sound collage song cycle, Threnody for a Forgotten Plague, a series-in-progress, dealing with the early days of the AIDS Pandemic.

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