Closedoor
written by: SMiles
@stephenmiles2
Petulance always has me mastered
a loser
to any game
stupidity and stubbornness
called
by any other name
aimed as an Achilles
a worn
slammed door brooch
emblazoning as a cross
of a klan
hooded roach
left as a forlorn on the in
a tensioning
of cupid’s arrow
but for the pride before a fall
exuding
a monolith of sorrow
sorry to become the alien
an apology
of man’s heel
refusing to bend before thee
rendering no appeal
the door becomes our barrier
barricade
to which I’ve manned
it’s I that now endures
an ache
I never planned
I’ve no tangible explanation
nor reason
with which to blame
the door remaining shut
I must now live
within that shame.
My name Is Stephen John Miles (SMiles) live in Barrow in Furness Cumbria England, I'm 53 diagnosed dyslexic at 47. Found my written voice once diagnosed and have been shouting ever since. I've a self published children's book Zac's leather elephant and a published children's book The fox the owl and the big green towel, I have a new children's book coming out later this year called Book of Zac. The books are published by Austin Macaulay. I made stories up to entertain my children all rhyming this led to the books. My break in poetry came after a friend of mine died and I wrote a poem for his funeral. Two years ago I appeared at the Bloomsbury festival in London. I write beat poems as it works well with my dyslexia. Something I feel strongly about is self expression after feeling excluded for so long. I'm not for everyone but then not everyone's for me so that makes us even.
Closedoor
Closedoor
written by: SMiles
@stephenmiles2
Petulance always has me mastered
a loser
to any game
stupidity and stubbornness
called
by any other name
aimed as an Achilles
a worn
slammed door brooch
emblazoning as a cross
of a klan
hooded roach
left as a forlorn on the in
a tensioning
of cupid’s arrow
but for the pride before a fall
exuding
a monolith of sorrow
sorry to become the alien
an apology
of man’s heel
refusing to bend before thee
rendering no appeal
the door becomes our barrier
barricade
to which I’ve manned
it’s I that now endures
an ache
I never planned
I’ve no tangible explanation
nor reason
with which to blame
the door remaining shut
I must now live
within that shame.