Bubbles
Hope for the best,
prepare for the worst;
assume you are blessed,
know you may be cursed.
Forget every test,
each role you rehearsed;
we all come to rest,
the last as the first.
And all we invest
is likewise dispersed,
so laugh at life’s jest
when your bubbles burst.
Stephen Brooke ©2025
A bit of light verse; little more than playing with words.
what might I seek
if I am seen to wander
across the hills?
it is no great matter ~
I have lost only my way
I may find it hidden
somewhere in the deep grass
of yesterday
Stephen Brooke ©2025
Sort of in the tradition of Japanese linked poems. Some of those go on for quite a few more lines than this, sometimes with multiple authors!
Word-Crow
I pick up sparkly words
and carry them to my nest.
Maybe I’ll just look at them.
Maybe I’ll weave them into the twigs
of my life and think I’ve made
something worthwhile,
something lasting.
The winds will decide when I’m done,
someday, someday,
and carry them all away.
Stephen Brooke ©2025
To Call
To linger in forbidden gardens,
dream beneath the black rose tree,
to play the tunes for fairy dances
through all night’s eternity,
I seek those distant ebon towers,
stark beside a shadowed sea
where misted perfumes of the darkness
rise in writhing ecstasy.
To sleep in ancient haunted ruins,
now inhabited by owls,
to hear the ravenous wolf pack passing,
my heart thrilling to their howls,
I wander unmapped pathways, pushing
through the muck that clings and fouls
to join the maddened monks’ procession,
faceless all beneath our cowls.
To call the wind, to send it raving
through the vaults of fabled kings,
to rouse the songs of ghostly minstrels,
cold hands on discordant strings,
I speak arcane words of enchantments,
call upon each star that sings
across the infinite abyss —
fearing, hoping, what fate brings.
Stephen Brooke ©2025
something like this is likely to be fiddled with for some time to come but it is probably near finished form
I am prone to quipping that I am a Catholic writer despite myself. There is some validity to the description; that I will admit. I grew up Catholic, I understand Catholicism. And, as the cliché goes, write what you know. Unfortunately, many who label themselves Catholic are woefully ignorant of their faith. Even those who attended parochial schools.
Yes, some of the nuns who taught us weren’t much better. But I imbibed Catholic social teaching at school and still respect those teachings. I am fond of the writings of Belloc and Chesterton (while also finding things to criticize), and am attracted to Distributism as a social and economic system.
So these things have shown up in my fiction. I write Catholic protagonists because I understand them better than those from other backgrounds. Some are admittedly not so accurate in their own understanding of their religion.
Though, inevitably, I take at least a partially Catholic view of events, my work in no way proselytizes. Having any agenda is deadly to good fiction writing. Moreover, I enjoy poking fun at just about everybody. I do not spare my Catholics.
There are no Catholics—nor Christians of any sort—in most of my fantasy writing. I’ve gone out of my way to make sure no invented religion too closely resembles Christianity. This does not mean my outlook on life changes. Here, again, I am a Catholic writer despite myself.
That, I suspect, will never change.
we should have parted
in those last happy days
of our summer love
the winds of autumn carry
away we who tarried
Stephen Brooke ©2025
Journey
I do not know the purpose of my journey,
nor what may be its destination;
this does not mean there is none.
Further down the road I may learn,
or on the far side of the hill.
I have been shown where my road begins;
only by walking it can I find its end.
Travel with me till our paths diverge.
Each of us makes our own pilgrimage;
the road and the journey are one.
Stephen Brooke ©2025
