Stephen Mead

Stephen Mead is an artist/writer living in northeastern NY. His artwork can be seen in the portfolio section of Absolute Arts,,and He also has several title pieces of e books online at, These pieces incorporate both image and text. His address is-

Stephen Mead
108 Pinehurst Ave.
Albany, NY 12203


Snow blue, china white,
The December weather, the extra
Rain cape sudden as that squall,
As the Orientalís good face, hands,
Offering, hooding me, brushing
The flakes, saying:
"take, take, you need"
& disappearing onto the hissing
Bus, into the winter landscape


Pain, the up-
ward thrust root-
ing veins and ex-
panding past this-----
spirit gliding in a stride
still for a minute

the minute lasts-----
an embrace the flesh
does not cease to reach for

With Apologies

On a tightrope I might be very large
Throwing my own dice above the astonished
Audience & a circle of clowns busy with craps.

Those faces of dots mean a lot to me
Despite a certain resemblance here
Where I've a double shadow & near vertigo
Pins each feature, stills the space, fixes
This circus.

Yet I can imagine take-off so easily,
The tornado's vortex bringing the frozen lights high
With each of us juggled pearls from a snapped strand,
Each an afloat astronaut...

To be so in orbit, to rise beyond such paralysis
With every step precariously placed, & then
Just jump upward held up by the thinness
That is actually thick gauze...

Oh what sacrifice I would make to be 747 arms!

Bitter Harvest

Vena Amora, vein of everything
Feeling love straight
Through this wrist,
The rolled up sleeve-----
Statue arm, bare & white
With marble mottling.
A bottle of life, in
The genie blood beats
Baring memory,
Each now a Sanskrit
Of free fancy cats & how,
As wildflowers, we play
In the sway of breeze
Grave-blooming every spring
The earth turns its fertility up again,
An urn harvest sweet
Despite what pain
Our unforgettable skin bled
Over hands laid pressed
As flower petals in a book


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