Stephen Jackson Poems
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- My Mother's Death My mother, as usual, judged it best. The ...
- Anatomy Beneath the feverish chintz of Someone else’s ...
- Happy Hour It is the big black before an execution, Dark ...
- A Brief Bestiary To carry the child into adult life Is ...
- Dog Eat Dog Out there, beyond the abyss of night Beyond the ...
- Evening As I contemplate the waste that is a living mind The...
My main site now is http: //about.me/stephen_jacks58
I was trained in Psychology, Logic & Metaphysics: only later as a lecturer, artist and 'venerable media grafter'.
I've been author or editor of over a dozen books as well as a journalist whose features appeared in The Independent, Time Out, Sunday Telegraph and leading national magazines. I worked in television films, one of which won Crystal Prize at the Prague Festival; and I was cited by the Head of BBC Music and Arts as 'a writer of the Upper-First Division'.
Imagine, then, being lucky enough to find yourself landed in a near-fantasy career: and then nearly losing everything, through what some might ... more »
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The void beneath those sheets has been my great vault
A cave, a subterranean system
Where light, beyond a distant wisp
Glimpsed through a chink of dizzying elevation
Rarely penetrates. Here the shivers of an upper world are, mercifully, absent.
Here, only, the damp must of Earth,
The occasional strange music of unearthly places;
The glamorous foreboding of being where one was never meant to be.
And here is all that a long-locked room holds for a child:
Lost dolls, their shapes intimated in dust:
Carpets and drapes, their ...