Stephen Wylie

Stephen Wylie Poems

There are two times in history,
Before Hendrix and after.
In a time of dull conformity,
Jimi came and set us free:

How smoothly I swoop across a land
Haunted by mist.
Green and brown flow swiftly past,
An eerie dream of freedom.

Cool rain brings freshness.
Tall stones glisten.
Pattering leaves above.
I wait beneath the canopy,

Who wants to get high?
For the promise of high
Contains a lie.
For every high

Slowly winter's darkness lessens,
Solstice gloom abates;
As it does our spirit freshens,
Attains enlivened states.

We've no cause for celebration,
For surely you can see,
We're a messed-up kind of nation.


The West's leaders sat and watched on TV
as Ebola slowly took deadly grip.
Little action was taken as things fell apart;
a few may have cancelled that Africa trip.

Will England win the World Cup
before this planet's time is up?
Will they hoist red, white and blue;
or stay forever green

The planet's red,
And very dead;
It's air so thin
It's barely there.

This spring-time snow
Has a curious glow.
It's unusually bright
For a landscape so white,

Why do we sit drinking tea?
Is it really good for me?
Hired men of science make grand claims,
But profit is their actual aim.

I wandered lonely as a cloud,
Into the kitchen where I saw
My flowers looking none too proud;
Especially my daffodils.

It's not the madness of the mad
Which does resources drain;
The thing that causes havoc
Is the folly of the sane.

Across the placid water they glide,
Necks long and elegant,
Poised to dip beneath a surface
That's smooth as their unruffled backs,

I stagger off the sweltering bus,
And enter blessed shade.
Its cool brings soothing respite
From the searing glare.

How in life to order bring?
Clarity of thought to gain?
Still meditation is the thing,
To wash my mind clear of its pain.

As I ascend the mist grows thick,
Against the screen its tendrils lick.
I flick on headlights, but still can't see.
It feels like freezing cloud to me,

I swoop 'cross a land that's glowing strange,
Unlike the world I've come to know;
The normal scope of greens and greys
Filled out by yellow, orange, brown;

The harshness of the world is there;
It bends our minds towards despair.
Yet since we cannot make things well,
Should we on all this cruelty dwell?

The Best Poem Of Stephen Wylie

Jimi Hendrix

There are two times in history,
Before Hendrix and after.
In a time of dull conformity,
Jimi came and set us free:
Banishing the black and grey,
The discipline that overstayed
World War Two's necessity.
He blew the war's cobwebs away,
Restored the colours we had lost,
In a glowing rock glasnost;
Helped us articulate our dreams,
Reduced the flow of silent screams.

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