Biography of Steven Cooke
Coming from an inner city estate in Sheffield I never went to school as I was always a bit of a rebel. It wasn’t until I was 36 years that I accidentally went into education. I was lucky enough to have a mentor called Malcolm Simms who channelled my rebellious nature, and taught me to write at an academic level. This culminated in me graduating from Sheffield Hallam University with a degree. It was here that I first picked up my inspiration for poetry, from the War poets. In particular Siegfried Sassoon. His description of the First World War really shows the power of the pen. His works always haunted me and it wasn’t until I was in my 50s that I decided to have a go at writing meaningful poetry.
My work focuses on short story poems depicting subjects such as forgotten history, War, love, and the human condition. I have a particular fascination with World War one. Being published gives me a chance to leave something for my grandson to remember me by.
Steven Cooke Poems
Lovers Of A Storm
Old Friends that say hello Who share a secret memory? Away from the road now travelled
The Jellyfish Chronicle
Beneath my tendrils, The sea has many secrets And I am the last witness
(In memory of the 3 million horses killed in War) Taken from Cloven fields, Where skylark and Grouse Linger.
The Devil Wears Armani
She was eighteen, I was thirty two She was an unread poem, I was yesterday’s gift. Her heart she gave gladly,
Oh What A Lovely War
Oh What A Lovely War The sins of granddad brought me to war for England has dined on this before. The arrogance of dad who brags my shoes
A Northern Night Out
A voice in the mirror, God your good looking The gladiators chin And the eyes of Perseus
Enslavement Of A Lesser Being
Freedom won on a distant battlefield Gallant words to remember them by Unspoken tears for the old to cry, A game for the young to play
To Whom It May Concern
As the moon argues with clouds In winter's tormented sky A frail life lingers in the shadows Waiting for deaths hello
The Democratic Way
Where the arrow falls A life is taken Its flight was always destined to find The rebel's heart
A Whiskey Love
Through a glass of Whiskey I found her. Her eyes, Flaming Blue, hiding a glance of Heaven Her hair golden like the reflection of an English buttercup, Open to the flirtations of the sun.
After The Battle Ww1
I felt his breath leave the battle field as bayonet pierced his heart. The surprise of death lay in his eyes his blood poured warmth upon my hands,
Another Zulu Dawn
Another Zulu Dawn (The Battle for Orgreave Pit) Cries of Zulu as miners rushed the barricades
The Murder Of Civilisation
An Englishman lost in afternoon tea, Memories of a lotus flower love Rajas and elephants in Delhi Livingstone the explorer
An English Love
Not a rose, or a lily, But a buttercup Languishing in a field of gold, In some English meadow
End Of Ops
I am nearing the end of my journey
The path that I walk is almost done,
Over my shoulder are friends now gone?
In front of me a life, underpinned by yesterday’s fear
For I am in a world where no one belongs
Tomorrow I look through the sight for one more time
My finger, no more the killer and my shoulder
Never to feel the recoil of tracers sent