This is a collection of 44 poems written by Brian over a period of 24 years. They cover the subjects of F – Friends, L – Loves, A – Adventures, I – Influences and R – Relations.
Brian has many styles of writing and many influences. He was born in Leicester in 1955 into a working class family and grew up on a large council estate. He received a good state education with plenty of encouragement to explore his creativity. Brian and his sister, Niki, were encouraged to read and explore their world by their father Patrick and mother Doris.
In 1990, as a mature student and father of 3, Brian received a Bachelors Degree in English from Leicester University and is currently working on his PhD in American Studies. He has to date been published in small presses and anthologies 18 times.
F
Song (for a.m.s.)
gone are the days we remember
the golden importunate days
when in the hollow light
of innocence we played
where our unruly fantasies
were soft and genderless
the graying tongues of men
unsyllabled our waking thoughts
but we could never hide
the babble and contumacy
that shared affection gives
to friend and lover both
memories are contraband
we smuggle when we can
our stolen joys were tried old friend
they are the also-ran
the present invalidates…………so when
accross the miles we hail and cheer
remembering old feuds old songs
though grafted onto separate lives
we became ghosts of what we were
among the hirsute hours
and tumble down the golden days
importunate again
(1989)
__________________________________________________
ronnie
(1954-2002)
i
to meet once after years
and part like this
seems a futile atonement
my dear friend
ii
it was however the same face
that greeted me
translucent ….pale
eyes mellow green
the e-mails and the letters
all put by
iii
i recollect
you were kinda diffident
from boy to man
a gaucheness
fostered by
a latent capability
iv
there were salad days
when we would envisage
unguessed times
and seasons
of tranquil maturity
v
your own sex
you found partial
to that rare beauty
that distinguishes between
conscripted touch
and idealized love
vi
the unchaperoned truth
lay hidden
in many days unknown to me
recorded
in a diverted life
i neither knew
nor shared
vii
when the news came
it was an unfamiliar jolt
of betrayal
a partners voice
sounds plaintive
and haunted
in his own isolation
viii
your senses
are now aborted
to somewhere
we can never reach
ix
but
it is not dark
this death
to suddenly go out
with no life breath
vitality and warmth
x
no matter what
harsh trivialities ensue
there is indeed
no largesse of living
that could say
any other
xi
you remain
another token
of unresolved
(2003) __________________________________________
eulogy for pip
i
what subtle pleasures crave
and what lay beneath the span
of every insolent moment
we shall probably remember
it was wired and good
when life was lived “on the edge”
bombastic and unquiet
ii
at uncle harrys
we were paladins of inordinate excess
discarded spikes……..a stale odor
of roaches in the room
complete with the reproach
of littered cans bottles clothes
female cunt and puke
iii
o it was garrulous that time
fucked as all we were
and stoned
no need to mention
those pure slabs of sound
we half-listened to
the boogie measured out
in the unassuming pace
and elegance of drabness
iv
all this left very little
to be said
especially when
the generous day
percolated thru the curtains
v
blinkered lites then saw you
step up to the bar
suave clean-shaven
dapper and pin-striped
and moving in the glossolalia of
music and voices
an acquired personal radiance
somewhat unclarified
and distantly urbane
vi
not so the later fetid breath
and boozy
telling me in stammering accents
of artwork
of contour color shape and line
the archetypal piss-artist
explaining all his love
and ultimate mission
vii
transferred to angel gateway
and that particular song
made cracked and hesitantly harmonized
you crouching rheumy-eyed
and me unscathed insouciant
and tho in willing cadences
the performance bemired
the casual redeployment
of past association
viii
cancer the encroaching end
of your hopes and failings
that derisive emptiness
felt soon after a death
seethed over the crowded streets and pubs
a mythic memory condemned
by the concernless present
ix
and that last bash
provocative with bikers
acquaintances
and bibulous hangers-on
was a just celebration
of your future life and passing
as are these friendly lines
_______________________________________________
judidw and the poems of Brian Stone 