April 17, 2019 @ 8:40 AM

Welcome to my Poetry blog. Please feel free to comment on what you read here. Personal responses and literary criticism are welcome but offensive, inappropriate or irrelevant comments may be edited or deleted.

If you would like to publish your own poetry here please email 1-3 poems (total word limit 500 words) to stephen.faulds@bigpond.com If you wish to include a link to your own website I will post it with your poetry.       







I don’t believe in love or luck any more

than I believe in lightning.


I once thought it was impossible for

a person to be struck by a bolt of electricity from the sky.


Now I am convinced,

that despite the odds it does happen.


It is not a matter of belief, or faith.

It is a scientific fact.





                                                  A set of two stars

                                                  is a point of balance   


                                                 in a universe ungoverned

                                                 by logic.


                                                 Where infinity explodes

                                                 in my mind, a constellation


                                                 sits neatly

                                                 conceptually behaved


                                                 while I scare myself

                                                 with scientific understanding.




Far from being carefully designed and calibrated for humankind, the cosmos looks precisely the sort of place that one would expect had it emerged unplanned from the void.

                                                                            Damien Broderick


  the stars may have been an accident,

     scattered as they are on dark velvet


but there is purpose in my knowing

   how to read them, how to marvel


at the profundity of their existence

   and how we stand so still while the


the earth moves and love dies and

   hope springs and the thousand things


that flesh is heir to, make us wonder

   why we are alive and with what reason





The cat's mouth bulges.


Something unidentifiable


sprouts like whiskers in front.


The dread of approaching,


thinking you know what it is,


watching her as she eyes an escape,


knowing it may be too late




A soft, deceptive call


and she hesitates.


You pounce, trying to be gentle,


thinking of next time.


Stroke her


and gently prise open her jaws.


A tiny green bird


flies like a dart


to the nearest tree.





  You are still


  there, mingled with the atoms


  of the warm grass,


  the fluting shrikes and


   shifting clouds.


   The  vapour of a fog


    settles on me like




    Even music arms me


    with its cadenced codes


    and significant nuances.



   Then there is rain


   on the mountains,


  children running


  and the intoxication of


 dying flowers.





            Half moon


            lying at the bottom of the pond.


            The other half, still


            in the pale sky.



                SMALL HUNTER


                Flying low




               by falcon




              or misfortune’s savage beak.



              Small hunter


              with timid wings


              flying beneath the radar


              of disaster’s deadly eyes.


             Prey itself


             to larger predators


             seeking morsels


             feeding on carcasses


             no bigger than its own.