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POETRY

WRITINGS

FORGOTTEN

 

Again, four in the morning

and my walls are looking back.

My television speaks in murmurs,

my cell rings no more.

No one calls, no one calls...me.

​

My beer sits, half gone,

The brown bottle sweats.

​

I think of how it was,

when someone cared,

when someone gave a damn...

or at least pretended.

​

This silence isn’t quiet,

it yells, screams,

bouncing in my mind

like the images of all the people,

their faces I now barely remember.

​

Sitting, waiting, hoping for someone,

anyone, just one somebody

to notice

that I'm not there,

that I haven’t been there,

but nobody does.

​

They live their lives,

go their places, act out their routines,

and me?

A name of distant, if ever, thought,

a name nobody checks,

the person they forget

once around the corner

never again wondering about me.

​

A slow degradation, loneliness lives,

wraps my soul,

resides.

Am I still breathing?

​

Lighting yet another cigarette,

the dancing and meandering of smoke,

it rises and swirls

its dance wasted, for no one sees...

save me.

​

Steven David Lampley

(2024)

I HAVE NO TITLE, I AM LIFE

 

We have no lights,

the clock has stopped and the fridge, quiet.

Gone quiet like the promises I made

That food will come tomorrow.

​

I sit in the dark,

the kids are eating spaghetti from a can.

Thank you, food bank.

My kids smile, though.

They laugh and giggle like our world isn’t caving in.

​

I want to tell them it’ll be alright,

but the words would lie.

Overdue bills on the table.

​

I watch the candle burn.

​

I remember life when it was not

just survival, our dreams were more

than our next handout.

​

Hope, a luxury we can’t afford.

​

The cold creeping in

through our old decrepit doors.

​

I keep going.

I have to.

Not for me,

but for them,

their laughter, their light

even when the house is dark.

​

Tomorrow? Perhaps tomorrow brings

us more than others' pity

and a can of outdated food.

​

Steven David Lampley

(2024)

Steven David Lampley, a former police officer turned writer and poet, brings a unique and compelling perspective to his poetry, deeply rooted in his experiences on the streets.

 

Having seen the raw, unfiltered aspects of humanity—both its darkest corners and its fleeting moments of grace—Lampley writes with a visceral understanding of the human psyche.

 

His poetry does not shy away from the harsher realities of life, often mirroring the grittiness found in the works of cult favorite Charles Bukowski.

​

What makes Lampley's work stand out is his ability to capture the human condition with an unflinching honesty.

 

As a police officer, he witnessed the vulnerability, fear, and despair that often remain hidden beneath society's surface.

 

These experiences shape his voice, lending authenticity to his exploration of the human experience, especially in its most fragile and broken forms.

 

His poetry, while often stark, speaks to the shared struggles of existence—loss, disillusionment, survival—while also offering glimpses of hope and resilience.

​

Lampley’s work, much like Bukowski’s, rejects the polished veneer of traditional poetry, opting instead for a raw and unadorned expression.

 

His verses resonate with readers because they are deeply real, often blunt, but always deeply human.

 

As he delves into the complexity of emotions that people hide or suppress, his writing becomes a mirror that reflects the unspoken truths we all carry.

​

It’s clear that Steven David Lampley is poised to become an important voice in American literature.

 

His ability to channel the complexity of human emotions, combined with his firsthand experiences on the front lines of society, make his poetry both a literary force and a poignant commentary on the human condition.

 

Lampley’s work will likely become a vital part of the ongoing conversation about what it means to be human in modern America.

EMPTY

Humanity, a decrepit scourge,

a sickness,

society consumes like the cheapest wine

and flows through the veins of every road,

and each bar stool promise,

and every smile, a lie it harbors.

​

I’ve seen it all—

the streets so cold, uncaring, parasites,

cons in neatly pressed, thrift store suits,

those who preach love

yet, themselves, feel not a thing,

the ones who, pretending care,

to get their prize.

​

Selling their very souls for dregs,

for a quick rush of the needle,

or a promise not lasting past midnight.

As vermin in the dark

I see them crawl over each other

snarling, yet grinning,

Their lives of lies, they call it living.

​

I’d laugh, but no, it's sickening,

deplorable, self-demeaning.

Mankind, a crooked smile

and iced, stone dead heart.

​

Steven David Lampley

(2024)

 

RAIN

​

The window,

drops smear the outside world

into something almost tolerable.

The streets, void of action

everyone runs in from the rain.

Silly people.

Since a child I have preferred it this way—

the sound of the rain,

drowning out perverse humanity, and

me alone with just my thoughts.

​

Steven David Lampley

(2024)

STILL DARK AT SIX O'CLOCK

 

Yes, it's still dark at six o'clock

And safety in the dark remains.

The rain will come sometime today,

Again to rest my weary brain.

​

Steven David Lampley

(2024)

Steven David Lampley's ability to capture fleeting moments and emotions with such clarity shows his keen insights into the human experience.

​

The honesty in his writing is refreshing, making his poems stand out in a world that often avoids discussing uncomfortable emotions.

​

​

NINE?

 

What happened? Nine? This is a joke, it has to be.

 

Nine? Why are these here and my name?

 

Why is my name blazened across each?

 

This was not so at twelve or even thirty, but truth now. These things, bottles of amber, some white, and names I cannot pronounce.

 

These, so I can live, but such words are never spoken by the white lab coat, just "take them." I do.

 

I await number ten, it is sure to come.

​

Steven David Lampley

(2024)

 

BEAUTY?

​

As I sat at the rivers edge,

I glanced down,

away from the beautiful green leaves,

the blue skies,

and the sun kissed water.

​

I observed some old twigs,

grey stones,

weeds,

and even a small metal lid tossed aside.

 

Most would think none of this would be much

at which to look, but as I sat and observed,

I began to reconsider my view,

both at what I was seeing

and how I was comprehending it.

​

To the blind this would be a thing of beauty and wonder.

 

To be able to see the old decaying twigs,

the sparse weeds,

the stones,

and even the tossed out trash.

Yes, to see the trash, the beautiful trash.

​

To each of us is our concept of beauty

and so often we don't consider anything

beyond the world of our blinders.

That is our fault...a major fault.

​

Open your eyes.

Open your mind.

Open your heart.

There is beauty in everything.

​

Steven David Lampley

(2024)

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