My Poems

Spring Rain

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what the future will bringDSCF0991 (2)-orton-wm

A Wonderful Time

The days grow shorter again. There is a chill in the wind that comes and goes, staying a little longer each time. The tender plants have already tasted their first bite of winter. The fireflies are gone, and the crickets subdued. Quietness has begun to fall over the land, except for the sound of leaves blowing in the wind, and nuts falling to the ground. What a wonderful time to discover love. The time of harvest, celebration, thankfulness, passing on, bringing in. A time of remembering, and a time for moving on. What more wonderful time could there be.





A Poem Just For



Are You Me


I love someone. Do you know what I mean?

Really love someone.

Are you a pilot, and did you ever wish that you could take the love of your life into the sky?

Are you a sailor, and ever wish that you could take the beautiful woman who loves you to sea?

Are you a mountain climber, and ever wish that you could take your other half to the point where the sky and the ground meet at it’s highest point?

Do you drive a cab, and ever wish that you could carry some mystery woman who climbed into your back seat to the most romantic place on earth?

Then you are me.

What If you were presented with the possibility of a dream come true?

What if the sky seemed brighter than ever before?

What if the sea seemed more gentle than it ever had?

What if the mountain seemed but a slight rise in the ground against what you were feeling inside?

What if your fare smiled at you in the mirror in a way that filled you with confidence and wonder at the possibilities of what was to come?

Then you are me.

Do you think that the sky is too dark?

Do you believe that the sea is too angry?

Do you believe that the mountain is too high?

Do you believe that past partners have proven that the journey is too far for love to survive?

Then you are not me.



Do You Hear? 


Do you hear me?

The messages I’m leaving.

How to really love each other.

How to give up who you are, to be who you want to be.

Do you hear me?

Sometimes I’m not sure.

I speak so quietly sometimes.

How do I make sure you hear all that I have to say?

Do you listen to yourself?

To what you’re really feeling?

Are you actually paying attention?

You understand…that we are only passing through life?

Do you listen to the world around you,

As the seasons pass from one to another?

All there is to know about life lies there.

Right and wrong, light and darkness, side by side together.

Do you know the choice to make?

The choice between living and dying?

The choice that threatens to consume you,

Set against the choice that promises to raise you above who you are?


Autumn Comes


In these days before winter brings sleep to the northern hemisphere, before the frigid arctic winds begin nipping at our heels, before trees lay bare their limbs…I relish falls last sweet breath. The last flowers of summer splashing color where they can. The autumn hues a back drop to the final gasp. Prepare we must, they say to us, for the season that lies ahead.

A warm current whispers beneath an azure canopy… so clear, so bright… so beyond description. An occasional gust sails red, brown, and gold ships into the blue ocean of the sky, with their treasures of next years bounty. Riches beyond measure. Life passes from now to then. And so the seasons pass.

Though warm breezes caress us now, winters kiss may be on the next breath. Prepare, we must. Oh but it is so hard, while southern breezes tease us with the promises of a mild winter to come. Don’t fall for it, the false hope of things to come. Be ready for what will be, and thankful if a fools dream comes true.



The life Given


The moon is sailing upon a sea of stars tonight,

Gliding from the past into the days ahead.

While millions lie dreaming of what might have been,

A few dream of what might be instead.

The moon doesn’t sail upon a dead course through time,

Nor does it morn all the places it’s been,

And that’s not the way we should live our lives,

So let’s go forward, and not back to when.

Surely we should make the best of it,

You know, the hand that we’ve been given

Be happy for the course that we’ve been set upon

Be thankful for the life we’re given.

Stephen Worthington



Looking Back

I turned my head for an instant

And quickly looked into the past

Just long enough to remind myself

Of what lies there

Then looking back to the future I turned

To put those left behind memories

To proper use

That of getting on with life

Oh I have been tempted to go live there,

In the times before my mistakes.

But the past has it’s pitfalls

You can become trapped there

Like a gnat in amber.

Stephen Worthington


A Flower in The Wilderness

She’s a flower growing in the wilderness. One I’ve never touched. One I’ve never met. One that calls to me none the less.She’s grown strong in the wind, rain and snow. She’s flourished in the drought, ice and fire. She raises her petals to the sun and cries, “Thank you God.”

She’s a flower that I would not, could not ever pick. She’s much too rare a life to treat that way. But I would lie down upon the earth and look into her face and smile, because she would recognize the flower that is me amongst the thorns and weeds.

I would rather bask in her glory for and instant than loose her beauty forever. I could grow beside her into winters cold evening, if God granted such. Then walk into the light together at the break of day, if such is to be. Yet I could pass this life with a smile upon my lips from having known her at all.

Stephen Worthington

The Firefly Ballet

Twilight descends upon the world. All becomes still, but for the twitter and chirps of the birds returning to roost. Their song fades slowly into the serenade of the night. The light of day drains into the western sky, as the darkness crawls from the eastern horizon. Soon they will meet in the apex of the heavens, darkness will consume the day, while magic floats upon a breeze, laced with the perfumes of the earth.

As day dissolves, tiny lights blossom into life. Glowing points sail ‘bout the edges of the shadowed trees and shrubs, winking in a ballet to accompany the rising nocturnal music. Denizens of the darkness take their appointed stage, enchanting us with their spells, enticing us to sway with the ebb and flow of the life around us, as we are caught in the web of the makers arts

Stephen Worthington

Oh How Can We


Oh how I hear the cry from the Earth. How I feel the hunger that eats at us all. How do we find a way to make sure that future generations have the pleasure of our pain.

How do we assure that they survive to find themselves faced with problems as dire as ours.

How would it be, if we live long enough to pass on what we have learned. How do you feel about caring enough to worry. How can we leave a message to show them the way.

How can we even believe in a future, when we throw it away for convenience now.

Stephen Worthington


Twilight to Dawn

I’ve been thinking more about my mortality lately. Not in a morbid, depressing way, but just as part of the reality of my God given life.

This morning I watched the first light of the new day as it approached from the…not so far away, Atlantic. Like the petals of a flower, the rays spread to touch the clouds upon the distant horizon, transforming them into glowing billows of ivory whiteness, while those nearest me remained an ashy gray, still sleeping in twilight dreams. As the minutes passed, as the sun rose, but still lay hidden from my view, these too slowly caught fire from the rising glow.

Mornings first song birds began their announcement of the coming dawn. In the distance a rooster crowed, and the engines of man stirred the stillness with their hums and growls, as the twilight gave way to the new day, and the sun itself burst above the tops of the distant palm trees.

It was then that I began to wonder how many more glorious mornings are left to me on this mortal world, and how I will cherish each and every one, how I believe that those I love, who have passed beyond, stand smiling down upon me, with heads shaking, as if to say, “If you only knew what awaits you, if you keep to the path set before you, and steadfastly follow to it’s end.”

I can’t help thinking though, that I may miss twilight’s stillness and the rebirth of day in all it’s glory.

Oh well, I shall enjoy each and every one I have left to me, and not fear the coming time when we will all be together again, beyond the rising sun.

Stephen Worthington


A Wonderful Time

The days grow shorter again.There is a chill in the wind that comes and goes, staying a little longer each time. The tender plants have already tasted their first bite of winter. The fireflies are gone, and the crickets subdued. Quietness has begun to fall over the land, except for the sound of leaves blowing in the wind, and nuts falling to the ground. What a wonderful time to discover love. The time of harvest, celebration, thankfulness, passing on, bringing in. A time of remembering, and a time for moving on. What more wonderful time could there be.

Stephen Worthington


A Poem I Wrote To My Fiancee Who Passed Away January Of 2009

Sometimes I Want To Cry




Sometimes I want to cry when I think about how much you love me, about how strongly you make me feel it.


Sometimes I want to cry when I think about how much I want to hold you, to feel you in my arms.

Sometimes I want to cry when I think of how long it took to find you, but how happy I am to have you in my life now.

Sometimes I want to cry, when I think of how you complete me , and how wonderful life is now, because together we are whole, and things are as the should be.

Sometimes I want to cry……..and then I do.



The Earth Knows

Black riches spill from the deep beneath the sea.

Those already thrashed by natures fury,

Tremble at the new destruction that approaches from the ocean which feeds Them.

Already lifeless harbingers drift to shore, from the heart of destruction.

I can watch, depressed at how our natural world is being ravaged.

Or I can watch the cloud tops, so bright, so white, so like billowing ships of the Air

Pristine with their burdens of life giving water,

And know that the Earth is not giving up so easily.

She lashes back at us, filled with the knowledge of how life works,

Even as she seeks to sooth our wounds, both hers and ours.

She knows that there are limits to how much damage can be inflicted upon the fragile shell that harbors us,

How much time is left to all life that sails upon this vessel,

If we don’t find a better way.

I choose instead to add my prayers to hers, the Mother Earth.

I choose to send my prayers to the God who created all life on this drifting seed.

I choose to tell the story that she screams, pleads, and whispers to us.

I choose to believe that there is hope yet.

If only we listen.



Another Spring


We live on the edge of a galaxy, in a universe…perhaps never ending. And on a spaceship we travel a course set for us before we existed. Not one of us can change that course. But why would we. It is spring in the northern hemisphere of this rock, we call Earth, and the universe lies before us.

In so many words, so many languages, so many religions, in so many ages, God has said, be strong, be happy, be angry, be intelligent, be humble, be forgiving, be nuturing, be honest with yourself, and others. Be the recipient of the gift of knowledge that life gives you, with a renewed determination to continue to learn, to live, to give back, to believe in what is right, and wrong. Most important to believe in yourself.



2 Responses to My Poems

  1. Lane Reno

    Just discovered this page in your website. I really like your way of thinking, Steve. You are a deep thinker, and your words show it.

    • Have been working to move all my sites to a new server and found your comment Amber. Thank you my beautiful friend. You know you were my muse for a couple of them.

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