Writing

  • Home (for CU)

    Stuart Holmes Coleman 18 August 2017

    In all his years of wondering
    across oceans to far away islands
    searching for a place to call home
    the man never imagined finding
    such calm in a woman’s eyes.
    They glimmered like bright stars
    guiding sailors through the darkness
    and when she looked into his own
    the man merged with the woman
    like a lost soul finding its mate
    a sea of love enveloping them both
    and he knew at last he was home.

    ©Stuart Coleman

  • The Year That Answered

    Stuart Holmes Coleman 18 August 2017

    There is a kind of wind that blows
    during certain days of the year
    and it’s almost as if it knows
    how to stir up our deepest fears.
    On one of those winter nights
    I called my mom and said, I feel
    as if I might not ever find
    a partner or a love that’s real
    .
    She said, Don’t worry, take your time.
    For there are years that ask questions
    and there are years that give answers.

    Her words lingered in my mind
    and then settled over my soul
    like a warm blanket that winter
    when even the sun felt cold.

    There is a kind of light that shines
    during certain days of the year
    and it seems to calm our minds
    and settle our deepest fears.
    On one of those summer days
    I went to an ancient city
    and saw a couple whose forms lay
    enshrined in ash eternally.
    By the time I returned home
    something opened up inside me
    and I felt alive not alone.
    Then one day at a little café
    I felt a tap on my shoulder
    And when I turned around I knew
    The year had finally answered
    And I at last had found you.

    ©Stuart Coleman

  • The Scribbler's Song (for CU)

    Stuart Holmes Coleman 18 July 2017

    If only I were an artist
    I would paint portraits of you
    lying on your side in bed
    your hand holding your head
    a smile lighting up the world
    like the sunrise that morning
    when I first thought, I love you.

    If only I were a musician
    I would compose songs for you
    holding tightly to my guitar
    the way I once held you
    embracing all that you are
    my fingers caressing chords
    of love as I sang from afar.

    But I am just a scribbler
    sketching these lines for you
    fledgling words waiting to fly
    like hawks soaring across the sky
    or starlings singing on phone lines
    the notes of a fleeting song
    as my thoughts fly home to you.

    ©Stuart Coleman

  • The Dancer

    Stuart Holmes Coleman 19 August 2015

    The Dancer

    (For APC)

    I never knew my mother
    was a dancer and a lover
    of ballet until suddenly
    last summer when she told me
    during a long phone call how she
    once danced upon the stage
    years ago in another age.
    At that moment I realized
    just as stars glimmer in the night
    and the moon shines like a spotlight
    my mother dances in my eyes.

    © Stuart Holmes Coleman

    Image Stuart Holmes Coleman

  • Father's Day

    Stuart Holmes Coleman 19 August 2015

    Father's Day

    My mother used to say
    she didn't know why she
    carried me for nine months
    when my father could have

    spat me out in one day.

    Indeed it is hard to tell
    our childhood pictures apart.

    But we chose different lives--

    he was a drummer boy
    leading the marching band

    and I was a surfer boy
    searching for waves of change.

    He became a preacher

    a civil rights leader

    and a father of four.

    I became a teacher

    writer and reformer
    with no kids of my own.

    As different as we are

    I know we share the same
    fragile heart and brittle bones.

    ©Stuart H. Coleman

    Image Father and Son Assess the Surf, Kotu Beach, Gambia www.iaincampbellphotography.com