B.R.Stateham's Page

He heard the key to the kitchen door scracth around to find the keyhole in the darkness of the early morning hours. A smile of infinite sadness played across his lips as he sat at the kitchen table, hands cupped together, the cigarette dangling in his fingers curling a blue snarl of smoke into the smoke filled room. She came in--her hair a mess, her lipstick smeared over his cheeks, her eyes blurred red from the booze. He couldn't help it, one glance at her forced years of pain to hiss from his… Continue

With sensual slowlness he slides steel cold from its wooden sheath and smiles. Youth, dressed in finest mail and fresh livery; proud and haughty in his skills of warrior trained. In me, old and grizzled, he sees a simple fool with discarded armor and years of abject failure. A kill sure in his eyes as he tries to build a reputation bold. Our swords flash--the ring of steel fills a cold December's snowy day. Youth, amazed, falls to his knees, bright red blood desecrating the virgin white. And I,… Continue

Another whimsical poetical entry. Nothing serious, here.



Sunlight through light rain

plays across red nipples erect,

Your hair liquid gold.



Trembling our bodies respond

to passion's first jolting touch.

Surprised, I am, that some of you like my poetry. So here is an old one--




In your old blue eyes
I am still the smiling boy
with mischief dimples–

We hold hands and watch years pass
and love mellows like fine wine.