Stephen Bone – Three Poems

stStephen Bone started writing poetry several years ago. and since has been published in various magazines, including Links, Poetry Nottingham, The Rialto, Seam, Smiths Knoll, and The Interpreter’s House.




Sue didn’t want
her ashes to be scattered
in her native county or
from a special hill or
over the sea – although she
loved the sea – her instructions
were plain, ” mixed with
gunpowder and packed into
rockets.” An explosive
expert – whose company usually disposes
of live munitions for the
Ministry Of Defence – was
called in to make them.
All ten.

Firing them by remote
control her daughters watched
as the rockets soared
deep into the night
before releasing Sue
in a burst of stars.



The sturdy steamer trunks
scabbed with peeling labels.

The rusted rictus
of an upturned grate.

An abacus subtracting beads
onto the floor.

A blind doll. A flock
of damaged shuttlecocks.

A gramophone, long retired,
Toscanini At The Met, still in place.

A Baby Belling.
A yellow beach ball,

still limply holding
his father’s breath.



it’s the emergency’s
pulsing flash

and daubed warning
across the derelict

the emphatic stop
glowing invite

the gape of the scream
the rolled out pomp

it’s the shepherd’s delight
or dismay

a stain of poppies
the sindoor dot

a clown’s grease painted
ear to ear

a spurt of ketchup
the bull’s eye shot

clings to cardinals
fills the communion cup

decorates the valentine
flows through

the tributaries of the heart
plushly blooms beneath the knife –

give me another colour
you can’t live without


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