Stephen Evans

Follow author Add as friend Message author Subscribe to updates from author Subscribe via RSS
Stephen is a playwright and author of The Marriage of True Minds and A Transcendental Journey.

To Me, Sitting Here

My house is warm. The breeze is soft,

enough keep my hopes aloft,

yet do no harm. Think of all

the children who will never fall

on such soft ground as I have been

so fortunate to, say it, win

in this worldly lottery,


I tell myself. Could I do less

Than offer without reticence

a thought that may to action grow

and say “will you get up and go

And help someone in some small way?

Though who will notice, none can say.

Start there, hopefully.”

Recent Comments
Rosy Cole
Lovely reflection. It doesn't matter if no one notices. It's good karma, for want of a better word. It changes us for the better, ... Read More
Tuesday, 11 October 2016 17:24
Rosy Cole
When I first read this poem, a small (intended) trip in the scansion reminded me of something else and I couldn't put my finger on... Read More
Wednesday, 12 October 2016 22:55
Stephen Evans
Yes! very good. I borrowed from one of my favorites: ... Read More
Thursday, 13 October 2016 15:56
551 Hits

Winter Sky

To live aboard in winter is not so

Easy. Nothing stems the frigid flow

And cold creeps in from stern to bow

And hail is hell on bright work, as is snow.

Yet here I am, with no place else to go.


Ice has calmed the waves, and I remain

Frozen in this fragile brittle plain,

Afraid to move, or never move again.

The bulkhead groans from the relentless strain

Of closure, of entrapment, in the main.


But still in winter is the yielding sky

That holds more stars than I can wonder why.


Recent Comments
Rosy Cole
These are images arising from your Nordic ancestral roots, I don't doubt. But you've articulated some fears and frustrations of th... Read More
Friday, 23 September 2016 22:47
Stephen Evans
My brother Michael lived on a boat for years, and he once told me (or more than once) how cold it gets on the water in winter. Man... Read More
Friday, 23 September 2016 23:16
Katherine Gregor
Very beautiful poem. Evocative. I recently finished translating a brilliant book by Sylvain Tesson, called BEREZINA. The autho... Read More
Tuesday, 27 September 2016 07:48
533 Hits

The Butler Did It


I was watching the movie Arthur the other day; it is a favorite, with several witty performances, but none more so than that of John Geilgud as the perfectly understated Hobson.  And it occurred to me that a number of my favorite movies have butlers as memorable characters, so I started making a list. First I discounted any actors named Butler (e.g. Gerard) or characters (e.g. Rhett), and I also eliminated valets (e.g. Jeeves or Passepartout) from the possibilities, as they are in my limited New World  understanding different from butlers, and any of the wonderful Television performers (e.g. Eddie Anderson, Roscoe Lee Brown, Ted Cassidy).


Here is my list, in rough order of delight:


1.     William Powell as Godfrey (My Man Godfrey)

2.     John Geilgud as Hobson (Arthur)

3.     Antony Hopkins as Stevens (The Remains of the Day)

4.     Eric Blore as Bates (Top Hat)

5.     Paul Bettany as Jarvis (Iron Man, etc.)

6.    Forest Whitaker as Gaines (The Butler)

7.     Michael Gough as Alfred (Batman)

8.     Hank Azaria as Spartacus (The Birdcage)

9.     Denholm Eliott as Coleman (Trading Places)

10.  Erich von Stroheim as Max von Mayerling (Sunset Blvd)



I suspect there are more I can't think of. If you can, please comment, as I would like to create the definitive list.

Recent Comments
Rosy Cole
This is probably not very helpful. In fact, I've only seen one of these films The Remains Of The Day which created exactly the atm... Read More
Tuesday, 20 September 2016 22:51
Stephen Evans
Haven't seen The Servant one. Must say I am not a Pinter fan - too dark for me - though I admire the craft. As to Carson, yes def... Read More
Wednesday, 21 September 2016 01:33
Katherine Gregor
No, I don't get Pinter, either! I just can't relate to all that darkness and hopelessness. My favourite butler from your list wou... Read More
Tuesday, 27 September 2016 07:47
690 Hits

A Palpable Movement

To persons standing alone on a hill during a clear mid-night such as this, the roll of the world eastward is almost a palpable movement. The sensation may be caused by the panoramic glide of the stars past earthly objects, which is perceptible in a few minutes of stillness, or by a fancy that the better outlook upon space afforded by a hill emphasizes terrestrial revolution, or by the wind, or by the solitude; but whatever be its origin, the impression of riding along is vivid and abiding. The poetry of motion is a phrase much in use, and to enjoy the epic form of that gratification it is necessary to stand on a hill at a small hour of the night, and, first enlarging the consciousness with a sense of difference from the mass of civilized mankind, who are horizontal and disregardful of all such proceedings at this time, long and quietly watch your stately progress through the stars. After such a nocturnal reconnoitre among these astral clusters, aloft from the customary haunts of thought and vision, some men may feel raised to a capability for eternity at once.

Thomas Hardy

Far from the Madding Crowd

Recent Comments
Katherine Gregor
Beautiful. I haven't read 'Far From the Madding Crowd."
Friday, 02 September 2016 21:09
Stephen Evans
I had only read Hardy's poetry, none of his prose works. I was inspired by Rosy's post about his home and picked this one because ... Read More
Friday, 02 September 2016 22:29
624 Hits

Latest Comments

Monika Schott A rickety bridge
18 November 2017
Thanks, Di.
Diane Rampertshammer A rickety bridge
17 November 2017
Pure poetry - very evocative - you are a painter with words..Di
Ken Hartke Lamenting the Lost Art of Conversation
12 November 2017
Thanks for the comments. Rosy -- I look at this sort of social conversation as a healthful thing for...
Rosy Cole First Song
12 November 2017
This is almost like a memory of birth, reviving those sensations, but translated in imagistic terms....
Rosy Cole Lamenting the Lost Art of Conversation
12 November 2017
Oh Ken, how rare that is! A gift. What a lovely sojourn in the byways and an unexpected exchange of ...

Latest Blogs

A slow sway pinches out a crying creak. It wavers and reverberates, motions in the belly as a slug of up and down. Yet there’s no whiff of breeze on...
Although I had admired a lovely large tree across our lake with yellow leaves for a couple of weeks, I kept wanting to see some reds and bright orange...
                To that which moves, to that which moves,          Which penetrates the universal shine         And shimmy, Roundabout, wh...
As luck would have it, I was going to spend last Saturday night in Las Cruces, New Mexico. I drove my daughter to the small town of Deming (about an h...
Aging brings frequent doctor checkups—teeth, eyes, hearing aids, heart, INRs for blood thickness, etc. etc. Then add the fact that doing the minimum o...