My Soul's On Fire

By Stephen Alexander North

My Soul's On Fire is a captivating collection of thought-provoking and deeply intimate poems which delve into the essence of the human condition. Each poem offers a unique glimpse into various aspects of life, exploring themes of desperation, love, loss, passion, and triumph. 

This eclectic collection expertly navigates different genres, seamlessly transitioning from works of science fiction to haunting apocalyptic visions, spine-chilling horrors, dusty western landscapes, tantalizing erotica, and profound reflections on relationships. 

With every turn of the page, be captivated by the evocative imagery and the raw emotional depth embedded within each poem. From exploring the vastness of the universe to unraveling the intricacies of the human heart, the fusion of autobiographical fiction and non-fiction weaves a narrative that is both intensely personal and universally relatable. 

My Soul's On Fire is a poetic journey celebrating the complexities of existence, leaving an indelible mark on the reader's heart long after the last page is turned.   

This book includes: a three part apocalyptic story poem (East, where the city lies/The Hunted/The books or that light), Saloon Thunder; Her Blush Response, and more! 

 

Florida Man Writes!

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen A North
• Release date: Apr 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215376126

Stephen Alexander North

Stephen A North is the author of the Dead Tide Series, The Drifter Series of books, and a number of short stories.  He is a Florida native, has a BA in English Literature from USF, and is a former Army Reservist.

Book preview

Dedication

––––––––

In memory of Dana Whitted and Pamela Berger

Also, a thank you to Kerri C Gregory, Kaye Donner, and Joe Crompton

Pe·riph·er·y

This is me in decline

On the periphery, while others live life

I exist and dream

I’m listening to Joni Mitchell, right now

Play guitar, and sing so eloquently

And I, Lord knows, think far too much

About boundaries, confines, people’s feelings 

About being outside, removed

Not part of a design, beyond what can be said

With words, a well-described scene

Or, perhaps, a scrap of witty repartee

Are you reading this, feeling what

Most people only see, without thinking

They’re distracted and look away

This isn’t their fault, if they don’t understand

We’re all flawed, aren’t we

And what’s beautiful, to you, to me

Might not be music pleasing

To all with ears, so

If you don’t mind

I think I’ll stand over here, on the fringe

Off stage, and off center

(completed at sixteen minutes past noon, on a Friday, the twentieth day of January, 2023)

For, my friend, Jose

You paint with colors

I paint with words

Your lines aren’t always kind

Then again, neither are mine

They are true

Never cruel, intentionally

It seems we’re on a parallel path

Just using different forms of expression

Coincidentally, or not

Capturing grief, pain, a grimace

Joy, pleasure, laughter

Additionally, in the case of your art

Something inspiring, beautiful, alive

(honestly)

For prosperity, for thought

To leave behind, long after

We’re gone

(completed at two hours and nineteen minutes after noon, on a Friday, the twentieth day of January, 2023 and inspired by Jose Berrios’s painting entitled ‘Cathy’)

A cigarette, at the end of love

That drunk feeling, the aftermath of joy

Receding, as I walk you to your car

We kiss, your happiness

Still, so apparent

Moonlight on your face, your smile

Memories, I can’t forget

And don’t want to...

Replace

You were a gift to me

Something dear

And never meant to belong to me

Someone else might light a cigarette then

Might blow some smoke rings

With a tear in the eye, remembering when

You waved one last time

But I don’t smoke

(completed thirty-eight minutes after a clock struck noon, on a Saturday, the twenty-first day of January, 2023)

Can't say that I've ever done 'serious' writing while inebriated. Music, if anything, awakens a heightened sense of imagination, and women, I won't lie.

Esteban Alihandro Norte, from 'A cigarette at the end of love.'

Magnetic Resonance Again

The nurse told me, take everything off

Except your underwear and socks

Wear this gown, and lock up

Your shoes and clothes

We’re going to do an MRI...

Of your cervical spine

Not long after, she ushered me in

And she had me lie down

On my back, my knees elevated

And my head cradled in something like a vise

About to be encased, as another nurse

Fitted a metal mask over my face

Pressed tight, locked over my nose and chin

Then, a brief apology

As something pressed my arms against my body

"Your shoulders are too broad, I’m sorry

Are you comfortable?" was the question

My response, I think

Was As good as I think this will get

I was silent about the pain in my neck

And murmured something

About feeling like Hannibal Lector

(wearing that mask)

They asked, What kind of music?

Turned out, I made a poor choice

But with the noise, it didn’t matter, anyway

Then, I closed my eyes

As they slid me into

Twenty minutes of cacophony, of intermittent din

I remember feeling compressed, overheated

Face flushed, my neck aching

And that fucking mask, I had

To escape into my head, keep my eyes closed

Remember not to move, tortured

Until it was over, another long moment

The freedom as my body slid out

Moments more, waiting

But so relieved to be free

Of that mask, and out of that sleeve

(completed eight hours and thirty-nine minutes after noon, and three hours after being temporarily entombed, on a Sunday, the twenty-second day of January, 2023)

Without you, imperfect haikus

Without you,