Stephen Mead

A resident of NY, Stephen Mead is a published artist, writer and maker of short collage-films. His latest project, “Whispers of Arias”, a collaboration with composer Kevin MacLeod, is two-volume recording of some of his narrative poems as songs.

Candles from Mist

Weigh spirit with a feather, fill, buoy up.
Evanescent light thing, look, a final place:
Find, rest.
Love, since you parted, those likenesses
Buried with you, image after image, reflect & dream.
I have only kept one, I, Nefertiti, wed to worshippers,
Gossip, now hiding Akhenaten, a pharaoh’s idol,
How can I confess it? They’d talk, shy away.
Yet, sphinx-like friend, I remember warmth,
Our involvement, the west sun dying nightly
Then miraculously east born…

Doesn’t the beetle, that scarab, represent
Metamorphosis, & you, you too, a common man,
But symbolic, your head, a vision-house, large
As can be.
Does the skyful expand? Is monotheism real?
Storms, blessings: religion is a concept.
Far flung weather, the Afterworld—–
Does the breadth spread? Is it luminous?

Yes, we accomplished several daughters & built
A life hand by hand, so, why—ignorant, petty—
“His ailment”, “a tragedy”—& civilization so strange…
People point, visit, have a desire to rob tombs,
Covet treasure, all Nile lost souls now curious,
Thirsty for jaded scandal & souvenirs…


Oh Akhenaten, I want none of such.
Let them take all of it but this: a window,
Lit alabaster, glowing like skin, from within:
Some soft mist candle. I clutch it, a statue,
Your profile carved there. Will you call, fly

Pyramid strong: yesterday, tomorrow, all days
Are ghosts, but their quests flood, preserved fertile
From our divine all-seeing valley.
Dust the crypt, kingdom, this gold inlaid sarcophagus
I caress to put my missing
Where it rightly belongs.

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