Paul Stewart
Bio
Award-Winning Writer, Poet, Scottish-Italian, Subversive.
The Accidental Poet - Poetry Collection out now!
Streams and Scratches in My Mind coming soon!
Achievements (28)
Stories (1319)
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A Letter of Perception and Perspective
To Ms Darlington (At Apartment 5/12), I wanted to write to you to explain myself. A little background information – my name is Dereck Disenti, and I am 48 years old. I almost said, “48 years young,” but I abhor it when folks say that. I have worked as a night watchman for the last 2 years at the apartment complex you call home. We have exchanged pleasantries – little nods and smiles here and there. You are one of the friendlier residents. It’s always disappointing that you seem in a rush, as I never get enough chance to speak to you when I am on my shift.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Fiction
The Drive to Your Parents' House
As I lay amidst the wreckage, looking towards the love of my life, I wondered what had gone wrong, that we had ended so swiftly. With my hands on the wheel. I'm sure they are my hands. One would know their own hands, wouldn't one? The scent of fresh grass cuttings, hot rubber from the tyres and petrol, blood, sweat and the bergamot and orange blossom of your Gucci Bamboo fill my lungs.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Fiction
The First Time I Knew
From the very first time I heard your voice, I knew. The very first time on the phone, when we exchanged awkward small talk and pleasantries, that became so much more in so little time. I knew. The voice that reached my auricle and was channelled into my external auditory meatus, where it was amplified and then sent onto my tympanic membrane. Once it reached my primary auditory cortex in the temporal lobe of my brain. I knew.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Poets
The Haven
"It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen." As the words echoed around our living room, followed by a brief statement from a government representative and the national anthem, the signal became static, and we were left in silence. "Remain calm." The air had a soft bite of freshness to it. A strong scent of newly blooming spring flowers carried with that freshness through the opened windows. "Stay vigilant." I had long warned that something big was on the horizon. I had felt the inevitability in the air over the last couple of years, which led me to act. I didn't know what form it would take, just that something would happen. Something seismic. Hilary, my wife, often questioned my concerns and thought I could be putting too much stock in conspiracy theories and crackpot commentators.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Fiction
Cryptic in Triptych
Prologue Streams of consciousness, for me at least, often lead me and us (where us read me) to interrogate, investigate and conflate the very fibres that make up the me and who that might be. Even when starting along, pulling the anchor aboard and setting adrift on poetic currents and craftship mastery, the still ebb and flow leads towards choppier waters of warring and debating, embracing and debasing ponderings on existence.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Poets
