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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scratches in my mind - even misery.... Top Story - August 2024.
even misery its contemptibility hates your company * Thanks for reading! Author's Notes: I was thinking of the famous phrase "misery loves company" and then thought about tipping it...because sometimes...when I'm at my lowest, I think even misery hates my company. Curiously, the image was created by putting the full senryu into NightCafe's prompt box. Felt it was very fitting. I also felt it fit in with the scratches in my mind series.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Poets
Artist's Grasp
I have always loved capturing people, especially those unaware—the real them. Their essence. Even before I discovered... my powers. I would sketch a stranger quietly. I longed to own more than just their image, though. Two of my favourite quotes sum up why I loved it so much. While Steve McCurry said, "if you wait, people will forget the camera, and the soul will drift into view.", the late, great Oscar Wilde remarked "Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter." These words echo in my mind as I work.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Embrace
I have always had a sensible, almost reverential fear of the sea. To say it has plagued my life at every turn, would be an understatement to say the least. For as long as I can remember, though the nexus event has been lost in the winds of time and the ravages of my failing mind, I have been fighting the storms all my life. They have stalked me all my days. Even sleep offers no reprieve, no chance to recharge and ready myself for the next wave.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Fiction
Requiem's Prelude. Content Warning.
The worlds of super 'heroes' and 'villains' has been saturated with cliches and tropes that those with abilities feel pressured to follow and adhere to. Not I. My powers were borne from one singular act of senseless and brutal violence. As I lay on the urine-flooded floor of my toilet cubical deathbed, blood pooling from my mouth and several other gaping wounds, mixing with the brown, green and yellow creating a Pollack-esque artwork beneath my broken body, I felt nothing and everything. All at once.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Fiction
