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Steve Robison

I love writing. Writing excites me, moves me, fulfills me. It’s my passion and my purpose.

If you love reading, I hope you’ll find something worthy here. As Ben Franklin said in Poor Richard’s Almanac:

“If you would not be forgotten
As soon as you are dead and rotten
Either write things worth reading
Or do things worth the writing.”

I write because I love writing. And I write so people might cry at my funeral.

Steve

P.S. If you love my writing, please consider buying one or more of my books, writing a review, and reaching out and letting me know. Thanks a million.

Steve Robison on Amazon.com »


Sure Rising

Type: Poem

February 14, 2019 7:06 pm EST

Some months are grey
Some days last for years
Some souls shine
And others go out

And it feels at times like nothing will ever return
To peace
To kindness
To simply, enough

Yet even then
In the valleys
On the rocky trails
Through new travails
And endless black nights
Even then
Love sustains
Love fuels
Love builds
Love is the hope and the promise and the
Imminent
Assured
Doubtless sun
We... Read More »


Brother

Type: Blog Post

February 9, 2019 3:55 pm EST

I was kneeling on the floor, overwhelmed in the bright glory of the real and actual Son of God, my Brother, Jesus, prostrated soul, humbled mind, overwhelmed, moved. Tears flowed freely from the spring of my wounded heart. Thoughts of disbelief crossed my crowded mind. Shoulders tight, neck pained, the situation, the reality, the heavy MIRACLE of that moment stretching through and to the gates of heaven wore me down, smoothed me, revealed to me my essence. Resistance tempted me. Resistance begged me. Resistance commanded me to halt the tears, hold the breath, dismiss the sure and certain knowledge of the sureness and certainty of that long moment,... Read More »


A Typewritten Page

Type: Fiction

February 9, 2019 2:13 pm EST

It was a typewritten page. At first I had assumed it had been a laser printout, from a computer, or, these days, from a tablet, or even a phone. But no, it was an actual typewritten page. There were no clearly discernible errors but there was an apparent, though subtle, difference in *intensity* of some of the letters. I’d never really thought about it but laser printers produce a high level of consistency that typewriters, ubiquitous in decades past, rare today, didn’t.

There was no date.

There was no indication of authorship.

There was no title.

It was part of a larger work, as the start was not indented as subsequent paragraphs were, nor was it capitalized. The page was full, a page from... Read More »


Feral Cats

Type: Poem

February 3, 2019 2:33 pm EST

We’ve become a town of whiners—
Therapists, dog walkers, horny priests,
Encouraging healing; insisting on making
Peace
With a forever fallen past.

We look with sullen gratitude,
At the trophies of open, bleeding wounds,
Sliced by life’s more “lifey” moments,
And dull our personas so we can rest in safety;
Secure in the cribs we found in our attics,
Carried to the damp basements,
Where spiders spin webs, scurry in the shadows.

No longer do we carry our overly sensory memories in those... Read More »