The Shop That Sells Kisses: Poetry with a Hint of Magic Author: Mike Steeden

Mike Steeden writes his poetry always with ‘a touch’ of something or other. Often that ‘touch’ is a surreal one, occasionally one of the lunacy of being, and with this tome he had added a hint of ‘magic’. He lives in England’s almost forgotten edge in terms of tourism, namely the south-eastern corner of the beautiful County of Kent, in the place nicknamed since the Battle of Britain in WW2, ‘Hellfire Corner’. He is passionate about the rights of the underprivileged; loathes to see abuse of the innocents home and abroad. His poetry reflects such passion.

Mike is a self-confessed ‘people watcher,’ hence his coffee quaffing hobby sat outside any fine café watching the day go by. His most favoured cafés are generally those across the Channel in France where he spends a good deal of time. Also, he is partial to a drop of fine red wine and smelly ripe French cheeses!

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EXCERPT
One of the poems within the book;

ECHOES FEND FOR THEMSELVES AFTER MIDNIGHT

Interlaced tongues sweetest tortures, and for you a crown of hawthorn
Come mornings lame duck situation, at first light a passion stillborn
Your carriage awaits full of treasures, a catalogue of what was before
Love letters returned back to sender, your key on the hook by the door
You split with a satchel of shared dreams, and a trunk full of burning desire
In your wake left a parcel of memories, and finger band of barbed wire
Those bared paintings of you in the grand hall, the place where all sinners got wed
Now hang on the walls of a bedroom, where all our spare tears once were shed
Words aimed below the belt and pulled punches, a ripped bodice, a craving that devours
Then the affirmation of stained sheets, hungover from the afterglow hours
You travelled back to the place where you came from, climbed dizzy heights just to be
Once more with your come-hither lover, and the times you say were carefree
In the white room where virgin bride’s makeup, paradise only a scissor cut away
Yet for you just a bouquet of snowflakes, that would melt lest you forgot to pray
Remember when I gave you the emerald, you said just, ‘thank you, see you around’
Then you laid claim to my heart, to my hunger, left me for dead instead of spellbound
Echoes fend for themselves after midnight, come back to deafen at the first light of day
You leave behind the one you tormented, to stand by him who you would betray