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poetry and prose by stephen chute
Saturday, February 7, 2026
the indelible past
your past
is not mine, nor mine yours.
much to
our surprise
it's all written in indelible
ink.
inerasable
no matter how hard
we scrub
and scrape, trying to remove
what was.
whether
or joy
or past mistakes.
it's all there
even when we look
away.
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i wish i knew less about you
no salesman will visit your home
the office meeting
we need each other
there's nothing to see here
stopping the world
those good old days
soon to be a hazmat area
school spirit
she might be a lemon
doing one thing well
tell me what to do
a careful man, for the most part
holding her purse while she tries on dresses
dusting off the old machines
island hopping
so what's up, we haven't talked for a while?
the well traveled woman
the death of a groundhog
hopefully the last will and testament
quit complaining and just leave
in love with a horse
God's office hours
Pest Control
the adults are in charge now
no longer Cali dreaming
by your ink pen, write
God Bless You
let's curl up by the fire
the wide and easy middle years
30 bucks an hour shoveling snow in NYC
the bank clerk
the iron bones
ex patriots
bagels in the city
the older dopes
daily rejections
beautifying the city
plowing the north forty
a slight misunderstanding
the protesters
you too are of their kind
a morning bowl of cereal
downsizing
a more humane death inquiry
westward ho
living free and easy in NYC
make a wish
waiting on summer
who does she think she is anyway?
not an heirloom, i guess
ash Wednesday
adaptation
don't go near the water
tells us what you want
so many pigeons in the way
red light therapy
if not for pickpockets
maybe they shouldn't be voting
gin rummy
mid century modern
how dare you forget my birthday
up up and away
a bigger steak bone
we can solve this crime
finding a new place to lie down in
mystery in the desert
the little red transistor
drinking and driving
the signed yearbook
the exotic honeymoon
two hundred years later
you can be anything you want to be
the new bread lines
where did you get all that money?
what's real these days
the beat goes on
this won't work either
finding no safe to crack
it's somehow different now
the conversation
somehow different
my people are too stupid to get an id, he says
if it's not your dream
there's no way around it
starting on page one
as she brushes her long blonde hair
a den of snakes
piecing life together
i feel a sin coming on
the morning weather report
short term friends
fatigue is a blessing
the pop in visit
infecting art with politics
coffee at home
the yellow taxi ride
money for nothing, chicks for free
there's no joy in it anymore
the note on the red door
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About Me
Stephen Chute
west springfield, virginia, United States
these are all FICTIONAL stories and characters, and in no way represent any living or dead people...any similarities are simply coincidental.
View my complete profile
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