Forgive these reams of empty pages,
You see, my mind is full of blocks,
Poetic lines backed up for ages,
A drawer of single socks.
Bryson Thomas
Category: poem
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My mind is a multiverse of parallel thoughts.
I see the forests and every single tree,
And the leaves, grass, needles and buds,
Chlorophylled chaos pressed into newsprint,
Where all the stories lead.
A book of unnumbered pages,
Shuffled ’til they flutter with,
Pigeons in the street,
Shooed by a doorman,
Stood sentry at a revolving doorway,
A carousel of shifting rooms,
Sirens of possibility pulling at my soul.
But now the carousel acts centrifuge.
Concentrating all my focus.
On to one, brilliant slide.
Universes retract.
Galaxies collapse.
A wondrous
Singularity
.
Let
There be
Bright creation!
To split the rumination,
Nascent worlds and systems,
And comets and stars and
Oops! There’s a galaxy,
Oops! There’s some gravity,
Pulling me down to earth,
Circling the sun,
Spinning around a viscous core,
And I take back the mantel,
Of divided attention,
And once again,
Let my mind refract the world,
So I might dance among colourful thoughts.Bryson Thomas
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Frankly, I could do less of more,
So many things,
And what are they for?
Something else I must confess;
I could surely do more,
With more of less.
But doing less of more,
Means less more with less.
You see the source of my distress?
The less I do, the more I stress, but
I’ll figure it out…
More or less.Bryson Thomas
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Some nights, we wade into our comfy couch,
To soak, in front of the box.
You nestle a pillow into my lap,
My fingers twirling your locks.
There’s not much to say,
It’s been a long day,
Filled with computers, and phones,
So there’s no higher brew,
Than sitting with you,
As your warmth gets into my bones.
Bryson Thomas
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I’d like to introduce you
To my newest house pet, Peeves.
He always stays too close to me
And rarely ever leaves.
He likes to burrow ‘neath the skin
All comfy, warm and snug,
Then, wake at night and crawl around
All scratchy, like a bug.
Frustration is his favourite food
Anger is his drink
Just call him and he’s by my side
Faster than you’d think
I find him in small places
I see him everywhere
The way you pack a dishwasher
The tangles in my hair
In grammar, punctuation,
In boats and speeding cars
Just last week I found him hiding
Where my sister rolls her ‘r’s
Honestly, he’s everywhere
And catching, like the flu
So now, I see you leaving
Please, just take him home
With you.Bryson Thomas
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Fall to the floor,
Let loose your breath,
Drop tears to drown,
That curséd guest, death.
Pull children closer,
And quell their squirms,
Settle your gripes,
On generous terms.
Snuff all the candles,
Draw all the blinds,
Table your reading,
And focus your minds.
The muse has departed,
And taken the words,
She’s gone to Nirvana,
To live with the birds.
Without a good-bye,
Neither note, nor warning,
Just passed in the night,
And left us in mourning.
She’s frozen all hearts,
And dampened all meaning,
The act of creation,
Now purposeless gleaning.
The art has no reason,
So cannot be art,
The muse, in her leaving,
Has torn it apart.
So wear the black vestments,
Sit vigil and wake,
For art without muse,
Is art without sake.Bryson Thomas
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Midnight dark, and
I wake feeling
Something prickly,
‘Neath the ceiling.
From my bed,
A mid-dream rouse,
I bate my breath,
In Grandma’s house.
Red socks, silent
Cross the floor,
Wide eyes, peaking
Through her door.
Midnight dark,
But I see teeth,
Crouching, creeping,
Drool beneath.
Hovered there,
Close to head,
A hungry mouth
By Grandma’s bed.
An evil presence,
A snarling fright.
A nightmare, frozen,
In mid bite.
What to do?
My brain is screaming.
Struck with terror.
Grandma dreaming.
With shuddered breath,
And faking brave,
My helpless elder
I must save.
Midnight dark
Will do no more.
I flick the light –
And hit the floor.
The room resounds
With Grandma’s yells.
My nightmare now
The worst of hells!
For, on the bedside,
Laughing last, float
Granny’s dentures,
In a glass.Bryson Thomas
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I watch a beauty, letting water,
Run its course upon her face.
One by one, more raindrops follow,
Losing size, in giving chase.
Were I the rain, I’d do the same,
Was I given half a chance.
At the risk that I’d fall vainly,
From umbrellas, with a glance.
But if I dropped upon her presence,
Hardly would I think to cease,
Gladly, I would be diminished,
Just to touch, then be at peace.Bryson Thomas
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Rain beads your rosary down the window pane,
But what is the prayer?
Perhaps to regain a flicker of warmth –
It’s no longer there.
Swept away, perhaps, in your maelstrom of being,
Like a whip to the wind.
Emotions illusive, like shadows at night,
The cherub has sinned.
For there. See how the water swamps the urn.
Attack from inside.
Your flickering, life-giving embers drenched,
The grievance is wide.
Your pain is closer than marrow to bone,
And your shield’s just a wreath.
This is a scream in the storm,
For the person beneath.Bryson Thomas
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Daily writing promptDo you or your family make any special dishes for the holidays?
On Thanksgiving, we have turkey,
In the middle of the table.
And all the family comes together,
Even Grandma, while she’s able.
My sister brings her partner,
My brother brings his dog,
My father stokes the fireplace,
With a special hardwood log,
The kids go running rampant,
While Grandpa picks his nose,
My nephew finds a magazine,
And asks his mommy where it goes,
An Uncle spills his Heineken,
On newish cargo shorts,
Still holds the bottle upright,
While sharing shallow thoughts
There’s pumpkin on the table
And every kind of meat
And all the buttered veggies
You’d ever want to eat
For afters, there is apple pie
And my mother’s favourite cake
And the remnants of that croquembouche
My sister tried to make
An Auntie makes some devilled eggs
All peppered red with spice
But the richest dish that we all make?
Well, that’s just making nice.Bryson Thomas
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