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
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
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
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
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