My mind is but
A tiny Water Skipper
Skating the meniscus of your
Intellectual deep.
Such plunges elude me,
But maybe my fleetings tickle you,
Now and then.
Bryson Thomas
Tag: poet
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Minds entwined, two breaths embrace,
Respiring for the heart,
Cool hands weigh a cradled face,
Lips, a wisp apart,
Eyelashes, feathers to the skin,
That delve a lifetime mark,
And there they draw each other in,
United in the dark.Bryson Thomas
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As a medium, paper sits ever on high.
Creased into planes that dance in the sky,
Brimmed with old tales that fo, fum and fie,
Inscribed with deep truths, and the occasional lie,
Whispered with notes in a class to a guy,
Formed into cranes in one-hundred supply,
Mashed into face masks, coloured with dye,
Burned to keep power, or to stay warm and dry,
Sketched with rare forms to make the world sigh,
Buried in bedclothes in case others pry,
Schemed with constructions to rival Versailles,
Weighted with records of lives when we die,
And before this loose, lonely page passes me by,
Let it sing of the love that enfolds you and I.Bryson Thomas
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Some folks make the world go ’round,
But others sit and spin.
The legacy they leave us with
Is less than paper-thin.
All they give us when they go,
Their passing barely felt,
Are shallow footprints in snow,
Washed clear by Springtime melt.
No opus to humanity,
Or buildings full of art,
At best, they leave things as they were,
Back at the very start.
All their contributions,
Like insect prints in dust,
Wasted lives just ashes,
Blown seaward with a gust.
Time spent asking “what’s good for me?”
Not “How can I do good?”
Doing things just because they can, and
Not because they should.
When the history of today
Is greyed and aged and misted
These people, for all their impact
May never have existed.Bryson Thomas
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These are not roses,
These are pain.
Blind, lucid, anxiety.
Uncompromising disappointment.
These are pure grief.
And if you bring yourself
close, the scent,
so sublime, will possess you,
obsess you.
Like the first breath
after choking –
And so it will burn.These are not a gift, but
A forced contract
Between past and future – and
This?
This is the knowledge that
Flowers, such as these
Will soon wilt.Bryson Thomas
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Atop a soft, convex tray,
Its twin, not too far away
Clustered ruby bubble-wrap
Bursts with pops of tang-sweet sap
Onto a tongue that’s far too eager.
Want-away juice, precious, meagre,
Sprays neon down a laundered shirtOh well – a second could not hurt.
Bryson Thomas
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I used to be a loner, but
My mind is lately changed,
The metronome
That I call home
Is greatly rearranged.One was once my bastion,
A number quite proficient,
But now there’s two,
And that two is you,
One is insufficient.Bryson Thomas
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I may struggle spelling ‘lingerie’
But I sure know how to linger
When my lover traps with silken webs
And I break them with a finger.Bryson Thomas
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A breath withheld
An oyster shelled
A look to blush the moonLeMotagne rasps
A bra unclasps
The bedclothes a typhoon
A deep mouth wet
A form beset
By nibbles, licks and bitesA mountain climbed
Two bodies rhymed
In Cupid’s sweet delightsA fever breaks
A hunger slakes
A spine is arched to sky
And what belongs
Is never wrong
And lovers don’t ask why.Bryson Thomas
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A newborn enters the world
all smiles
powdered skin
and snuggles
Toes aflex and spread-fingered giggles
A window
Free
From the smudges of experienceA parent guides this free, radical being,
Gently. Clumsily. Deftly. Poorly.
Inevitable fingerprints smear the glass.
Hoping not to obscure the horizon.
Forgive me child. I know not what I do.Bryson Thomas
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