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My Soul’s Kondo

By Amy Thomson

I want to be a rock at the bottom of a river. Sure of myself. Comfortable with my soul. I can’t change the world around me, but I can clean up my inner landscape, toss out old junk that clutters my space, shake dust from my fears, memories, and own insecurities. Open the windows, mop the floors, decorate, fill the space with plants, and create a beautiful space for my soul to reside. No matter my circumstances, I want my soul to live in a home that is clean and tranquil, an escape from this beautiful, wicked world. I realize this will require upkeep, you don’t just clean your home once and then never again. I want to develop the mental, emotional, and spiritual habits to make my soul’s home beautiful because she deserves it.

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The Best Love Poem Ever Written

By Amy Thomson

Alexis Ann Bee,

She’s as pretty as a tree,

I would drink her pee

If she’d only get with me.

Hotter than that sauce

I drank one time, like a boss.

Don’t forget to floss,

Or your teeth will get lost.

I love my LuLu,

Her heart so TruTru,

Even her poo poo

Is made from SUNSHINE.

poetry

Dancerian Mania

By Amy Thomson

Cells buzz like sky wires,

she keeps dancing, never tires.

Through grey rain, her feet turn blue,

smile stained, nothing new.

She dances through the city streets,

kissing everyone she meets.

Twirling down the interstate,

swirling home, it’s getting late.

Finally, her feet meet sand,

ocean gateway to homeland.

Her battered feet begin to heal,

delicious moment’s peace she steals.

She pirouettes into the waves,

home at last, she is saved.

poetry

quiet spaces

By Amy Thomson

Souls bound,
found pieces of my own
thrown under friend’s car seats,
dropped in side-streets,
wrapped in bedsheets
askew.

Places
like spaces between words
in loyal paperbacks,
in sidewalk cracks,
baggage unpacked,
I’m new.

Spotted
blue dotted between leaves,
ancient thread in Earth’s sleeves
weaves me to you,
a deja vu
soul glue.

Restored
by the cord that fastens
wild Pines to Aspens,
magic happens
in hazel pools
of two.

 

 

poetry

Mousetrap

By Amy Thomson

First impression,
confession: smitten,
fangs bit in,
venom dopamine,
first serene,
then you got mean,
razor tongue cut my folly so quick,
you’re sick,
trick your prey
to come play,
I pray
you recover,
discover that
you’re prettier smiling.
Filing moments
before we were opponents,
components of misery simple.
Into your mousetrap,
bones snap,
heart slap,
they’ll lap
your lies.