poetry

Fever

By Amy Thomson

Air thick with lazy heat,

And giggles full of ice cream treats.

Trees droop for summer nap,

With robins laying in their lap.

Sleepy sun melts down the sky,

The city gives a grateful sigh.

Sky is painted salmon pink,

Framed above the kitchen sink.

Sizzling grill begins to gleam,

Nourishing my summer dream.

Cups of laughter passed around,

Happiness is finally found.

poetry

Mr. Sky

By Amy Thomson

Awake from his dreams,

Mr. Sky screams.

He’s never felt so alone.

Pouring buckets of tears

And electric sears,

Belting a thunderous moan.

“I miss her,” he cries,

“She’s left me” he sighs.

When will Mr. Sky learn?

She’s out for the day,

She’s gone far away,

He begs Miss Sun to return.

 

poetry

Morning Commute

By Amy Thomson

Ice bites my cheeks as
fire fills my legs.
Zip through concrete trees
and metal creatures.
The black jungle floor
pops with yellow stripes.
Steel lions roar at
bulky sloth sedans
toting their babies.
The jungle’s eyes blink
red, green, and yellow.
My lungs start to burn,
begging for relief.
I kick my two-legged mule
into high gear,
streaming down the Broadway river.

poetry

Persist

By Amy Thomson

Can I get a revolution with a side of fries, please?
Can I get a transformation, hold the fucking lies, please?
Can I get a reformation, choke it down with my rage?
Can I get some dedication so we make the same wage?
We’re radical, original, principal, and pivotal.
Constitution, restitution, institution, execution.
Politicians in my pussy, white men talking ovaries.
Baby saviors run the clinics, armed with beaded rosaries.
Are we stupid for demanding bodily autonomy
when our tits and asses run this Free Market Economy?
“Sit down, baby baby, you’re so cute when you’re mad.”
“Calm down, baby baby, ditch this women power fad.”
“Smile for me, baby baby, strut that ass down the street.”
“Shake it for me, baby baby, you’re my fucking piece of meat.”
Exist, resist, assist, persist.
Exist, resist, assist, persist.