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.

 

 

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poetry

Mr. August Williams Wallman

By Amy Thomson

Did you know that’s my name?
Eternal burning flame
motivating,
sometimes draining,
mostly adorable,
though potty jokes horrible,
I’m so glad you yike me,
let’s play family.

poetry

Trotting Mules

By Amy Thomson

Trotting mules fuel bile
while
counterfeit grins
spin
threads in my head.
Laugh at me,
I laugh on.
Come dawn,
grin wins,
charged with cheer
despite leers I sear,
whispers near
from vacuous lips more idle than
sneakers missing soles,
sneaking sideways glances into
missing souls,
I laugh on.
Emotional brawn
wrapped in eggshell,
dwelling in Plath’s bell jar,
heart tarred,
not gone,
I laugh on.

poetry

Another Day at the Masquerade

By Amy Thomson

The closet of masks
sparkles with gleaming teeth,
beneath empty eyes,
hollow lies
lie lurking.
Always working
the perfect angle,
trust is mangled
and coated
with sugar bloated,
empty words
that fill your ears,
crawl into your brain,
center of disdain,
dissolve.
Conversation involves
crafting your smile,
spitting saccharin lullabies
from your gleaming teeth
catch your reflection,
caught the infection,
staring back at two, hollow eyes.

poetry

Midnight Acid

By Amy Thomson

 

It’s hitting me

all at once,

energy

part of me,

part of it,

something more,

dancing off screen.

My poem is       d  a  n  c  i  n  g.

Inhale

can’t fail.

Intense.

No sense.

Senses on fire,

Perspire,

Waxahatchee lullabies

energize.

What a night,

who knew?

Now you do.

It’s strong,

so are you

you’ll be fine.

Give it time.

Pupils gleam,

two black pools,

tools to see the unseen,

psychedelic gene,

third eye clean.