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

Good Mourning

By Amy Thomson

Let us mourn the day
the Willows laid down,
down into the ground
to build the new town.

We built on their heads,
our hands are stained red,
now that they’re all dead,
we’re filling with dread.

The stream once crystal,
tranquil and blissful
now wan and wistful,
free-market’s pistol.

Our forests of steel,
shield everything real
our bubble we seal
in order to deal.

“The wolves have dwindled,”
we read on kindles,
“their homes we’ve swindled,”
“we packed their bindles.”

Let us mourn the day
our Mother will burn,
forever we yearn,
but never we learn.

 

 

poetry

Hill’s Quilt

By Amy Thomson

Gone mute,

words left in concrete,

scattered in cracks of sidewalks.

 

Car horns

replaced with robins’

melodies that dust the air.

 

Asphalt

replaced with soil

that resembles coffee grounds.

 

Trees reach

for the cyan sky,

like the steel buildings back home.

 

Shiver

as the sun kisses

every inch of eager skin.

 

Quiver

as the wind carries

the brook’s comforting babbles.

 

The hills

tucked under a quilt

of tartan chrysanthemums.

 

Much like

the ones that wilted

on our kitchen tabletop.

 

The thought

floats out of my ears,

joins the Kingfishers above.

 

poetry

Look At The Sky!

By Amy Thomson

 

Cumulus pillows
accumulate blue.
Form elephants and
ships and an escape
from the skyscrapers.

 

Cirrus feathers dust
the salmon ceiling,
glowing gold as they
sing goodnight to Sun
and welcome Miss Moon.

 

Actinoform bursts
of bright fireworks
form celebrations
for our green Mother,
and spill their smiles.

 

Nimbostratus eyes
cry tears that fill seas,
groaning and roaring
and begging and—Oh
please return to me!

 

Condensed sisters fight
and love and wander—
all oblivious
to the gaze of the
stardust specks below.

 

poetry

Nevada

By Amy Thomson

 

Cirrus elephants
dance in blue.
Green sprinkled toffee
melts down Nevada’s chest.

 

Night pulls off her
hot, sticky blanket,
Pours glittering, navy
syrup on top.

 

Outside the neon buzz,
the coyote’s lullaby
sings her to sleep,
somewhere softer.

 

Quiet dreams float
behind her heavy eyes.
A life of peace, weary from
the infected abscess on her leg.

 

Oozing tears of girls
stripped of innocence.
Gushing bile
of hungry mites.

 

Alcohol soaked,
her leg burns with
empty dreams and
wicked sneers.

 

Infection spreads,
clawing flesh
into flashy
human traps.

 

Shhh, sleep,
whispers Night.

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.