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WJ Thompson Jan 2021
Shhh
Don’t tell me how you feel
with crude, blunt words.
Tell me in myth.
Tell me in crashing planets,
                    swarming oceans,
                       sly words cast sideways,
                    heroes rising,
                 secret forests,
               evil lords,
           and wars.
Tell me in myth.
WJ Thompson Jan 2021
You know well the verdant bed of aster
       stretched limb along the rolling *****
       tucked between the redwood trunks
Piercing eyes peak back with bared fangs
       melting, molding into tilted neck, curious.
In your mind, anyway, but in reality,
      the fuzzy forest creatures bend their
      backs subdued.
The earth has her muzzle on, for now.
But dragons;
Dragons are real and they like to whisper
in our ears.
WJ Thompson Jan 2021
Lately,
           I’ve been trying to
(how should I say it?)
       Fold the corners of my subconscious tremors
into creases, origami shapes
I’ve been bending the bracket
I’ve been trying to figure out
                 my Enneagram.
I'm a 3w4
WJ Thompson Feb 2018
Poetry isn’t only pain
Poetry is a cup
you can fill it
with whatever you like
Did we sleep so long we never saw the sunrise?
WJ Thompson Feb 2018
I am wild, my akushla,
a solivigant.
But you are a cynefin.

Your kalon conceives resfeber in me.
Beasts rumble within like brontide,
they chant of redamancy, my trouvaille.

The dragoman drew me to you
Speaking of yugen
the susurruss mountains
they cured my atelphobia
Submontane caves
where our lights baltered among the selcouth crystals
Reminding me of basorexic spoondrift
breaking the moonglades you adore,
my fellow parallian.

Perhaps it was boyish werifesteria
or maybe I was selenotropic
to fall in love with a gentle boobook
ever so finifugal when we speak

But I feel filipendulous when abendrot bows for advesperacit

You sometimes consider it sphalolaliah,
my words, going ever on and on,
But I’ll learn your lagom, if you give me time
akushla-A transliteration of an Irish phrase that means “my pulse”, a term of endearment.
solivigant-wandering alone
cynefin-a Welsh word meaning a place you feel you ought to live, where nature feels welcoming.
kalon-inner and outer beauty.
resfeber-the nervous feeling before a journey; a mixture of anxiety and excitement before travel.
brontide-the low rumbling sound of distant thunder
redamancy-love fully returned; opposite of unrequited.
trouvaille-something pleasant you find by chance.
dragoman-translator and guide, usually in Turkish or Persian countries.
yugen-an awareness of the universe that triggers emotional responses too deep to be put into words.
susurrus-quiet whispering, or rustling.
atelphobia-the fear of not being good enough.
submontane-under or through mountains.
Balter-to dance recklessly; yet with enjoyment.
selcouth-unfamiliar, strange; yet marvelous
basorexia-the overwhelming urge to kiss
spoondrift-spray blown from waves during a gale at sea.
moonglades-the bright reflection of the moon’s light on water.
parallian-someone who lives by the ocean
werifesteria-to wander through the forest looking for mystery
selenotropism-growth in response to moonlight
boobook-a small, brown owl.
finifugal-someone who hates endings to stories, trips, or relationships.
filipendulous-hanging by a thread.
abendrot-the color of the sky when the sun is setting.
advesperacit-the approaching dark; the evening drawing near.
sphalolaliah-flirtatious talk that leads nowhere
lagom-just the right amount. Not too much; not to little.
WJ Thompson Feb 2018
There's petrichor in your coat
a moonglade for your gaze
I'll listen to psitherism
as I sense you pull away.
I found some cool nature words online and wanted to try something out
WJ Thompson Dec 2017
I'm young and in love
with disjointed sentences
mosaic symbols transforming
deliberations into expository
railroad tracks, crossing paths (with)
black jazz cats in the 20's to write the music a little differently for each note,
to ride a little Titanic eye contact
until Earhart makes it home.

Compress these highs and lows,
into melodic notes, dancing up (and down)
the Christmas tree, ornaments from
the time you were only three.
Days before we met, days beyond our starry-eyed goodbye,
Love is a gentle thing,
and you were such the words I'd pray to whisper in the night, on beaches made of all your favorite colors.
I want to be the way you see me,
I hope you never feel alone.
And what a treasure it was,
to speak with the princess,
instead of staring at the castle.
Soft cheeks instead of hard stone,
(cold glass, icy masks, distant hopes.)
But instead of distant,
You were close.
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