When all the people
I am, or have been
Finally meet up with the people
I ought to have been,
I hope there are are no angry words
Or bitter accusations
Of betrayal or cowardice -
No self righteous pronouncements,
or objects sent careening across the room
to smash into a thousand shards against the wall.

No, I hope we celebrate
the infinite variety of our imperfect selves
Each of us formed out of circumstance and necessity, fear, dreams, love and chance
Though not necessarily in that order



Joe Thompson 2022

But you're dead, I said. 
From which angle, he asked. 
No, I reiterated, I mean that you are literally physically dead. 
He laughed.
Oh that, he said. It's just a phase I'm going through. 
Dead is dead, I argued. 
And art is art, he answered, and went back to his work.

There once was a girl named Clarissa May Drake,
Who was very afraid to make a mistake.
So she only did things she knew how to do,
And she never tried anything wonderfully new.
Then when she grew old Clarissa May Drake
Said what do you know?
I made  a mistake.

Joe Thompson 2021

Age
Confounds me.
Yesterdays mixed randomly with tomorrows;
Pain interjected into simple daily movements;
Memories that slip and slide from my grasp like a wet bar of soap.
Yet somehow
I am supposed to smile through it and say "better than the alternative"
(Which I suppose it is
Because I fear leaving those I love, the way I was left when I was little)
So I will watch my cholesterol, my blood sugars, my blood pressure and I will try to  exercise more
I will atone for my sins
By getting older and older
You're all welcome.
And perhaps after all, it does beat the alternative

You know I remember when there was a field here. Or did I already say that?

Joe Thompson 2022

Some folks are clever and witty,
While some are disarmingly pretty.
But to truly be elegant,
One must also be eloquent,
For if you are not, mores the pity.

Joe Thompson 2022

Whatever you do,
Don't feed the poet.
You don't even have to pay attention to their
rambling diatribes and self important pronouncements.
All you need to do is look up from your phone
Every now and then and furrow your brow.
Really. That’s pretty much it.
(A furrowed brow is actually quite a fashion statement-
Unless you are a highly paid supermodel for whom such expressions run the risk of marring a gloriously smooth and exquisitely pampered forehead. But come on now. Chances of that are negligible. Right?)
  
A furrowed brow gives the illusion
That you care about the effort that has been made.
That you have parsed the poet’s carefully curated collection of words and discovered a small kernel of truth,
Or the translucent shadow of a new idea.
Or a fresh perspective on an old idea.
Or perhaps an amusing juxtaposition of phrases and sentence fragments.
Trust me, it’s better than food to a poet.
It’s what they live for.
Just furrow your brow.
Then maybe they’ll shut up for a while.

Joe Thompson 2022

When all the people
I am or have been
Finally meet up with the people
I ought to have been
I hope there are are no angry words
Or bitter accusations
Of betrayal or cowardice.
No Self Rightous pronouncements
or objects sent sailing across the room to smash into a thousand shards against the wall.

No, I hope we celebrate
The infinite variety of our imperfect selves
Each of us formed out of circumstance and necessity, fear, dreams, love and chance -
Though not necessarily in that order.

Joe Thompson 2022