Thomas: Favorites

Jan 2013 Thomas

bobby burns

i didn't really know until
i took that polaroid of you;
you had your hand over
a candle flame and the
shadows dancing between
your fingers illuminated
the spare patches of snow
remaining on the playground.
there was no mistaking
the draining of my swimming
pool of ego as i witnessed
you staring out from each
ice crystal reflection in awe:
your smile tumbled down
the slide and spilled into laughter
while
your voice lilted up the rock wall
and sang in triumph at the top --
and this is when i knew i would
write another poem about you.

i forgot to mention i've been
drinking my coffee black --
and sometimes, for the hell of it,
i write love and hate in sharpie
on my knuckles because i can't
get it tattooed. every now and then
i even try to carve your name into
the knots and whorls of my spine,
just so i can make believe
i am the man in that one song
you always seem to be singing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2b3BkXvY0EY

Jan 2013 Thomas

A Monster Lurks (read like a child's poem)

Jan 2013 Thomas

Chuck

A Monster Lurks (read like a child's poem)

A monster lurks inside of me
I try not to pet or feed it
It's best to hide and let it be
To be me, I guess I need it

My monster is honest and curt
It doesn't often try to bite
When it's fangs come out, it can hurt
It never retreats from a fight

Not all have beasts so mean and tough
I want to be loved, it not much
I want to be soft, it is rough
Maybe I'm mean and it's my crutch

I hurt loved ones, telling the truth
Friends and strangers can get bit too
My blunt, true ways have crushed the youth
My monster destroys more than you

I'd slay the monster if I could
It makes me weep, it makes me blue
I, of all people, think I should
I just want to be loved by you

This is a serious issue for me, but I love the juxtaposition when it's read like a children's poem.

Dec 2012 Thomas

homemade feathers

Dec 2012 Thomas

Tom McCone

homemade feathers

thought breeds fear breeds hesitation breeds inactivity breeds regret breeds sorrow breeds this second
lying against the wall, heavy paint consuming terminal strands
ink stains on two-dollar offwhite notes
whose words are these?
not sure.

this second breeds disappointment breeds apathy breeds hopelessness breeds fatigue breeds long sleep
rivulets make short indents, slipping clockwork makes little difference
words by heart fall from cracked lip skin
whose laments are these?
I understand.
and wish I didn't.

Nov 2012 Thomas

80's Fried Chicken Cocaine

Nov 2012 Thomas

Ugo

80's Fried Chicken *******

We sipped boulder rock from refrigerators doors
and watched the heavens hand out food stamps with IBM logos.
“ode to Mehmet” we sang, and licked the Mossberg—
fixating on the blue collar philosophy that lived in our empty wallets.

Trash cans filled with water bottles stared at us to find our essence—
the one we had lost while being fed quintessential American idioms
in state-of-the-art classrooms sponsored by slaves and Popol Vuh blood.

Six million years of human existence trivialized down to a single sentence—
* Man loved God, man wrote, man conquered God, and now man loves science* —
scribbled on SmartBoards afforded by fire burning from Prometheus’ female liver.

Trees sing with oxygen no more for the sake of making paper,
and eyes soak in the words on paper for the sake of making paper.
Trees make the avenue but the future holds an Avenue of no trees—
… for in the land of the free, anything but freedom ain’t free.

Nov 2012 Thomas

obsessively compulsively naïve

Nov 2012 Thomas

bobby burns

obsessively compulsively naïve

five, like clichéd clockwork
every ******* day-after;
after wasting (enjoying)
the better part of a seventy-two
hour stint in wonderland.

i don't know how to
confront the piles of
confetti on my carpet--
stragglers you left here
like it was ok, not rude.

i guess i could try the
vacuum; unplug it
from my stomach
and **** up the
residual signs.

it's funny how
misunderstood
a metaphor can
be, a teenager,
for example.

the vacuum hooked
up to me keeps me
stocked up on longing,
and lacking in content(ment)
what a drag, or a ******.

all i can really do on these
rare mornings becoming
regular, is drag this (mis-)
matching hot pink comb
through my hair another
time, in wistful hopes
of restoring some silly
insignificant order to
my disheveled and
"last-year"
hairstyle of a life.

Sep 2012 Thomas

Sometimes...

Sep 2012 Thomas

Hayley Simpson

Sometimes...

Sometimes I don't like what I see in the mirror.
Love handles over the jeans like grubby hands picking for the last slice of pizza.
Sometimes I don't like the words written on paper.
Words hunched over till 5am that still come scrambled as my breakfast.
Sometimes I don't like how I kiss you.
My lips not being able to move in the way your hips do in those jeans.

But...

Sometimes I can't handle love that I see for myself.
How I find every scar on my skin a Van Gogh of flesh and memory.
Sometimes Laughter can not help but shuffle its' way from my chest.
Every facebook status a Emmy award winning season of words
Sometimes I can not wait for the next day.
When I get to taste the air in my lungs only to have it taken away again by the sun.

Sometimes a love/hate relationship is good....sometimes.

Written (2012)

Author: Wrote this for everyone, girl or boy, who hates to look at their reflection. You are loved from the inside out. It's love that we feel that others see and they are attracted to. Love yourself, because you are the only one who can be sure of that love.

— The End —