Poetry and (Really) Short Stories
by Lawrence Thomas
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 Lawrence Thomas
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PLEASE NOTE: This collection is a work in progress. I will upload new versions of this ebook as I re-work and insert the pieces I wish to include within. Last update was August 17th, 2010.
POETRY
I Love Before Your
your eyes
your hands
your hair
your lips
your scent
your smile
Stay awhile
Of Kings and Coles
Music sings of Kings and Coles
Loves unseen; love foretold
Winters night light with snow
Streets silent; still, no where to go
Fingers linger under cover
Softly, smoothly, they gently discover
Bodies warm, curled perfect; tight
All is dark but winters light
And flickering embers of fireplace coals
Reflected in eyes of obsessions souls
With conviction I indulge in loves cuisine
Her naked flesh, desires caffeine
Reaching depths of her body, and in between
Natures intention for an arctic scene
Look into my eyes in fires light
Vow every end, sings your goodnight
Place your hand upon my heart
It’s rhythmic pulse, your beauties art
It beats for you, your tender touch
The smell of your hair, your smile and such
Take me places, in dreams not seen
So I may sleep, dreaming where I’ve been
Take my hand from your thigh
Draw me close, in passions high
Grasp me; hold me tight, I come into
In my arms; surrender, as I breathe you
Tonight our passions have been told
Now to have, now to hold
Warm with sweat from winter’s cold
Bodies formed to soul mates mould
I’ve dreamt awhile the girl in you
With beating hearts enchanted view
Would find alive the boy in me
Our flesh inline, our sprits free
Close your weary eyes my sweet
So I may admire your peaceful sleep
I’ll long for the moment your eyes return
To stare in me eternal, by the fireside burn
Until morning my love, kiss me tight
With soft, subtle lips gentle goodnight
Then quietly whisper in my naked ear
‘I love. I’ll love you – forever my dear’
The phono ends to not a sound
But the drum of beating hearts abound
And the crackling embers of music’s souls
Of Kings and Queens, of Kings and Coles.
Transit Traces
Missed the 5:32
Walked
Missed the train
Through the tunnel
Catch the bus
I take my seat
Start to write
It’s quiet
Then he starts to talk.
It’s Friday night, in an exuberant tone
Plonks into his seat at the back of the bus
Shuffling
Hey, to the guy on the opposing window
Hey to anybody who will listen
Hey. Hey. Hey.
Like Fat Albert
Without the fat
Without the deep tone
Without the hip cat.
I stop writing
Look up
It is, I say inside my head
Awoken by the things he said
A beatnik
A character
King of the streets
On the buses
In its seats
Carrying the harbour city beats.
Tonight
A celebration
Of my brothers creation
Thirty years in the making
Seven years my younger
To the day
It’s your day
One day
The realisation
Of the aging cycles
Of life’s gestation.
Kicking around on transit
Dank smells
Engine yells
Next stop bells
Strangers
Dangers
The sadness
The emptiness
Their faces tell.
Woman reading
Guy reading sideways
Guy on walkman, now sleeping
Teen pauses in front of me
Stops
Turns
Shows me
The God Delusion
Heavy
Black cover
White text
Horn rimmed glasses
Well read
Sits.
Tucks his hair around his ears.
Bus quiet
Humming
Pauses
Mid-way train
Older lady slowly tossing
Side to side towards the bus
Boards
Sits
Bag full of books?
Welcomed aboard by nosy looks.
People anxious
Fiddling
Heater rattles in
An airy rhythm riddling
Its weathered windings twiddling.
Wipes his hair around his ears.
Days almost fallen
God guy’s sleeping
I’m still writing
Pause
Look around
Lights flashing
Doors close
Lights dim
Vroom
On the road again.
Like a kid
Riding the bus
So playful
I look up
Staring
Attentive to the faces their wearing
I listen
BLInk, bliNK, go the flashers
Vroom, VROOm, goes the engine.
Move people
Back a little
Further please
More people
Coloured people
White people
A curious child’s delight
Old people
Young people
Every kind of neat people
The day has turned to night.
Why is that man sleeping daddy?
Can I read my book too?
Smiling
Giggling
Studying
Learning
Life
Wish my girls were here.
The elusion of God
Deep in thought
Serious
Pondering
Angry?
Wondering
Believing
War
Religion
Dying.
Wipes his hair around his ears.
Train diary
Bus
Creative titles
Writers
Writing
Fear of dying
Afraid to live
Living
Dying
Laughing
Crying
It’s not the order of
This road we’re riding
It’s sharing the fears
That we are hiding
Listening to the cries
Of our dreams subsiding.
A vision out my window
Sudden memories
An image of
Love
Laughter
Night long conversations
Smiles
Their illuminations
Learning
Exploring
No moment ever boring
Lost in gazes
Of early loves romantic stages.
Visions of
What’s missing in this love
Now love
Supposed to be forever love
Got to get it together love
How do I find again
In this love
That love
The love we had before.
My mind returns to home
Children
Daddy!
Kisses
Hugs
Hellos
Leg embraces
Sad goodbyes
The looks of love
From my creations
The adoration
In their faithful eyes.
Wipes his hair around his ears
The uneasy twitch of knowledge’s fears.
Gets up
Pauses
Black cover
White text
Religion
Politics
Causes
Ding
Stop
Steps off
Doors close
To political clauses.
Hey buddy
Hey buddy
I finally turn
He’s talking to buddy
I discern
I turn back
Nothing
No cause for concern.
Hey buddy
Hey buddy
I turn again
Chocolates for a smoke?
You got ‘em?
A trick or treat bag full
I don’t, but I would
He looks dejected
His fix rejected.
Hey buddy
Hey buddy
He doesn’t smoke neither
Hey buddy
Hey buddy
Not that guy either.
Candy man
Friday night man
I gotta get home man
Hey buddy man
Back of the bus man
Gotta smoke man
This is your story man
Thanks for the reminder man
Of the Friday 5:01 plan.
He’s my cousin
My brother
Share’s my birth day
Almost died one day
A father
A husband
A friend
A son to his mother
His father my dad’s brother.
Your birthday there
I am here
I’ll be there soon
To cheer
Be merry
Family
Friends
Their voices carried
A toast
A laugh
Cousins?
Brothers
Our birthday’s married.
Arrive at the station
The TH&B
Missed the #2
Took the 3
Not too out of the way for me
Full load
Frustration
Drama
Period
Comma
The Friday night sensation.
I am here now
You are there now
Finally, a brotherly embrace
Feel the music
Breath it’s bass
Hear the voices
Gathered in this place
Your day
My day
Face to face
Societies’ sadness
Their smiles displace.
Really Shorts
Between Faded Blue Lines
As I finger through these pages, my hands lose twenty years of knowledge. The grey hairs dissipate, my eyes return to passionate green naivety. All the dreams I once carried are alive and well within my heart. The possibilities are endless. Marriage and fatherhood so far off into the horizon.
I wrote this story in grade seven. It was the product of a week long creative writing elective our English teacher taught. A stack of foolscap paper, edges torn, faces wrinkled, and various scribbles on the backside of most of the pages. Course marks, math equations, sketches, names of childhood crushes and little love notes unsent. Even pages dedicated to practicing my signature for when I went on book signing tours perhaps. I must have carried this story everywhere with me that year as it evolved into the hundred or so pages that now loosely fill this folder.
There is so much of my past evident within these pages; so much of me, but what I long to recapture as I flip through these chapters of my youth, is the passion and dedication that once lived between these faded blue lines.
Postcard Stories - 150 Words
In Through the Bathroom Window
In Through the Bathroom Window
Three Words: statue, massage, geography
Word Count: 149 words
Jonathon lied in bed, admiring how Sasha’s statuesque curves reflected into the bedroom mirror. The way the sun emanating in through the bathroom shades, glistened off her wet body as she stepped out of the shower.
As she finished drying off, Sasha reached for the lotion, pouring a moderate amount of the oily liquid into her palms.
Jonathon made his way into the bathroom and reached for the container in Sasha’s hands. Sasha submissively released her grip on the lotion bottle, turned her cheek to his awaiting lips, and smiled as Jonathon began to massage her soft figure.
After a short while, Sasha turned, brushed her long fingers outward across Jonathon’s chest, releasing his robe to the floor.
They made love as the hot, sweaty summer’s breeze, breathed deeply in through the bathroom window.
Geography had taken away their time together, but time had not taken away their passion.
Her Valentine
Three Words: frizzy, temptation, breakfast
Word Count: 148 words
Even as Claire looked into the mirror at her frizzy hair and pillow indented face, she couldn’t help but smile, thinking about the events of the past twelve hours.
The evening was one she had dreamt of from the moment Jake caught her eye. They had also danced for the first time that same night, and it was in his arms where she immediately fell in love.
It was now two years later, and all the temptation leading up to last night came flooding through her thoughts, as she stared into her peaceful blue eyes in Jakes bathroom mirror. She had not known this kind of happiness, this kind of contentment, in a long time.
Claire let Jacobs robe fall off her slender, tanned, naked body, and slipped back under the covers. She didn’t want this perfect night to end.
Suddenly, the sweet smell of breakfast. Heart-shaped pancakes.
Love On The GO
Three Words: forgiveness, muppet, interloper
Word Count: 150 words
Riding the GO today. It’s been awhile.
Many
days left behind without memory of events, passing the hours like a
muppet on a wire. An interloper, in my own skin.
These moments were my hearts forgiveness; my minds inspiration.
I notice them at the handoff. Through the tunnel, I follow their path. She resembles my Tara with her ebon coat and gentle spirit.
With aging bones she pushes up the stairs.
I
stop beside them on the platform. Remembering a friend I’ve lost.
I admire the love between these two friends.
Waiting to board, she reaches down to rub her girl’s ears, tenderly stroking her soft, silky fur. Her companion closes her eyes in comfort. In love.
I didn’t realize how much I missed her.
We board the train. A blanket placed on the floor. She cuddles in and closes her eyes. She does the same.
They look so peaceful.
Monies Things
Three Words: closet, antagonist, amendment
Word Count: 147 words
In my closet, my antagonist lives
Under my bed lurks my adversary
In silent prayer my echo forgives
That within these walls my enemies marry.
In the basement my opposer dwells
The boilers thunder is Evil’s cell
On the telephone between words
And in the songs of black birds
My enemies poisonous whispers tell.
In the back seat of my car, on the floor
In drawers behind my office door
In my mind their voices control me
In my thoughts, in dreams I see.
I made an amendment to destiny’s sole
Reaching for monies things, takes its toll
My dreams possessions quietly stole
So now anger follows my every move
Within my shadows, and in my shoes.
In thoughts our message carries
The Evil in our eye the devil queries
But I can’t keep these thoughts out of my head
For within these walls their anger spreads.
Postcard Stories - 250 Words
Turn Down, Yellow Night
Three Words: lustrous, fluttering, eclipse
Word Count: 246
I peer out the curtains. The streets are dark. The house is quiet. Our family sound asleep. My faithful friend curled at my feet. I bend down and softly stroke her lustrous ebon coat. She lifts her head gently, stretching out her aging bones. Voicing an energetic yawn, she looks up at me with a playful stare.
“Time for a walk, pretty girl?”
She jumps up. Her happy tail fluttering with anticipation. This was the moment we patiently awaited each day.
We race to the back door, gather our things, and head out into the night.
The streets are silent, but a gentle wind. The boulevard lights that usually guide our way – out, yet the evening greets us brighter.
I look up past the empty maple that stretches high above our rooftop. The moon is full. It looks so lonely up there. Forgotten. Even the stars grace the evening sky, so often eclipsed by the yellow glow of row, upon row.
The night’s alive in this borrowed light, with artful shadows and cobalt skies, seasoned timbers reaching out, into these surreal hub-urban skies.
A voice in the distance calls the wolf moon. She stops. Still.
Calling again. A calendar stance. Perplexed? Orienting. Giving ear to the message of this night.
We continue on our way, pausing occasionally to appreciate this gift.
Moonlit walk on loan. The night light our elders had known.
If only the yellow night turned down, when the new moon began to crown.
Confidently Into The Horizon
Three Words: sequestered, caliginous, incandescent
Word Count: 250
Sequestered by a world he had once believed so strongly in, Jonah went from having everything a man could ever dream of to what, for some, seemed nothing.
He tried hard not to judge others with haste; to see the best in everyone. At 40 though, his heart could no longer ignore the caliginous side of man. Even now, left with nothing but a run down wood A-frame shack, an old Ford, a fresh journal, and a half eaten pen, he still believed in the good of man somewhere in his heart.
Thoughts once lost in transition amongst the windowless walls of his white office, now sailed across the waters, collected in the fresh northern air, and carried in song by the birds that had become his morning sounds of traffic.
In the evenings, as Jonah lay on the shore taking in the Northern Lights, he wondered if his once lost dreams had ever really been alone. Perhaps those shooting stars were not just an incandescent sky, but millions of homeless ambitions passing life by.
“Here’s my shrinks card. She’s not really that good, but she has a great ass.”
It was that sordid sentiment from an equally distasteful co-worker, that consumed what little patience Jonah had left for the corporate world.
Jonah watched his companion through his rear view mirror. Her head hanging over the rear bench seat, looking back on their adventure into town and their hike through the mountains.
He slows. Stops. A stray cow. Traffic jam.