Three Poems by Myrtle Thomas

 

My Poetry Written on Notes of Wood

 

when time reflects its boundaries

in the cycle of seasons

while the trees toss their leaves

and in the reflection the sky weeps

who is it that walks on the wet leaves?

who but a poet looks beyond visibility

and changes these reflections!

my eyes have changed so many things-

throughout my life I've bent the moonlight

raised winter snow into sunlight

could it be that my heart is fragile!

or that my mind sees past closed doors

sees into realms and feels the vibrations of the stars

is it wrong to utter such things that swim in my eyes?

awe ! the questions and imaginations that are poetry

the verses that are written in the woodnotes

the music that lives on stained pages

of trees who have given their lives that I may write

until the last breath escapes my lips.

 

Inspired by Ralph Waldo Emerson's  "Woodnotes"

 

Ancient Thing that is Love

 

love has walked so far

and fallen into ancient eyes

to touched flesh and bone

the way that the wind

feels on someone's face

O ' that lingering kiss

the touch upon my breast

the hand that knows my flesh

and soothes my fire

the ready lure of your eyes

and the fusion of our bodies

melting as the sunset

and the feel of the lunar pull

that compels our desire

and inflames our loins

leaving dew in the night hours

soft rain in early morning

willing exposure of our naked form

sensual fingerprints on my arching frame

your breath is poetry on my throat

and your sigh is the lyrics of a song

new embers await your return

come to me as destiny my love.

The Skin of an Icy Emptiness

 

always in between daylight and moonlight

there falls on my mind like shafts of sunlight-

and streams of twilight , a sense of sadness-

and joy, a silence that distracts me

it's your face and the love we knew

written on the expanse of the heavens

and there falls another footstep.

 

something seems malicious in the hovering clouds

a thing that revolves in intensity, a power I can't explain

O' the timid trials of everyday thoughts and dreams

what harm there is to be open to this secret portal

as it comes with reflection and haunting memories

searching for lost loved ones whose footsteps lie silent

invisible to my eyes and deaf upon my ears.

 

why is my heart even listening to in these vibrations?

while I sift visions that are as invisible as the air

sadness envelopes my mind as my heart follows pursuit

autumns only remind me of such trying times as these

of watching burning wheels in the night sky and smoke-

in the daylight hours feeling the great divide leading to oblivion

where there is no opening nor closing invisible doors or portals.

 

and somewhere in the midst of my recollections I weep

as the trees shed their autumn leaves or the rain falls in prayer

I could have written of so many things like the soft flesh of nightfall

or the fresh petals of a summer flower before it wilts and falls

I could have teased you with a forgotten verse of poetry or prose

maybe I should have painted flames of desire in the stars

I wished for a tattoo of your name burned upon my heart. 

 

no one knows that you are the lamet that lives and dies-

over and over again like nightfall brings the moon and stars

I can never know when you will appear on the wings of the night

carrying the stars in your hand and the moonlight in your eyes.

my amorous love you are like autumn nights or fields of golden wheat

but even in my sadness and the icy emptiness of loss - you're warm to the touch

 

Inspired by Pablo Neruda's " Slow Lamet "

Myrtle Thomas lives in the United States and is retired from a large manufacturing company which gives her time to follow her writing. After years of writing rhyme, she experimented with contemporary poetry and has become in love with it .She has been published in "Otherwise Engaged Literature and Art Journal " Lothlorien Poetry Journal,  Sincere Dalliances, Writers and Readers Magazine, Literary Cocktail Magazine, Masticadores USA, Chewers and Masticadores, Ink Poetry.