Three Poems by Myrtle Thomas

 

Moonlight on Gravestones

1.

what memories lie in the mind’s grave?
recalling the shadow of a kiss!
the voice that rides in the wind
a diamond that dies in the dark
the dream that looms like a tree
just another cemetery of bodies!

2.

nights when the moon exposes -
those images as phantoms
nothing can change what was
for there is always guilty skin
when it comes to the depths of a heart!

3.

the rain comes when it’s ready to fall
just as a dream becomes reality
I’ve hidden behind grave stones
searching in the midst of a foggy memory
following the whispers compelling me
down certain roads.

4.

tree lined streets with familiar homes
colored flowers growing among last years -
fallen leaves that hold the winter wind
the memory of my womb – dead long ago
swollen with joy and sadness
sperm swimming in a silent river.

5.

a mirror reflecting a redbird caged and still
colors like golden maple leaves scattered
across the fields and tangled in reverence
a temple rises from tumbled gravestones
life and death both surround us
…...reminding our spirits to consume
what life has grown from our roots.

~ The Redbird Sleeps Without A Pillow ~

Words Are The Children Of Tomorrow

I've thought about my hidden thoughts
to find them as children of tomorrow
conceived but hindered by birth
in this I find them withering.

for seeing the bank page set before me
laying just wasting away clean - unstained
so many pages that could have been
maybe should have been- are stillborn.

now my burdens are un-noticed
secretly they swim in my soul undisturbed
whispering to my head to turn away my words
there is a rude conversation from head to hand.

even my eyes fight the spacious clean page
knowing that my words are half dead now
for who even knows the children of tomorrow!
or even desires to know what isn't known today.

I sometimes crumple the words written
toss them away without guilty feelings
knowing that not all words are worthy
nor willing to be noticed in nakedness.

maybe one day my children will be born
birthed by the force of my fingers upon pages
that have lain waiting for their chance of a voice
waiting for their lives to come to life outside of my mind.

Do You Love Me


I still recall those shuddering moments
the times when my skin tingled
when you turned me inside out
awe ! the lust for loves continuum
where we felt the seasons
natural beginnings.

Your pilgrim walks on my guilty skin
where there was at first a wondering
do you love me?
or is there something more insistent!
my eyes opening to a different moonlight
feeling your hands that seemed so
wonderfully reasonable.

It was you who striped me of my skin
exposing the soul that laid within.

Now even the moonlight watches our moving
the hunter dressing last season's prize
for its you who still turns me inside out
brings my aged skin to life

this skin responsible - exposed in respectability
knowing there is no need to wonder
Do you love me!

Myrtle Thomas lives in Southern Indiana near a historic canal town. She has been published in several poetry books and magazines and online poetry sites. A poetry lover since high school she found poetry as a medicine for her soul and an avenue to express her feelings. She writes of love , loss and the natural world we live in.