Thomas Wells Poet Political Verse

Lizett Garcia

Breast with me,
beating like a bird.

In our moment
all hope soared
with a fragrant moon
and kissing
was the mixing of culture.

At these depths
I felt what tore
at the threads
of your music.

I met the guns
of El Salvador.

I touched the pallid
flesh of your dead
riveted friends.

I hosted your nightmare
of butchers.

Your fingers are refined
for the making of music.

Your thumbs
are peasants,
ready for revolution.

Published Black Buzzard Press - 1982
Political- personification

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Gregory Richard Barden June 14, 2020 at 3:58 AM I really enjoyed this, Thomas - the depth and layers, but especially your word use and imagery, and the musical metaphors, (I am a musician) ... very powerful, but much beauty as well. Adding to my favorites! Blessings! Thomas Wells June 14, 2020 at 12:56 PM Hello Gregory, Thank you very much! I am glad you picked up on the musical metaphor. I seem to experience a sense of music quite often when writing poetry. As a musician, you undoubtedly experience this yourself. Be safe and have a wonderful day! Shalom and paz!