Best Thomas Poems
For the rose without season is you
Light between stars shine through your soul
Ocean of kindness whispers your name
Joy resides in those beautiful eyes
Treasure trove,a friend to keep
Humbleness and Honesty your virtues
Open-hearted to all,expecting nothing in return
Mother and Wife who lives life for her beloveds
Admirable for verse,and much more for gentle deeds
Special is the best word which sincierely describes you.
Dedicated to Flo.J Thomas- a friend who supported so many soupers here on ps ,by reading our poetry,and encouraged so many by giving free memberships ,She even sent so many surprise gifts across the ocean,one of which has even reached my own land,and made me so happy.
Today Flo. is gone.Her account is closed,and Her beautiful words are now replaced by an empty page, on this site.This saddens me deeply. It saddens me anytime any souper gets hurt enough to leave.It hurts because poetry 's purpose is not to hurt people but to unite them.Us soupers here should be more careful how to use our words .Lets not let our tongues work faster than our hearts,nor our pretentious minds play the game better than our kindred souls.Someone have hurt Flo badly by stating mean remarks about Her,so I was told.I don't know who that someone is,because Flo was woman enough not to reveal names,but She was hurt,hurt enough to leave here, and close Her account.I can't watch more soupers leave due this nonesense.Pls lets all be more careful how to use our words.I am not pointing fingers at anyone in particular,I am saying this to myself as well.We all need to be more gentle and respectful .Situations like these are making friends considering leaving here for good, and each time one of us is gone, its a huge loss for our soup familyLet us all remember that once we utter a word we cannot take it back.It is ok for us to be different,have our distinct ideas, it is great to share them,but lets do everything with love.
To our dear Flo I say -'Please do return to poetrysoup and open a new account.I am sure you are greatly missed by many,sweet lady with an uplifting spirit.Thanks for being You.Pls Come Back '.
A Dylan Thomas State of Mind
It’s precisely 2:45am...the time when
~ if I’ve fallen asleep ~
I always awake to find
Myself drenched in sweat.
I lie here beside my beloved
~ as I have so steadfastly since
16 November 2016 ~
Thinking about...wondering...pondering
The end of my existence.
I am not talking about
Taking my own life.
NO!
I’ve seen, heard, touched, tasted, smelt
too much...
I’ve survived too much, felt too much...
I value Howard’s sweet...sweet...
Nurturing soul’s devotion
To keeping me alive these past 40 years
To raise my hand against myself...now.
I AM talking about these things:
Where do we go when we die?
Do I have a soul?
Will I be conscious — at the moment it happens —
That I am drawing my very last breath?
Sometimes, when I awake in the early morn,
Howard is motionless beside me
And I stare at his beautiful face.
Dare I reach out and touch it with one finger?
What if it’s stone cold?
His flesh heavy...dead?
Death.
The End of Living.
The End...The End...The End...
Last January I begged for surcease...
For an end to the pain...
An end to the physical torture...
An end to the psychic suffering...
The constant thoughts of:
“Is there a Hell?”
“Will I go there if I take my own life?”
“What does ‘eternity’ mean?”
Now this morning of 19 October 2017
I am thinking...feeling...praying:
Please...Please...Please...
God/Goddess/All That Is/The Universe/The Spirit
Make my neglected hated scorned body
Healthy and whole.
So I may live
today...
tomorrow...
next month...
next year...
Do not let me go gentle into that good night.
I am alive now...
And I rage...
I RAGE NOW!
....against the dying of the light.
Barbara Dickenson
19 October 2017
For the rose without season is you
Light between stars shines through your soul
Ocean of kindness whispers your name
Joy resides in those beautiful eyes
Treasure trove,a friend to keep
Humbleness and Honesty,your virtues.
Open-hearted to all,expecting nothing in return.
Mother and wife who lives life for your beloveds
Admirable for verse,and much more for deed.
Special is the best word that sincierely describes you.
Dedicated to my dear friend Flo with love and gratitude-Thankyou.
(Please spare one minute to read my blog: FJ.Thomas if you can.
Not
loved by
the critics,
artist Kinkade
adds a special glow
to his pastoral art.
A number of plates graced with
his cozy scenes adorn my home.
Kinkade understands a woman's heart.
Written Dec. 7, 2015
For the Famous Painter Poetry Contest of Nayda Ivette Negron
Between The Lines
Tribute to FJ Thomas
@ poetrysoup.com
No doubt you'll read the words she writes
of love in lovers eyes.
Seashells on a beach somewhere
beneath the clear blue skies.
Holding hands and taking walks
in the springtime in a park.
Or whispers being whispered
by lovers after dark.
But when it comes to those she loves
and those that stand beside her.
Unless you read between the lines
it's all kept safe inside her.
Like dreams some dream long after dark
while laying fast asleep.
And promises of secrets known
she promised she would keep.
There's nothing there to hold her back
there's nothing she must hide.
It's just it's much too personal
to talk of tears she's cried.
There were times in love before
when certain words were spoken.
What she got for all she gave
was getting her heart broken.
So for now she's come to think
of the heart that's in her chest.
Certain things are better off with
those that she knows best.
All in all just like a star
you can see how her love shines.
But to see beyond the light
you must read between the lines.
Edwin C Hofert
Picture provided by: http://s1264.photobucket.com/user/Rita7070/
Tom sat there eating the last of his bread,
wondering if the next day he'd get fed,
felt like a dumb cluck,
down on his luck,
till a light went off the top of his head.
11-19-16
Open Letter to Thomas Jefferson
You sir, destination unknown, I dare
To address. A son of worthy causes
For land vast in majesty and vast as
Vast can be in matters of liberty;
With ideals so prim and suffused with
Philosophical forethought derived from
Your bumper harvest of keen knowledge from
Poetry to paleontology;
You the offspring of music and science,
Master of the whims of public forum,
Framer of destiny of the nation,
Bearer of the conscience of masses and
Winning hurdler of political kinks.
Now, the moldering public discourse is
Unbearable. One can no more cover
One’s nose. Nowhere is a silent shelter
From megaphone of ubiquitous din.
Where is a refuge? Simply, know not I.
I beseech you, sir, for learned counsel.
As thundering wildebeest migration
Clouds the slopes of national horizon:
Tulip of your acclaimed Law of Nature
Lies in the path of a roaring rampage.
I beg to ask, why uncanny tactile
Projections of your mind failed to measure
And forecast proneness to such afflictions.
Sir, you did not proscribe such maladies,
Or provide cautionary bells, at least.
Where have all the magistrates gone, I ask?
As I flip pages of your Summary View:
Prefaced by a motto of Cicero:
“It is the indispensable duty
Of supreme magistrate to consider
Himself as acting for community,
And obliged to support its dignity,
And assign to the people, with justice,
Their various rights, as he would remain
Faithful to the great trust reposed on him.”
Your pristine flora of the applied skills
In statesmanship and proper decorum
Is being supplanted by scurrilous
Scions of egocentric rhetoric.
Pails of justice are perceived as empty
By the parched sectors of land of plenty–
Await quenching rain of tenderness, but
Clouds of compassion remain unseeded.
Please forgive the outburst of my verses.
To rein my pen is to muzzle my soul.
Loki:
Sigyn and Angrboda know their wyrd well
Even the far seeing eye of odin
Does even the all seeing eye have its faults?
The curse of knowledge or forgetfulness perhaps
Angrboda is born of the blood of the volva
She knows well the fates and
wyrd of men and immortals alike
The mother of wolves, my lovely consort
Sigyn my love,ever loyal and in morning
Has resigned herself to the fate of her wyrd
She too burns for revenge against the aesir
For you have transformed one son into a wolf
Only to have him kill his brother Nari
Then to transform poor vali back
Then to despair over his brother's entrails
And to commit an agonizing death
For what crime did my sons do,
Lord Odin as you proclaim yourself judge
Jury and executioner
And for what wrongs did my children
Jorgamundr, Hel, and Fenrir do
They were but kids when you had them
Imprisoned for Half Fashioned prophecies that
were made by three old wise women,
Have they not had their intuitions
misinterpreted before…..
So my children pay for my mistakes
You aesir who claim to be fair
Is this the famed fairness of the aesir
The destruction of my family
Driving us apart
I think that hardly righteous or fair
Tom Turkey got lost 'midst the teeming flock,
Thus, avoiding the dreaded chopping block!
Hunkering down spared his life,
Averting the carving knife!
He now recovers from traumatic shock!
Do not go gentle into morning light
Young souls should burn and rave at start of day
Rage, rage against the coming of the night
Though wise men at their dawn know toil is right,
Because their deeds must fork some lightening they
Do not go gentle into morning light
Good men, the first wave high, knowing how bright
Their great deeds must now cleanse a putrid bay
Rage, raging against the coming of the night
Wild men, who free the blazing sun in flight,
And learn, too late, earth burned along the way
Do not go gentle into the coming night
Young men, near prime, who see with lucid sight
Keen eyes must see like soldiers in the fray
Rage, rage against the coming of the night
And you, my daughter, here on the glad height,
Curse, bless, mankind with your fierce zeal, I pray
Do not go gentle into morning light
Rage, rage against the coming of the night.
Eileen Manassian
Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night is one of my favorite poems. Dylan Thomas has written a masterpiece. I wanted to write a poem that isn't about the regret that comes with facing death, but rather the awareness that comes from knowing that the dawning of a new day brings with it opportunities to be grasped. I've mirrored some of what he has written and added my take on issues of life and death. There are references in my poem to the need to be environmentally aware. I welcome your feedback.
let me find
let me stay
in this wonderful
hideaway
where the murmur of
waters rushing gently
is ablaze with flowers
hued differently
and the scene bathed
in a silvery light
a vision of Eden
unspoiled and bright
the mystery and wonder
of God's creation
the rich variety
of nature's formation
where I am
fed
where I am
led
beside waters
calm
where peace
is a balm
He restores
my soul
and makes me
whole
I feel
refreshed
and totally
blessed
beside
waters still
God
shows me
His will
I slept with my guitar,
I guess was inept.
I was not in accord,
my guitar slowly wept
I slept with my piano
—such a torrid tease,
it tinkled with my tuner
and slew me with its keys
I slept with my bassoon,
it ruffled up my hair.
Un fétiche pour bouffant?
I didn’t really care
I slept with my recorder,
in between the sheets.
The score became discordant
but the music sure was sweet
I slept with tenor sax
kinky though it seems
Did I get the ax?
Or was it in my dreams?
From blog,
That Life Extends Its Seeds Beyond Our Mortal Coils,
Wherein Truth And Light Sets A Saving Path
My Dylan Tribute poem,
Second poem
Man Is More Than A Vessel Stranded Out At Sea,
Second Tribute Poem to Dylan Thomas
That life may floweth into sad years of old age
Flailing against savage cuts that bring frothing rage
We in our mortal weakness are but flesh and bone
Oft sailing within storms as world's darkness is blown
Seeking life and wonderment on every page
Even if a lost actor on an empty stage
Railing against Time and Fate, and the great unknown
Only to have dreams trampled and peace overthrown!
Whether in the midst of ones' life and joy thus brought
Or befuddled by the chaos of lies when caught
Heart and soul must act as caretaker of ones' life
Wake to thank the morn, overcome the daily strife
Remember that life is a most precious gift
And life sets mystic patterns that eternally shift
Look at the beaming sun, speak well thanking each day
Search for happiness with sincere praise bow to pray!
In this mortal life walk a true and peaceful path
Try to avoid those steeped in rampaging wrath
Search deep for the magnificent bounty of love
Ever look skyward, plead for blessings from above
Hold to the wisdom- life tis a sweet gift from God
For the truth is upon this dark earth we must trod
Man is more than a vessel stranded out at sea
There is a close link between Heaven, God and thee!
Robert J. Lindley, 12-29-2020
Rhyme, ( In Life, Good And Bad Are The Perils We Must Face )
Second Tribute poem to Dylan Thomas..
Note :
After being stumped for days -this came to me this morn.
Spent the day, rewriting and editing. Finally decided that
this is it. As a poet I have said what I wanted and thus
honored the man, the poet as to the best of my ability
to do so… This came after 3 other poems were written
and then trashed.. God bless..
When I was 12 weeks pregnant
my husband and I found out news
News that would change our lives
Shake our entire foundation.
My first son
my loved
Wanted
Long-waited for child
had local exstrophy
During what we thought was a routine checkup
We found out that his lower abdominal wall had not formed correctly
He had a mass as big as his head between his little legs
In the ultrasound
I could barely see his legs because of it
His tiny feet were already clubbed
His spinal cord was tethered
The doctor told us he would never walk or have a functioning bladder
A week later
The situation worsened
We found out his kidneys weren’t working
His lungs wouldn’t develop
After eagerly preparing for our first son
My husband and I
Found out he would die by suffocation upon delivery
If he survived that long
Faced with horrible and difficult odds
My husband and I did what we knew
What was best for our son
Our family
We made the decision to end the pregnancy through abortion
My husband and I loved our first son and wanted him dearly
We named him Thomas
I will forever mourn him
The decision to have an abortion challenged my beliefs around life
My faith
But I have never for a second doubted
This was the right thing to do for myself
My family
Especially Thomas
06122020
Born in ‘42, he started singing in the 60’s when we learned his name.
“Raindrops keep Falling on My Head” is the song that brought him fame.
Smooth pop, rock, and Christian singer, B.J. died in 2021 in May.
His long-time wife, dear Gloria, was with him to the final day.
Jan. 12, 2022
for Michelle Faulkner's A Celebrity Epitaph Poetry Contest