Death of a loved one changes the lives
Of whom is left behind
He may not understand what is left for him
His direction, path, focus has been fogged
His mind has regressed to escape his stress
His actions become childlike as he seeks
Attention, connection, touch
But only in his form, his way
Not considering other feelings
No awareness of!
No respect for!
Disregarding sensitivity of!
I must have regressed with time
or you have gotten better
near perfect the perception
a prescription for the pertinent
and persistent pain
We are not alone
even though so far from home
the fires burn from an eruption of time
and I did my time
cascading thru a calculating mind
adding up whatever money we could find
to pay the toll or toil I am told
my feet to your fires and I'm ash
painted crosses upon our backs
as the front of the summer heat
reaches our need
and I need
more than just the sum of tomorrow
but of all eternity
no matter how bright it may be
I was a young mother
had just put the baby to bed
laid down on a couch exhausted
my eyes closed
I regressed to another lifetime. I was dressed like a flapper
maybe the 1930’s, I knew I was in Chicago
I was running in heels, my feet hurt
if the car chasing me caught me I was dead
Someone yelled and jumped out of the car
I turned down an alley without an opening
They caught me and threw me down
I felt the knife cut my throat
and the blood drip
Buried in the depths of my soul is the unrealized hope of a full explanation
Covered over by shovels full of doubt and thoughts regressed
Brilliance which lost its edge from lack of use lies in a state of degradation
Can hope with its own will stir once again the creative mind
Bringing forth seeds of thoughts that demand to be expressed
That they may be embellished by those holding thoughts of a like kind
This is the essence of my life’s revelation
To expose those soulful thoughts, that all may be blessed
Luring thoughts that deserve our full admiration
To put them in rhyme I’m often inclined
For me it’s the medium that seems to be best
Alloying a rhythm to be intertwined
No matter the depth of their foundation
The soulful thoughts will evolve on their quest
Fulfilling the purpose of their creation
SLAB IS FAB
I just found out about the town of Slab City
Well, perhaps it is not really a town as such
It sounds like a mix of Hippie and Wild West
Where a civilisation, in its way, has regressed
But in fact from far away, I cannot tell much
I have seen reviews online that it smells ty
Perhaps the next step is to go and actually see
A commune of sorts, but traditionally lawless
Maybe I’ll arrange some sort of early protection
But they’ll have many needles for any injection
There will be a few who think they are flawless
Yet is this a place to live a real life or a fantasy
Otherwise homeless, some find accommodation
Old wrecks, and homes not so mobile anymore
Drugs, yet not quite the same as the Sixties was
In it’s way, a depressed and ugly version of Oz
Perhaps they would not term themselves as poor
As after all, it’s still a Californian desert location
Smile, Be Happy
Miracle Man
1/5/2024
On occasion my lips attempt to smile,
but days find me having my bout with pain.
I readily admit its been awhile,
but I’m not someone whose apt to complain.
The winter of life has not been unkind,
and I feel so blessed that I’m still here.
I mostly feel I am somewhat confined,
which contributes to making days seem drear.
Advanced age has limited my movement,
I've now regressed from a cane to walker.
Doctors proclaim, I'll see no improvement,
it's hard to smile when I'm a known balker.
You're an empty old man now.
Wisdom fell short of your doorstep.
People are supposed to come to you for advice
, but you're still a mercury-headed fool, so they don't.
You've visibly and emotionally regressed.
Your once lush mind island is shrinking.
Overrun by rats of pig-headedness.
You dedicate every breath to yourself and nobody else.
A one-acre burning hurricane
island
of
death.
Women are gathering,
collectively moving
in ever narrowing circles
around the cloudy orbit
of my psyche.
Both ghosts and the living
revolve ever nearer
all intent upon one purpose.
Never much the womanizer
I allowed women in.
Some played me
on the shoulder of a dark cello,
some loved me as best they could.
White flags and red flags
waved on a common field
leading inevitably
to disorderly retreats.
Toads evolved
into eagles and flamingos,
then regressed back to tadpoles.
Loathing could easily melt
to obsession,
sometimes appearing
as that opaque moonglow
often mistaken for love
at a distance.
Now the women
circle my life closer and closer,
not to menace
or forgive, or renew a romance,
but to close those broken circles
love makes
when it breaks up with itself.
The Amourette Autopsy
In vesper’s curt caress there seems no bind
To daylight’s brim or morning’s dire decree-
Your vertigo embrace confounded vows,
Within a steel wheeled cauldron we stirred swamps
We hyperventilated hurricanes
Cajoled embraces, arrogated from
your groom and registry and welling eyes;
Celestial bliss, we buzzed God's prayer vault.
We even deemed the telescopic murk
a trough where genuflections might could reach;
You spun away to opium dens, supine,
I could not trace Icarian designs.
You tiptoed the obituary scene
Without your leaving even a toe’s wake-
But in your swirl you must have slipped but once
in its ambitious, enterprising ink.
Oh butterfly why you abjured your wings,
Regressed to the cocoon womb’s staid address?
I wish I could interrogate your wraith
by dream, concussion, disembodiment.
Enraptured by your sallow soft trained tress-
drapes gaped to manifest seraphic tones
of fairness, though distraught by varying hues
that sapience esteems the bends of life
Silence can sometimes say more than words.
Like a voice crying out saying "that's for the birds".
In one glimpse of haughty reveals action turned verb.
Without out even squeeking you unveil; could be worse?
Could be lashing and slashing ripped apart with both hands.
Leaving bodies like mountains seething piles of flesh.
And though you thought it not raught it left me bundled in shame.
I know it was candor fessing up to your game.
No excuse for the sadness that was left in your wake.
A timely disaster open hearts, bleeding hate.
Not a feeling I'm fond of not even one bit.
Like rolling rock rivers, canyons erode dissapate.
I became something new something truly regressed.
It's all of your fault caught by surprise must confess.
Makes me sick to my stomach knowing you only lied.
Bringing shame to my standing the proverbial line.
It's sad though you had nothing and I had only to give.
Though my heart sustained damage I somnambulantly live.
Scarred for life by this treachery even talk of a kid.
It all seems so stupid now thinking you were the best.
But now I have nothing I'll leave you to the rest.
Don't be surprised if I forget your name
It's nothing personal, you understand?! I just don't play these games
It's not for pride or because I'm reluctantly shamed
It's because I moved on the day's fruit was my aim
I know that I promised to be this or do that
But those promises were lies, a fortress quelled by facts
I know that you loved me and that word's lost it's meaning
But you have to forgive and let time begin healing
My pride stepped in front not allowing conceding
Insert foot into mouth, how bout now are you seeing?!
It's just your prerogative telling all of your woes
Cowardly kinder as your weapon tale concoction seep flows
Now I became scapegoat for your truth and the lie
Ignorant, veinly feigning false pretense of you, oh my
I sit now and think "is this more time that I waste?"
"Should I be somewhere else breaking bread? Making haste?"
Just another conjunction of illusion regressed
If this is conclusion then there's no resolve, a test...
We just live confused, convoluted, unresolved and depressed....
Regressing to the mean
Mortality seemed "out there", a long climb;
A somewhen to think about another time,
A cloudiness too distant from my prime.
Too quickly have I regressed to the mean
And my end time no longer a dream.
Copyright 2021 Paul Thomson
Mass Immigration
Once upon a time, there was a mass emigration
from Northern Europe to America, caused by social injustice
and bitter poverty.
46%n of the population in Norway immigrated to the USA,
the immigrants settled mainly in places like Minnesota and
another northern state as farmers as the land was easy to come by.
Few of them came back to Norway, those who did were
to show off their wealth such as a big car,
having a car was beyond reach for ordinary people even up to
the ninety fifties.
No sane Scandinavian goes to America anymore, this because
politically the USA didn´t evolve but in many ways regressed
into boneheaded conservationism.
Yet for many, say, Latin America where people have suffered
under various dictatorships, North America still offers hope
of work and food on the table.
I cannot save
I cannot save the world
I cannot,
I cannot save environments
I can not save, here
and recover my progress
whilst the world has regressed,
I can't be safe here.
///
But I want my loves to be.
///
I cannot safeguard
My happy people, my chosen family
I cannot extend a net below their feet,
only a rope to tread on, above an abyss, inciting stumbling.
I cannot be social, lest I lose safety
So unseen, they may disappear.
///
I cannot save money.
And money is not safe.
I cannot give money,
to those i love the best.
///
I cannot do so much,
So I'll just have
to do
or give
the rest.
It's tough to pen those first few lines
It happens to me all the time
Anew I start idea-less
With pounding head, internal stress
I often yearn to just resign...
It matters not if sun does shine
I need some rules, some fixed guidelines
To launch a verse into process
Those first few lines
You may suggest a glass of wine
To help me find my inner rhyme
I tried that once, my pen regressed
Out spilled an alcoholic mess
Which sober judged as asinine --
Those first few lines
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