Regressed Poems

The Maturation of Soulful Thoughts II

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

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

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.

One Acre Island

sorry I have to abandon you
because your toxicity level 
has reached an all time high..
the inability for you to acknowledge and accept 
that people have differing opinions ...
your whole life you've wallowed in self righteous muck
your hostility is always just beneath the surface
ready to blow to strike to bite..

You're an old man now
but wisdom didn't fill in the shadows
of your time here ...
people are supposed to flock to you for advise
but you're still a mercury headed fool so they run...
You've visibly and emotionally regressed
you're once lush mind island is shrinking
over run by rats and a yellowing life raft-

Its just you -LEFT
and one giant pumice head...
a dedication to yourself
on a lonely unreachable
one acre 
burning
hurricane 
island
of 
death

The Women

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

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

Golden

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.

Infinite Succession, An Exercise In Futility

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

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

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

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.

Those First Few Lines

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

Broken

A permanent state of psychosis-
Floating in a pool of your illusion
Mentally a constant intrusion
Desire and loneliness committing collusion
I lament
While claiming the shattered pieces of our love -
Every fragment
Carrying the weight of sentiment
Incapable of balancing the existing leverage
Predicament tough to swallow like a hot beverage
Now regressed to this new constrict
Absence causes the feeling of derelict
My emotions now leaning at a bevel
The sinkhole in my heart carrying tears to fill a pool of any level...

Again, I Stop at a Fork in the Road

Again, I Stop at A Fork in the Road

Again, I stop at a fork in the road
And trust experience will guide me.
One way looks rough; the other, not so easy,
And so I must choose which path to follow.
I weary of the weight from carrying my load
(Others have regressed for fear of consequence)
And regret past choices and where they’ve led,
That I would about-turn and not be bold.
After ascertaining my dilemma, I reach out for advice;
The thought of being wrong frightens me.
I realize I cannot face the future alone
And pray God forgives me for my cowardice
In procrastinating my time by idleness.
Without belief in Christ, there is no hope.

Samaja

Samaja
 Complicated matters
 Sore behind the sack Shadows 
Chronic enabler
 Breached philosopher screaming to the handlers
 What my problem is I cannot forgive 
But only forget all the tragic happenings
 And irony unless it takes some time to heal 
And never less I shall regressed and to myself selflessness
 And as I Ponder close to wonder I will convey my settlements
And think bout how I feel, for real
 Samaja 
Wonderful leap year Vision obscure by the pestilence 
Insured semantic beautiful and I are wonders of wonders
 By far you are mine to adore
 And what is the problem and can we solve them
 All I know is that we ought to be brought up to 7 * 70
 You are envisioned and for all the world's fault man's divisions
 As I think about it you are forgiven
 You are one of a kind my peace of mind
 my fruit of the Vine can hardly wait to call you forevermore you are
 Samaja

Written by James Edward Lee Sr
 From forth coming anthology  "Samaja"

• Short Regressed Poems
• Famous Regressed Poems
• Best Regressed Poems
• Read Regressed Poems
• Long Regressed Poems
• Regressed Quotes