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Best Poems Written by Thomas Bruce

Below are the all-time best Thomas Bruce poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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People of the Night

People of the Night 
Atlantic House Tavern

Street lights glow on aged stone walls, 
Follow life’s beat, the old tavern calls. 
Silhouettes framed in soft window light,    
Bridges across time, people of the night.  

Framed pictures on walls, old halcyon days, 
Spying on those, carrying on in their ways.  
Standing on shoulders of some ancient ghost, 
Art built upon art, then sharing night’s toast.       

People of the night, span decades of time, 
Some paint, some act, some speak in rhyme. 
Tonight’s summer crowd, succumbs to it all, 
The gyrating music, sounds rise and then fall.       

They seek greater heights, to find a true path,
Pushing the boundaries, often feeling the wrath.   
We stand closely together, and revel this night, 
Then melt into darkness, before day’s first light.

Details | Thomas Bruce Poem

Girlfriends of the Villages

Girlfriends of The Villages

I noticed them right away, so full of life,
Girlfriends of The Villages - Bling Night. 
I know that’s kinda long but stay with me.  
Simply put, they were all light and dazzle.   
It was easy to be struck by their real beauty.   
But as always, things were more complicated.
 
They were more than big bright diamonds, 
More than the silvery, mirrored, sequins, 
More than the red carpet, gold, high heels,    
And more than their shared mock elegance.  
If you looked beyond the bling, you’d see it,  
As tangible and real as the starlit onyx night.  

They sunk into each other when they spoke, 
And every gesture drew one to one another,  
Every touch of the hand, every inviting smile.
They shared life’s trials and life’s tribulations,     
And they shared the night and everything in it,   
As they danced and perspired in the tropic air.
 
Come dawn, the extravagance of night is gone, 
And the fake bling opulence is all packed away.
But the bond of friendship, will always endure, 
And knowing that whatever life hurls at them, 
They will never, never, lose these ties that bind.
Girlfriends for life, for here, for now, for always.

Details | Thomas Bruce Poem

The Christmas Golf Cart Parade

The Christmas Golf Cart Parade 

The Christmas golf cart parade lifted me up today. 
Maybe because Spanish Springs is the oldest square,
And so many yesterday’s find a way into everything,
Or maybe the beauty of the chill, late November day,
With crystal clear slanted sunlight, and slate blue sky.   
Or maybe a parade just has ways of tugging our hearts.  
But as the coming snare drums and trumpets sounded, 
I knew this parade was not about going back to a place, 
But instead, this parade was about joining one to another, 
And about finding a common thread to stitch us together, 
As we lined every street and craned our necks to watch.  
All of us connected, one to the other, all walks, all creeds,
As if the parade were the conductor, and we the orchestra,
And some perfect symphony had found our waiting hearts.   
So, to all of you marchers, to all of you twirlers, and dancers, 
And to all of you special clubs, who gathered for us today,    
And found some way, in a turbulent world, to make us smile, 
Thank you from us all, for projecting your heartfelt humanity,   
For taking us to a place where we can all find common ground,  
And for taking us to a place where we find joy in just being us.

Details | Thomas Bruce Poem

Once and Not Forever

Once and Not Forever

I asked one moment, why am I here tonight,
When once you stood countless light years,     
And millions of perfect stars beyond reach.  
Out of grasp and always living in a dream,   
Waiting high on a pedestal in the cosmos, 
Tantalizing beauty and goddess perfection.

But there is no blinking starlight tonight,  
And a soft dark rain is falling down gently.  
Our lips close the space, just inches apart,  
And rushing pulses of life sweep over me,  
As unstoppable as a new rising ocean tide.   
No longer will I see you in misty shadows.
 
But tomorrow, a Harvest Moon will find us,  
With summer’s illusions, lost in the chill air,    
And memories that fade and fade to nothing. 
But I will hold fast to the touch of your skin, 
And the lasting memory of your pale soft lips,  
As we soared above all, once and not forever.

Details | Thomas Bruce Poem

Ode To the Periwinkle

Ode To the Periwinkle

In thinking about it today, it was some time ago, 
But I can still feel the cool bath house concrete, 
As my feet found relief from the hot summer sand.  
The tasty periwinkles were always my quest,
Small edible sea snails that were like caviar to me, 
Not just me, but the whole lot of us, the clan I guess,    
And so, we took our colorful plastic beach pails,   
The same ones used to make castles and fill moats, 
The same ones bought cheaply at some five and dime, 
And we trekked through the hot grainy beach sand, 
To the endless, jagged, rocky, Atlantic coastline.    
There, among the sea urchins, and rock weed, 
and seaweed, and small minnows, close to shore, 
The periwinkles clung fast to the slick black rocks, 
Craggy, shoreline rocks, worn smooth by time and tide,   
Rocks the periwinkles needed, for all life’s sustenance.     
But once we had cooled our feet in the gentle lapping waves,  
We begin pulling the small shells from their rocky homes,   
The periwinkles were abundant then, and we took our fill, 
And each one of us topped our cheap pails to the brim.  
There was much we gathered from the ocean, way back then, 
Clams, quahogs, flounder, cod, mussels, a smorgasbord really,  
But today, it is the periwinkle that shall have a moment to shine,  
Today, this small creature will cast a light on so many yesterdays,   
Like an old lighthouse beacon, from some bygone summer night.

Details | Thomas Bruce Poem

A Night At the Village Square

A Night at The Village Square 

Music is drifting out into the warm night air.  
And crowds gather in thick circles of humanity, 
Turning perfect concentric rings around the stage. 
Ballroom style dancers are floating in tandem, 
While multiplying line dancers spread long lines.   
There’s a group of dancers in lighted bounce shoes, 
And the wispy movements of a lone ballerina, 
As she glides gracefully through the sea of bodies.   
Tonight, my world is a metronome of movement,    
Marking time to a perfect, succinct bass rhythm, 
While all the nights’ people follow the distant hum.        
Overflowing restaurants are brimming their seams,
While the murmurous muffled sounds of life escape  
And mingle before melting into the muted din of night.     
Golf carts are everywhere, adorned with blinking lights, 
And trinkets and signs, and anything you can imagine.   
There are coolers and chairs and unending comradery,    
New traditions to be lived, and old lived again,      
Everyone finding something familiar in the crowd,     
As children dart about in awkward bursts of innocence.        
Soon, the fading light gives in to a purple black sky,  
Adorned with brilliant stars to elaborate for words. 
Below this canopy, are generations of then and now, 
Converging here in some finger lakes of spirits,     
Melding into one singular unifying pulse of life,   
Tonight, and nightly, and always, and forever.

Details | Thomas Bruce Poem

The Legend

Just about every morning, I see him there,   
A solitary figure on the basketball court. 
He is shooting free throw after free throw, 
And most of them go in, but some do not.    
But it doesn’t matter now like it once did,  
Not anymore, not so far away from fame, 
And a half century away from big crowds. 
I bet it would have meant everything once, 
Back in a time when the lights were bright, 
And a crossover dribble was second nature. 
For the shooter, it’s the allure of the game, 
This city game that spread out like wildfire, 
A game played in small, overstuffed gyms, 
And any patch of country dirt with a hoop.  
For some, the game’s siren call never dies.  
The days, months, and years turn to decades, 
And the shooter keeps shooting free throws,
No doubt seeking the sweet swishing sound, 
Of the ball going in with spinning perfection.
There is no other alternative for the shooter, 
It is just him, the basketball, and the basket, 
And the slow rhythmic cadence of each shot, 
Chasing the game until the final buzzer sounds, 
Shot after shot, in the still, tropical, morning air.

Details | Thomas Bruce Poem

The Empty House

The Empty House

My first recollections of our life here
Will always be the tropical landscape, 
The endless rows of swaying palm trees, 
The miles of impressionist shades of green, 
And the abundant brilliant bursts of color. 

First days, spent meandering a new world,
Drinking in everything our eyes could find.
Newcomers, wrapped in a cloak of innocence,
And overcome with a tidal wave of nature,
That thrust her forceful will over everything.    

The long and trancelike, mornings walks, 
And the unrushed pace of life being lived.    
All of the smiling, agile, time worn faces, 
Accepting of life and seeing fate as fate.    

But life is never just the beauty that surrounds,
And sometimes answers are revealed slowly, 
In measured indomitable beats of human time.
Time only measured in days laid on top of days,  
Like songs strung together in life’s symphony.  

Tonight, a full moon rises over an empty house,  
Finding only bare floors and stark blank walls, 
Silent moonlight, in rooms stripped bare of you,   
As time and life here begin another new chapter,  
Over and over again, in forever’s unending story.

Details | Thomas Bruce Poem

In One Moment

In One Moment

In one moment, naked branches will bloom,
And be flush with green leaves and flowers, 
And they can bear the sweetest ripest fruit, 
Before the leaves turn brown and scattered,  
And icy winter comes to embrace the world.

In one moment, sand dunes rise like sphinx, 
Standing vigil through time as silent sentries,   
Strong and constant against the tempest sea,  
A life of, forming, shifting, taking, giving back,  
Then, gone forever beneath a rogue steel wave.
   
In one moment, the greatest love will be born, 
And will keep us whole and keep us nurtured. 
We will be immersed so fully and deeply in it, 
And it will be a light and constant companion,  
Until it is gone as quick as dark blinking eyes.  

In one moment, the carousel will turn and turn, 
And the yellow lights will be iridescent and alive. 
You will know then, that the ride ends too soon, 
The dobby horse paint now cracked and peeling, 
A life once lived, here and gone, in one moment.

Details | Thomas Bruce Poem

A Day in the Life

A Day in The Life

The eastern horizon, brings a new promised day,
Let’s follow our hearts, where way leads to way.
The futures not promised, and what’s past is past,  
Let us seek for no more, than to make this day last.  

Each of us a swatch, stitched with silken thread, 
Patches bound together, spoken words unsaid. 
This tapestry of life, lays stretched before us all,
Just follow where it leads and heed the clarion call.

For you are no more than I, nor I any more than you, 
Our souls and spirits are joined, in all we say and do, 
And when countless stars, mark the end of days light, 
We feel our tugging hearts, share the secrets of night. 

A day in this life can be found between you and me,   
We’re connected by a bond, we feel but cannot see.
Together we share a journey, on life’s bumpy road,   
Twisting and turning along, with stories still untold.