Poetry Blog by Cynthia Buell Thomas

From my mid-teens

If something insulted my sensibilities

Anything – in any context – any medium -

My immediate reaction

With an indignant puff was:

HOLY HOT HANNIBALEM!

Which ejaculation -

Always so satisfying

Flying past my teeth

My tongue relishing alliteration -

Allowed my brain to catch up with my mouth

Levelling the field

For better appreciation

Of a...

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The spoken word

According to precise plan

Is not to be trusted.

Oration is a power play

A skilled practice

Designed first to provoke

And then to persuade.

It can short circuit sense

Deliberately.

Apart from language chosen

And developed

To make best point,

The power of performance

Delivers to a prescribed end.

Polished oration

Plays our senses

S...

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One lovely day last summer

I was stroking along my street

Well content with the sun's deep warmth

The soaring height of our shading trees

And the thick growth of hedges

Flush to the walls beside the pavement

Often spilling into my footsteps.

As I eased pace to enter my complex

Suddenly, out of the dense bushes

Leapt a growling ANIMAL -

Arms extended with curved c...

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'What a beautiful morning!'

From my open window upon the Sunday street

Growth is stirring everywhere -

Daffodils and crocuses in the tree roots.

Tight little buds on tender twigs.

Grass curling up for first cutting.

Hmmmmm …...

And my mind flies out into spring sunshine

Like a soaring bird.

The tree is inherent in the thumping chestnut.

The scarlet maple in the saili...

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He stomped into the small lounge

Deliberately

And dropped his school kit on the floor

Beside the tutoring table

With a thump.

He eyed the paper doily with its apple juice

And the silver muffin cup

Glinting with bright SKITTLES.

Without a word he sat down

Took a sip of juice and licked his lips.

He toyed with choosing the best colour

For first burst of pre-le...

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Give me a simple smile

Upon our meeting,

That ageless, kind propriety

Of greeting.

It takes such little steps

To be a friend

If you care about the signals

That you send.

I'm not asking for a taste

Of toast and tea,

Just a meeting of the eyes -

You see me.

I will not push myself

Into your sphere.

I shall treasure the connection

We have her...

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There is a hill in Bermuda

Very high and steep

With a narrow road from top to bottom

That twists like a preying python.

'Ass Hill' they called it.

And I fully agreed:

You would be a total ass

To negotiate it if you didn't have to

At a mere creep

Praying for reliable brakes

And no traffic from the opposite direction.

I called it Ass Hill for years

Without c...

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