Poetry Blog by Cynthia Buell Thomas

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Abdul Ahmad on Confrontation (17 hours ago)

poemagraphic on Confrontation (19 hours ago)

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Don Matthews on The Drive To Write (Thu, 19 Mar 2020 10:17 pm)

poemagraphic on The Drive To Write (Thu, 19 Mar 2020 09:34 pm)

Cynthia Buell Thomas on The Drive To Write (Thu, 19 Mar 2020 03:06 pm)

M.C. Newberry on Buried Treasure - Stuff (Sun, 15 Mar 2020 09:37 pm)


It was an ordinary music class

Boys and girls together,

Thirty teenagers thirteen to fifteen.

I was strolling down the centre aisle

Addressing the day's study

When something happened, trivial but disruptive.

I made a comment, pointed but not mean,

And not personally directed.

But you never know what somebody else hears.


Suddenly a lad leapt out of his desk,

His b...

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The Drive To Write

Last month I had two 'pieces'

Almost fighting each other

In their anxiety to be 'born',

In even the roughest scribble.

Me First! Me first!

They amused me with their squawking

But they were irritating.


Imagination is amazing.

Where does it come from,

The drive to be alive in words?

The 'need to write' is like a fish

Swimming through weeds in a murky pond.


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Buried Treasure - Stuff

In my busy, small town,

On the pavement

Beside the doorway of a small shop,

A battered wire basket

Full of varied books with faded covers

And a thickly scribbled note: 'Help yourself!'


'Ah,' I thought, 'Someone has died.

Probably elderly.

The books look weathered.

And Somebody is clearing out stuff.

A somebody who cannot bear

To trash or torch a book.

Just ...

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I so remember as a child

Struggling with the idea of 'down under':

Boys and girls of half the world

Living 'upside -down'!

But the joke is -

There's a part of me that still wonders!

Regardless of education,

The bizarre concept tickles.


How could I harbour the humour

Of such a thought?

I do know the whole matter

Is really understanding 'scale':

People on the...

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Early March Morning

Early morning in my small town:

Tyres whizzing over pavement

In varied tune of size and speed;

Tits about in bare trees with

Constant chat through twisting twigs.

People and birds are on the move.


But I am still in bed.

Yellow daffodils light the sill,

Their glow of gold as bold as sun.

The flowers and I just 'are'.

How grateful I am for their bright beauty


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A Very Strange Dream

…..... In a simple row boat ….........

Drifting to shore with the in-going tide,

Oars at rest, riding the surging swell,

At peace in my small craft, easy with the elements.

Glancing into deep water over the bow

I see a broad, little fish no longer than my arm

Swimming out from shore

Pushing against a dark, lidded pot the size of my head.

The vessel is floating in with the ...

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The Libra Factor

I feel a peculiar melancholy

As though waiting for a tide of tears

From some part of myself which I do not control.

More refreshment, I think, than despair.

'Sheer nonsense.' chides my brain,

But I take no heed.

Life is not purely Reason, Physics or Emotion.

Balance - all is Balance.

I'm not Libra-born for nothing.


As I grew out of childhood

And became more knowl...

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My Dad Said 3

'Cynthia, Honey,

Life is not all tea and roses.

Sometimes, it's slops and skunk cabbage.'


And Mum would add a line,

'Deal with it.'

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May Morning

That spring the twins had just turned five.

We were visiting Grandma and Grandpa in Canada,

Enjoying every minute with them,

Chatting and laughing, sharing stories.

AND – they had COLOURED TV!


One morning I awoke naturally,

Actually alone.

My window was open to the street.

The neighbourhood was so quiet

You could have heard a footfall a block away.

I hung over th...

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Winter Trees

Oh Me, Oh My!

I don't have the physical energy

I used to take for granted.

Now - pinches and jabs without warning

And the need for more rest,

Preferably in my own bed.

I'm so blessed to have a wide window

And from my pillow, trees to see.


Wonderful trees!

Reaching tall over the rooftops,

Dominating the street.

In mid-winter, stripped to their naked cores,


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Man in a Crowd

The late afternoon sky was magnificent,

Mounded with great clouds

Sweeping overhead at different altitudes,

Bathed in the slanted rays of the sun

Dropping into the scarlet west.


I stopped at the hospital entrance

Thronged with people

Coming and going with decisive steps,

Eyes cast down, focussed on private thoughts.

A little early for my appointment,

I leaned a...

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My Dad Said 2

My dad said,

Rubbing his nose and laying a hand

Across his heart,

'Aaaah, Cynthia,

I do wish you'd use your head

For something

Besides keeping your ears apart'

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The Waiting Room

The common room was large,

Seating patients for diverse appointments in the area.

It was well occupied that afternoon.


My husband and I found two, vacant chairs

In the front row of one section,

Facing the same arrangement a few feet opposite.

A woman directly across from us

Was seated with her skirted knees spread widely,

Offering a view 'all the way to China'.

The ...

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Thoughts in Daylight

Cancer has a one track mind.

Once it enters your body

Its sole goal is: Destroy The Host!

And it is devious.

If it finds one channel barred

It seeks another.

All the natural subterfuge and medical defence

Cannot protect everything at once.

Your whole self wobbles under attack,

Trying to 'keep its feet'

As the very ground shudders.


TIME! Treatment buys time.


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