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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Email: stancyn@northrock.bm
Updated: Wed, 20 Jan 2016 12:33 pm

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Biography

The picture on this profile is by Pablo Picasso, 'The Aperitif'. I admire its boldness, the spirit of strong femininity. There is a poem in my Samples celebrating this realism. I am Canadian - Bermudian - British; of Irish and English descent (Norman actually); a teacher/tutor of Basic Maths, English and Music; a professional singer, an amateur actress, and a published poet; married with twin daughters. I have owned a Manufacturing/Retailing business in craftworks, and later, a Real Estate firm with both selling and letting departments. For many years I had responsibility for staffs up to 20 people while operating four shops simultaneously, and raising twins. It was challenging. I had to learn to be precise; waffling about was a potential killer of energy and effectiveness. But I tried never to lose the focus of that famous idea: I SEE YOU, applied to all persons within my personal sphere. I read widely, appreciate an extensive range of music and greatly enjoy stimulating conversation. I try never to close my mind. Above all, I offer unconditional respect to all persons and expect the same in return.

Samples

The Parting My heartbeats measure the night. How many weeks now has sleep mocked me? How many months? Late in the breathing hours when My blood’s rhythm drowns my mind, When I softly touch oblivion – My hands betray me. Through my fingertips pulses The feel of you; My treacherous hands throb down your body Until their aching need pervades my thighs – My heart – my soul. But I have nothing – Only the feel of you in my fingers. The Dream-footer HEY! FATSO! It was a spring-loving day. YEAH PORKY! So early the sun shone deeply warm. CHOPCHOPCHOP! Across the fields an easy wind sighed Fragrant with cherry blossoms. PIMPLEFACE! Her bare feet disturbed light eddies of dust. HEADLIIIGHTS! Around her thick long hair a red sash glowed. She felt very beautiful. Out of the village proper and down the country road She dream-footed heavily. She was fat – a porky – pimply – impossibly ridiculous – And impregnable; Behind those imperturbable eyes swelled an exotic bloom Ripe to unfold rare petals. She pushed a beat-up baby pram Carrying a peanut butter sandwich, two books, A cheap blanket won at a church fair, Eyeglasses wrapped in toilet paper, And a tambourine: Tin, with six clinky jingles And the ugly picture of a black-haired dancer, Spinning, In vulgar red and bold blue, A free, wild, whirling Gypsy. By the rusted wire gate that no one shut any more because The farmer kept his cows in another pasture, Over the oozy ruts Hop-skipping on the dry spots of the insecure furrows, Dragging the carriage, She dream-footed heavily, The jibes of the village street only a field away. Down to the creek Where dashing little waterfalls slowed To a single sinewy current in mid-stream And the banks lay in opaque water smoothness, Damp and glossy with long marsh grass, Where only the long-fingered weeping willow could point And the golden-eyed bloodroot see, Down to the creek She dream-footed lightly. Nobody to call: ‘HEY FATSO! CHOPCHOPCHOP! By the froggy sky-mirrored water she danced, Tapping her tambourine, Quivering with the nervous delight of silken sleeves Cool slipping down her arms; Dizzy from the swimming trees excitedly flying around, Her skirt a swirl of red, orange, green, blue and Yellow – a treasure, striped in every bright colour, Hanging to the ankles. As she jingled her jangles and joyously stamped Her naked feet, she sang, ‘Tra la la la la la la,’ The clear song of a shameless bird calling In the springtime. She flung herself panting to the cushiony earth And twined her fingers in the sweet grass. A violet brushed her nose. She smiled; it was so pretty, its open face so big. Closing her eyes, back she sank And dreamed. To Fellow Poets if my mind worked like your mind where is the joy in that because your ideas broaden my ideas you thrill me perhaps I would not say it exactly so but enough so to understand your thrust and pull to glory in your view of things all things I find the halo of humanity is receptivity. flashback Icelandic ash swept over Europe high altitude shroud scouring glass and metal all flights cancelled for six days the sky breathed naturally serenely blue washed with dimpled sunshine dappled clouds of long ago whimsy on lazy wind eye comfortable content to be weather vanes too soon jet trails scored the atmosphere criss-crossing tic-tac-toe skewed by schedules and altitudes heavy metal global bound wounding glorious sunsets like truculent children scribbling on ancient canvases modernity re-defining outscapes inscapes airspace refugees dribbled home Lines on Pablo Picasso’s ‘Aperitif’ slim flower head red pollen bold erect on scarlet stalk whispering scented smoke with green breath absinthe moist wormwood curled the perfumed whiff of rosy cunt pressed at bay damp between satin thighs more sleek than silken stockings garter strapped tantalizing roads to mossy fields ungated arm like a swan’s neck imperious conducting conversations her way pulling and pushing the lusts of men and women with her acrobatic words grinding mince out of reasoned philosophies she balances the tray surely the phallic bottle and the open-lipped glass upon her palm spread braced against one sturdy ham crossed over Girl in a Lake on heavy eyes the full moon cast gilded shadows swan path shafting seductive to the shore where she dropped her clothes and entered liquid light jewelled feet icy lustrous pale arms high uplifted now wide eyes of unwavering clarity enraptured dream-wooing dream-possessed she sank gleaming to her knees in the bitter midnight water open palms thrust upward - reaching - offering - beseeching – through her hands she felt sweet vines tumble upon white breasts mellow blossoms shining wetly dark eyes fixed the blinding moon enchanted ravished a black mass mounted the shuddering lake a nervous breeze whipped down the water invisible leaves slipped into gobbling waves drooling tongues licking snatching at her nakedness pushing silken thighs against hunched rocks aghast she reared from their sucking mouths stumbled back to shore where trembling uncontrollably she folded her clothes over her mind Hurricane In the lusty wind the cables whine From pole to pole bending the matchwood Wands by the throat fiercely. Riding at high mast the grim-eyed beetles Clamp their spiked boots deeper and check The safety lock on their leather girdles. With unnatural fingers they fumble for the Lurching wires that clash spitting sparks And lunge apart merrily hissing. Rude logic measures the steel, the wind, the wand, And knows one fateful gust will undo mathematics; One dancing wire with threaded jowls Could tear a man’s head from his fearful shoulders And send it flying into the gale Like a funny ball, Into the maws of the thrashing trees spewing Great cracking branches As dandelion hair. Frantically we bang the shutters together And throw the lawn furniture into the shed Higgledy-piggledy; Push the picnic table against the back door And try to grab the jumping clay pot that Leaps out of its macramé net upsetting the Surprised ivy on to the porch steps. Leave it! Get in! Get in! Cowering in the heart of its snapping bush One gorgeous red hibiscus not yet shredded Bleeds on my eye. Blindly I dash to its rescue, and pluck it free, Cupping it in my hands, gently. Back through the gale I jack-knife Cradling its unblemished beauty. I set it in the window – To shine For the men on the lines.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

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Comments

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Philipos

Tue 28th Mar 2017 15:03

Hi Cynthia really great to hear from you. Yes you were bang on with your suggestion on 'Tolls'. Have been doing open mikes in various parts including Camden and more recently at the New Inn, Send, a hinterland of Woking, the latter courtesy of Greg Freeman's enterprising plans. I don't know if you are the same, but I find inspiration comes in waves. My current poetic home is with the Wey Poets at Guildford. A great bunch they are and thanks again. P. 👍

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Natasha Townsend

Wed 22nd Mar 2017 21:04

Cynthia! Just rereading your comment from 9th December 2016 (like a psycho)! But you're so right. Where do these thoughts come from? Always when my mind's still. I like to ponder on some higher power. Something needs to be said in the world. And if you're quiet enough to hear it (and have the panache to pull it off), it will pick you! It is a gift. 😊🌈👍 Xx

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Colin Hill

Wed 22nd Mar 2017 12:56

well 'Hello You' and thanks for the lovely comment on my profile poem. Two clear weeks for catching up sounds a luxury to envy. Please feel free to dig and delve and comment if you wish Cynthia. My library door is always open.

I know what you mean about profile pics. Travandy's red typewriter is up at the top, iconic as a London bus. I don't recall the chap with the green eye but Suki's Polaroid pic is sheer pop art poetry. Mine changes occasionally with my mood. If I'm feeling particularly open you might get the full face but when I start mentally retreating it disappears to maybe just a cutout birdie. I seem to be halfway between at present - an equilibrium state perhaps. I quite like this one with the specs in an early Elvis Costello kind of way but that's just me being self-indulgent and laughing at my own jokes!

All the best to you Ms Aperitif.
Colin

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john netting

Sun 12th Mar 2017 23:05

Never mind the poetry, thank you for your comment on my face, Cynthia! Something to be treasured, it's been a long time....!

And its been quite a long time since you wrote it - I apologise for the delayed response.

I've been reading some of your work, and get the sense of a formidable spirit there - it's very much poetry to be respected! I shall keep on reading and looking out for your poems as they arrive.

The great thing about WOL is its sheer richness and variety - one comes across poets whose work simply cannot be ignored, even though at first sight their work sometimes seems to be at a tangent to one's pre-existing ideas. In this way we broaden our range of understanding; this has certainly been the case for me, on reading yours. Thank you, Cynthia.

John.

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Maxine

Wed 8th Mar 2017 19:22

Thank you for the lovely comment on my poem "the little things".

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Melissa Gentile

Tue 28th Feb 2017 17:56

Cynthia,

Thank you for your kind words.

Your bio is inspiring, as is the Picasso you included. Looking forward to reading your collection of poetry. You had me at: "the halo of humanity is receptivity." Stunning.

~Melissa

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Ian Whiteley

Mon 27th Feb 2017 17:12

thanks for your kind and insightful comments on 'Unknowing' Cynthia - it was a difficult but cathartic write - I'm pleased you saw its merits
Ian

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Maxine

Sat 25th Feb 2017 22:08

Thank you for the welcome and comment on "good morning" Cynthia. I've been looking around, and enjoying reading.

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Ian Whiteley

Fri 20th Jan 2017 20:32

thanks again for the kind comments on 'Down In The Hole' Cynthia - thankfully my parents took the view 'no son of mine will work down the pit' although a lot of my friends and relatives did - so it's part false persona and partly a homage to some of the stories they told me. I really appreciate you taking the time to comment - cheers
Ian

PS - just noticed you also commented on 'Forsaking Auld Lan Syne' I really must visit these pages more - I'm blooming hopeless - thanks once again for these additional nice comments
Ian

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Trevor Wainwright

Mon 9th Jan 2017 15:06

Thanks for comments on Which Rev

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David Cooke

Mon 9th Jan 2017 09:16

Hi Cynthia Thanks for comment on Le Petit Parisien and I'll have a think about your suggestion.David

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Colin Hill

Sun 8th Jan 2017 09:25

Hi Cynthia - well good for you! Thanks for remembering our chat on this and for updating me which was very thoughtful and appreciated. I've always held that poetry should be adaptable and this has proved that point. To flip the coin, I have sometimes read lines and immediately thought Noooooo that sounds terrible! Or a piece has fallen flat on its poetic arse with the wrong crowd. Or I have changed my choice of poem to read at the very last minute. Have to admit I have dropped performing these last few months. Maybe I will feel the need sometime again in the future. All the best, Colin

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Stuart Bright

Wed 4th Jan 2017 11:56

Thanks for your feedback on 'the voice', its very much appreciated! By the looks of your sample work you are very talented, I think I'll be perusing your past works in the near future!
Thanks again

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Paul Waring

Tue 3rd Jan 2017 20:38

Cynthia, thank you so much for your welcome, lovely to hear from you. Paul

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David Blake

Wed 14th Dec 2016 23:56

Cynthia, thanks for your recent comments on 'Halcyon' and 'Anonymous'. I think I most struggle to find inspiration when I'm thinking too hard about getting something to sound 'right', as opposed to just coming out with initial thoughts and then tidying them up after I finish a poem completely. I think this way is better as it is the best way to get what you want to get across.

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Nigel Astell

Mon 28th Nov 2016 14:05

Thanks for your comment Cynthia

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Michelle Smith

Sat 26th Nov 2016 17:46

Hi Cynthia, thank you for your comment. I have responded to your comment on my profile page.

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Wolfgar Miere

Sat 26th Nov 2016 08:48


Thank you for reading and your comments on "Antithetical union" CBT,

very much appreciated.

Congratulations on your POTW.

David.

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Tommy Carroll

Wed 23rd Nov 2016 19:01

CBT: What exactly abt 'AmeriKana USA' do you not agree with Cynthia? :- )

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ken eaton-dykes

Sun 13th Nov 2016 16:42

Many thanks for your comment Cynthia. Much appreciated.

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Natasha Townsend

Thu 10th Nov 2016 21:18

Cynthia....I appreciate you sharing your secrets. I've been reciting in rooms all evening. Have to say enjoying the cathartic exercise and it really does help me to be more choosey. Thanks x

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Ian Whiteley

Sat 24th Sep 2016 00:17

thanks for the comments on 'black cloud...' Cynthia.
Interesting you picking up on the disjointed lines - I honestly did this deliberately (a) to give a sense of the thoughts that flit in and out of your mind in this circumstance and, (b) to try and set an edge of unease (and 'difficulty' for the reader) because this was the way I was feeling.
So in a way it's worked - but, hopefully, not in a way that makes it too difficult to read naturally.
And if you thought that was a tough read - well the new one goes to a whole new level *wink*
I value your insightful comments as always - and may catch up with you if you're at Sale WOL in October as I am the guest poet - hopefully see you there

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David Cooke

Fri 23rd Sep 2016 18:25

Hi Cynthia

I don't know if I ever passed this on to you but I have recently launched an online quarterly journal of poetry called The High Window. Here is a link:

https://thehighwindowpress.com/

David

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David Cooke

Thu 22nd Sep 2016 06:39

Dear Cynthia As ever I find your comment hugely encouraging. Glad you liked my Schooldays.

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Katy Megan Hughes

Wed 21st Sep 2016 13:45

With regard to The Transformation, your comments felt significantly valid and valuable. I truly believe the archetype of Mary Magdalene (before Catholicism started to interpret her in a different way!) lives a little in all women... : )

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Katy Megan Hughes

Wed 21st Sep 2016 13:39

Ah yes well, there's a story behind that one.... "Disobedient" refers to my going against the will and command of my ex-lover when I first started writing properly. The voyeurs refers to the amount of hits I get on my blog but disproportionate to the comments and direct engagement I get. This has got me thinking though, maybe it's time for a new strapline....x

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Ian Whiteley

Mon 19th Sep 2016 16:20

thanks for the kind comments on 'Black Bear' Cynthia - I guess you will have your own experiences of the wonderful Canadian wildlife - as tourists we appreciated the experience so much - for the locals it seemed so blasé

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Sarah Hill

Sat 3rd Sep 2016 23:23

Thank you for your fine comments, gratefully received

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Trevor Alexander

Wed 31st Aug 2016 20:10

Thanks for your comments on "The Beach", I will certainly consider them. I was conscious of perhaps too much alliteration, and in fact already tinkered on a line or two where it was definitely too much before I posted this! I will have a look at the 'small words'.

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dorinda macdowell

Tue 10th May 2016 16:18

Hi Cynthia
You may recall we met at the recent sixties themed event in Stockport; our daughter ran you and your husband to the station as it was chucking it down with rain! Your husband dropped one of his gloves in her car, and I have kept it safely for you, but since I'm not planning to visit Sale WOL in the immediate future, I cannot personally pass it back to you. However, if you'd like to let me have your address (is this allowed on WOL site?), I will gladly post it back to you. I'm just glad it's not freezing cold or his tiny hand would indeed be frozen! Thanks - Dorinda (WOL Stockport)

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