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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Email: stancyn@northrock.bm
Updated: Sun, 18 Jun 2017 03:30 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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Displaying 1 event (1 Sep 2017 to 30 Sep 2017)

Hover over an event to see the details. (Open Mic open mic event, WOL Write Out Loud event)

Tuesday 19 September 2017

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Comments

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Richard Hartley

Sat 2nd Sep 2017 12:15

Phew! Thankyou for expanding on your earlier comment, Cynthia. I feel hugely reassured!
I'm very grateful that you have taken the time to think deeply about something and then the trouble to put your thoughts out there to be read.
Very much appreciated.
Richard

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Richard Hartley

Fri 1st Sep 2017 09:30

Hello Cynthia
I’m grateful for your comment on my Profile page and appreciate the time and effort you spent in contacting me.
I have a sneaky feeling that I am having my wrist most deliciously slapped – although for the life of me I am unable to work out why!
A pleasurable experience all the same! Thankyou.

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Joe Williams

Thu 31st Aug 2017 17:12

Thanks for your comments Cynthia, I'm glad you liked the poem and my biog. I think the word you're looking for to describe the profile pic might be "drunk" :D

It looks like you're a regular at WoL Sale, so I hope I'll see you there in November when I'm one of the guests.

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Richard Hartley

Fri 18th Aug 2017 18:05

Hello Cynthia
Thankyou for you kind words - about my poem and my poetry group!
It is great fun having a monthly poetic get-together but I think I'm probably more highly valued as an organiser than as a poet - but hey, I'll take whatever appreciation I'm given in life!
Best wishes.
Richard

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adrian metcalf

Wed 16th Aug 2017 15:16

You left some nice comments on my poems, thank you for taking the time 😃. I really do appreciate it.

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Tommy Carroll

Tue 15th Aug 2017 11:21

Cy Re "Sin" I forgot to include in my earlier reply "transgression" as in:

Cynthia re "Sin" the grating is in the mind of the beholder. Sin as in transgression.

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Cathy Crabb

Sun 6th Aug 2017 21:42

Cynthia, thank you for your comments on my work of late. I really appreciate you take the time to read and listen.

Cathy xx

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Stu Buck

Thu 3rd Aug 2017 11:09

hi cynthia
thanks for letting me know, we were indeed on our way to sale in august so you have saved us a trip/embarassment!
hope you are well, i will see you when we next get a chance to come to sale (it is difficult with emmas work unfortunately)
stu

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Tommy Carroll

Thu 27th Jul 2017 20:10

Re 'Vertices' Cynthia
you have a good grasp of the verse but does it resonate?

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Eileen

Mon 24th Jul 2017 12:23

Thank you for your comment. While I do like the original I have in my sample, I have been experimenting with this poem. The longer version emphasizes the positive vibes I want in the world. The shorter version is the one that captures the pain of the situation.

patrick D Ortiz

Fri 21st Jul 2017 14:44

Cynthia your comments on my blog are always the most enlightening and enjoying that I get always thank you for the read.
David patrick Simon

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kJ Walker

Mon 10th Jul 2017 20:26

Hi Cynthia. Thank you for commenting on The Tallyman.
it was really appreciated.
Cheers Kevin

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Shirley Smothers

Wed 5th Jul 2017 22:56

Cynthia, thank you so much for the kind comment on my poem "Anxiety, My Companion (a daily struggle)". It is a struggle and it inspires me when someone encourages me. Thank You!

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Francine

Thu 8th Jun 2017 17:11

Hi Cynthia,

How thoughtful of you to take the time to drop me a line! I have thought about you, and others, a lot too over the years! It was such an incredibly special time and place for friends to meet and share. I do miss the interactive fun and poetry competitions we would have! Ahhh, those were the days... xx

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Ian Whiteley

Tue 6th Jun 2017 21:31

thanks for commenting on 'This Flower' Cynthia - I'm pleased you liked it - apologies for delay in replying
Ian

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Louise Hogg

Fri 2nd Jun 2017 21:25

Thank you so much for your comments on my poems. It really inspires me to continue writing.
I find your work interesting and the themes touch me deeply.
Thanks again for taking your time to offer comments.

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David Cooke

Thu 18th May 2017 12:32

Hi Cynthia Glad you liked my Mill Girl & Willy Ronis is a great photographer.

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kJ Walker

Sun 14th May 2017 10:08

Hi Cynthia, thank you for your comments on "Shut Thi' Clack". much appreciated. it's only because of the kind comments I receive that I keep writing.
Cheers Kevin.

john walton

Fri 12th May 2017 07:33

Hi Cynthia,

Thank you for your comment re 'Under Our Blue Umbrella' much appreciated.

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Ian Whiteley

Mon 8th May 2017 18:52

Thanks for commenting on 'Coming Home' and 'The Devil On My Right Shoulder' Cynthia - I like that you think the former could be a Beatles lyric - might have a go at that cos I'm going into recording studios again shortly :-) as for the choice of' right shoulder' - well I wrote the verse and had the idea of an angel on my left shoulder and a devil on my right shoulder - more as a political statement - which worked even better when I went looking for a picture to go with the piece and found the one used (which luckily had the devil on the right shoulder)

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kJ Walker

Tue 2nd May 2017 21:43

Hi Cynthia, thank you for your comments on my profile. I know that what you said was right. I'm hoping that what I lack in technical ability I can make up for in some other way.
thanks again Kevin

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Ian Whiteley

Mon 1st May 2017 19:07

Thanks for commenting on 'The Father's Curse' Cynthia - as always you are very insightful in the points you pick up.
'Terminal Velocity' vs 'High Velocity'? I guess that's down to accent and delivery - but 'terminal' trips off my northern tongue very rhythmically when reading the piece - so works for me :-)

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Paul Waring

Mon 24th Apr 2017 22:27

Hi Cynthia, thanks for your message, so glad you shared it! I think the Freud book you referred to was The Interpretation of Dreams. My God, even I've never felt brave enough to tackle that one. I enjoyed the psychodynamic psychology element of my training but Freud's books can be heavy going. Perhaps a Wiki page or two is enough to chew over.

And thank you so much for the lovely words about 'Sweet Victory for the Solemn'.

Always good to hear from you and a massive thanks for your continued encouragement.

Paul

Martin Elder

Wed 19th Apr 2017 11:43

Hi Cynthia
Was really good to see you last night. You were on fire with your poetry last night. aside from the fact it was fabulous poetry as always, your delivery was fantastic. I would have told you but you were gone before I could do so. Great night
see you soon
Martin

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john short

Wed 19th Apr 2017 00:41

Hi Cynthia,

Thanks for your positive comments about my poems which makes a change from the usual indifference (of editors). I started to read a few of your poems - bit too soon to make any sensible observations.

John S

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Stu Buck

Tue 18th Apr 2017 23:43

Hi Cynthia,
Just wanted to say how lovely it was to meet you tonight. I have long admired your work and to hear it read was just super. I especially enjoyed the final piece, what a wonderful structure and use of language.
I look forward to many more nights of wordsmithery, and thanks for making me feel so welcome.

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Laura Taylor

Mon 17th Apr 2017 11:54

Heya Cynth

Agreed. I stopped shaving pits and legs a long time ago, initially as a private rebellion, then not so private. My body, my rules.

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Ian Whiteley

Fri 14th Apr 2017 00:42

thanx for commenting on 'this book is bound in leather...' Cynthia - you make a very good point about line lengths and I will look to edit this piece into a better 'construct' because I feel you are right
Ian

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Laura Taylor

Thu 13th Apr 2017 14:19

Hi Cynth

No way! Actual rules?! I am so moving to Canada. I was stuck on a bus between two offenders at the weekend, could barely breathe. It ruined my journey.

Why would anyone even attempt to put nail varnish on whilst on a journey?!

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Philipos

Thu 6th Apr 2017 01:55

Hi Cynthia (Slates) just back from a short break near Minehead and thought my latest muse might have slipped the net unnoticed but no, hawk eyed Cynthia has twigged what B and her ladyship where up to as well. Thanks for appreciating a little levity. I have changed tack a little in my most recent work as I am starting to perform open mike stuff which I am beginning to enjoy. Thanks for taking the trouble to respond. Appreciated. P. 😃

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