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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Updated: Sat, 14 Sep 2019 12:43 pm

stancyn@northrock.bm

Contact via WOL

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 'L'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

DIY

Mon 9th Dec 2019 21:46

Hello, Cynthia

I enjoyed reading your poems and especially I like "GIRL IN A LAKE".
i look forward to reading more of your work.

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Tommy Carroll

Mon 2nd Dec 2019 20:16

"Well"

Cynthia Buell Thomas

Thu 31st Dec 2009 15:41

Happy New Year, Tommy. I almost detect the glimmer of optimism lately.

Cheers Cyn

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Eli

Thu 14th Nov 2019 16:20

Greetings Cynthia.
Apologies that I haven't referred to your comment sent, Wed 7th Aug 2013 12:15! Oh dear. It was for the :Hands of Ankh". I wrote this piece after a dream in a language unknown to me. Thank you for your sensitive comment.
Much appreciated.
Love & Light.
OL. Eli

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Philipos

Fri 25th Oct 2019 18:46

Thought fairies - so unpredictable - here one minute and scarpered the next. What's so irritating is when they don't come back at all having allowed something to chase them off. P. 😦

d.knape

Sun 13th Oct 2019 10:27

Having your poems
I had to blush.
they seem to deal
with lots of lust
I take my leave
sign off i must
for fear from pant
my lance will bust.
😁

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Fred Nicholson

Sat 12th Oct 2019 17:04

Cynthia, I thank you for the welcome.
f

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Tom

Mon 30th Sep 2019 13:57

Aww thank you Cynthia. That made me feel all fuzzy. I drifted away for a while but I'm back with a vengeance now 😃 So good to see you're still here too. I joined in 2009 - a whole decade of WOLing. Here's to many more, for both of us! Tx

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Ian Whiteley

Mon 23rd Sep 2019 22:35

thanx for commenting on True Nature Cynthia - glad you liked it 😃

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Joe Williams

Sat 21st Sep 2019 13:24

Thanks Cynthia, glad you liked 'Landing' 😃

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Chrystel Roberts

Mon 2nd Sep 2019 06:33

Thank you for the warm welcome, Cynthia.

I already feel at home among WoLers.

Best regards

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Adam Rabinowitz

Sat 31st Aug 2019 07:18

Cynthia...
Your writing is remarkable...
Thank you for sharing.

And yes...balance....and self-challenging....and playful....

You intuit quite a bit.
Empath much.

Thanks for being here.

Ghazala Lari

Wed 14th Aug 2019 11:01

Thank you for a warm welcome Cynthia.?

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Philipos

Sun 14th Jul 2019 17:34

Thank you for commenting on Reaching Out Cynthia. Have added a brief lament about it on my recent page. Blessings. P. ?

d.knape

Tue 25th Jun 2019 16:37

that poem was the first thing you thought of?
next time
get some coffee first.

I appreciate your comments.
hope I can live up to your expectations.

Did you do the painting of the girl in the red dress?

Devon Brock

Thu 20th Jun 2019 22:25

Hi Cynthia. Thanks for welcoming me to WOL. As far as old geezer goes, I'm bellysliding down the back side of the hill, green grass stains on the inside of my lower lip and loving every minute of it. I dig the diversity of style in your samples - you won;t be pinned down. Look forward to reading more and more and more.

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Mae Foreman

Sat 18th May 2019 18:28

Necessity. Of course. And a sharp mind apparently. I shall cherish and vow to honor and abide by your wisdom, my lady!
Thank you?
Mae

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Mae Foreman

Fri 17th May 2019 19:45

Hi Cynthia! That sounds yummy! Actualluy when i said I liked to eat ice cream all year long I ment all year long during all FOUR years of my little affair with Mr. C ! I'd say be careful with the weight but in all honesty Cynthia those ice-creams got me out of bed into my clothes and out of the house so screw it. Do what makes you happy! When you finally make it to the finish line that's when you'll start building your life all over. If you have an extra pound or two, the hell with it, you'll lose them in no time and if not then there will be just more of you to love! No big deal!
If you are referring to my the one that says: "Art is the imaginary solution to a problem that is unsolvable in real life." then yes it is originally mine. It is what I discovered when I first started writing. I have many a short story written that have a matching cross to be born! I remember the first one, I wrote it in the middle of a sleepless night. I fell asleep as soon as I finished the last word!
Thanks for stopping by on my profile! Be strong! Get well! ?
Mae

P.S. Your Bio is astounding! How is it possible for one person to do ALL that??? Really, tell me your secret!

jennifer Malden

Wed 1st May 2019 20:14

Hello Cynthia!

Liked your poem '1ast Chemio Session', and as I assume it is autobiographical, am so happy for you to be out of the wood. I had a similar experience 20 years ago, but got off with just radiotherapy, and have been in the clear ever since. Treatment seems to be so much more effective now. All the best!

Jennifer

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Tom

Tue 12th Mar 2019 16:02

Hi Cynthia, thanks so much for the comment on Letter From The Lake. You're spot on, typo on wry/rye, doh! Have corrected. Glad you enjoyed it, I watched the film Withnail & I and then this poem just came straight out afterwards. Hope it doesn't ruin the mystery to reveal the process ? Thanks as always, Tom. x

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Stu Buck

Sun 17th Feb 2019 02:53

hi cynthia
thanks for getting back to me
i did as you suggested and have a guest slot booked for june
i hope i get to see you there and i'm sending positive healing thoughts your way

stu

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Stu Buck

Mon 11th Feb 2019 10:27

hello cynthia, hope your well
i was just wondering when WOL Sale is on next and whether there would be a spot for me to perform? i have a new book out and i am trying to get out and about to promote it a bit.
thanks
stu

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Tommy Carroll

Wed 16th Jan 2019 18:34



Cynthia Buell Thomas

Tue 20th Oct 2009 19:20

"I tire of this conscious senility'... and so do we, sometimes, Tommy, so do we. And 'humour by disguise' is no humour at all if no one recognises it. You write by code for an elitist reader; if that is your aim, so be it.

But that is a terrible thought - to be in 'conscious senility'. Who with intelligence would deliberately induce senility? The reality of senility is heartbreaking, especially for those who witness it and can do nothing. The victim is powerless to care."

Cynthia my references to "conscious senility" is in regards to my recent brain haemorrhage. Not deliberate but dysfunctional brain operations. Tommy

d.knape

Sun 13th Jan 2019 03:02

sometimes the dog wags his tail.
sometimes he just nods off to sleep.

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Tommy Carroll

Sat 12th Jan 2019 06:21

Thanks Cynthia for your remarks re "untitled". I forgot to leave one and once you commented upon the fact I let it lay. Give me a title and I will oblige.
Tommy.

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Tapashree Roy

Sun 23rd Sep 2018 15:56

Dear Cynthia, Thank you for the warm welcoming words! I love your suggestion of being a giver to become a receiver.

My mother named me, and her love and thought is bonded with my name. Thank you liking it.

Tapashree has Sanskrit roots, and may be interpreted in a few ways. I prefer to believe it means "the soft glow of endurance".
Tapa means endurance.
Shree means Diffusing radiance, beauty, prosperity...

It may also be interpreted as the "beauty of heat" with Tapas (heat) and Shree.

Vicky Valdés

Wed 19th Sep 2018 14:17

Dear Cynthia,

Thank you so much for putting into words in sucha a beautiful way what the soul has to say.

In addition to your poetry, I want to thank you for being Cyanne's mom, my dear castmate in Up With People.

I appreciate and thank your legacy.

Much love from Mexico,

Vicky

Loly Monreal

Thu 6th Sep 2018 08:36

Ciao from Italy!
This is Loly Monreal from Mexico married with an italian. We have two girls.
Cyanne was my Castmate in "Viva la gente" we were together last year when all the beautiful family visit us here in Trentino,Italy . In this days we think very much about them because of the great memories harvesting on our wine-yard. All together were a strong hard working team!!!
I wish you all the best and think about you. reading your poems I will learn more English for sure ?
Kisses and hugs on you way from all of us with great love and admiration!
Loly Monreal
?

Jennifer Rabold

Thu 6th Sep 2018 02:29

Cynthia, your daughter Cyanne, my dear friend and castmate from Up With People, shared your poetry blog with me, and I love your work! I’m an old English teacher, and I love the lush imagery in your poems - such rich colors and beautiful sounds! I plan to read a few each day and maybe I’ll comment again! ❤️ Jennifer Rabold

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Graham Sherwood

Sat 18th Aug 2018 18:51

Cynthia thank you for your over-generous comments on "Sources". I view any recognition from yourself as gold dust, so thank you again.

Graham

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Darren J Beaney

Mon 13th Aug 2018 10:03

Hi Cynthia

Thanks for your recent positive comment on my poem.

In answer to your question - yes the writing course starts in 3 weeks, excited!

Cheers

DJB

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