Thomas

 

He fell to earth,

 and when the breath returned to his body, 

he stared,

 wincing at the sky in disbelief,

and had to decide

to live,

or topple over into panic,

chafing at his human mask,

something to hide behind,

as he adjusted to the heavy air.

Janus had two faces and he wore them like a crown,

but this was no god and more than one version of himself,

 left him confused,

his senses rambling in and out of coherence.

He kept forgetting the right words and his lip sync fell and broke.

“Who will rid me of this turbulent body?”

he cried, 

culling the words from old pages and hoping

the cantrip would work.

Moving uneasily,

clumsily,

through the night, 

hiding from the car lights that slowed when he came into view,

feeling the minutes drop like dying leaves,

he wondered,

if any slight of hand would win the game, 

rigged so long ago,

and convince this odd, turquoise planet

to shrug him off of her skin.

 

He fell to earth,

a being who was never supposed to know decent,

and the ground covered him after a time,

when he finally stopped fighting the press and weight of it.

And the breath left him in a small, bare wind

scattering leaves and lifting away,

answering a distant call,

answering much too late.

©jayetomas2018
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Reaching

 

I close my eyes and reach down,

deep inside myself, 

where it’s quiet,

        for a while,

but the deeper I go the louder it gets. 

The air bends around me squeezing my face

 as the thoughts I hide so carefully from

bloom sticky and black in front of my eyes,

and I panicgrab at the fading pieces of reflected light wondering

why they change colors,

and why they weep, 

and try to ignore the bent and rusting hooks,

that seize with greed,

stringing a feast of regret like forgotten laundry.

And I see that the broken spaces have filled themselves

with any jumble sale junk

strong enough to keep the walls from closing in, 

from taking the flower bouquets of happy memories with them,

to burn as an offering.

I weave the last of the wilting flowers into my hair and pull myself up,

 inch by inch,

knowing I never should have gone back,

knowing that the deep inside is made of teeth

 and crooking fingers that beckon but do not welcome,

and will not leave me in the same condition as when,

I took that moment hostage,

and closed my eyes,

reaching…

 

©jayetomas2018

 

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Cliff Tales

 

 Weave the willow strands into ribbons

and thread them among the standing stones.

Crush the charcoal in your hands and paint,

stag and storm and sunken well.

Remake the sky, 

in shades of sable and shadow,

and etch your name hidden deep in the bottom of the rocks;

the scorpions will guard it…

Leave agates in the falcon’s nests and rose petals near the brambles,

as payment for your memories,

 and in gratitude for a new purse full of tales.

Fill your mouth with pebbles and

whisper to the waves rocking against the shore, 

of monsters with eyes of shell and pearl and seagrass,

and the turtle-eyed folk who loved them…

and watch the swell foam opalline around your feet as they wash back to hear the rest of the story.

Rest in the cradle of moon and morning,

in the changing of the stars, 

and write your name in the sand before you leave,

so the shores can carry it away,

a herald,

washing up on new coasts before you,

as you climb the distant cliffs…

 

©jayetomas2018

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Happy (5th) Birthday to Meeeeeeeee

Chimera Poetry (blog) is FIVE YEARS OLD TODAY! wOw!

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When I started this I never dreamed it would morph into…..well, this. You wonderful people who follow and comment and support and buy the books and like the poetry and Yes! even the critics…..you have made this what it is. I took a chance and showed my true colors here and you responded. This past year has been a rough one but I’m glad we are all in it together. I look forward to the next year with you. Thank you chimerically, poetically and all other lly’s.

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The Great Figure
BY WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS

Among the rain
and lights
I saw the figure 5
in gold
on a red
firetruck
moving
tense
unheeded
to gong clangs
siren howls
and wheels rumbling
through the dark city. 

 

 

Whoever you are, where ever you are….

I bid you peace.

Jaye

 

 

 

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Reaching For the Stars

I stretched, 

reaching for the stars,

as I was told we should,

and my face is still stings

from the slapping down.

The wounds of the reaching are tainted with poison,

and from that there will be no remission.

 

You hold that nugget of gold close to your heart,

in hopes that someday it would appreciate the warmth,

but metal is as metal does,

and warmth is not prized by those, 

who only love the gleam of brass and iron and steel,

and have no use for the softness of the stars.

 

©jayetomas2018

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4th of July 2018

“Mr Trump will pass. Trumpism might not. The rest of the world should take that possibility seriously — and think and act accordingly.”  ~ Thorsten Benner

I would change it slightly – 

“Trump will pass. Trumpism might not. Americans, as well as the rest of the world, should take that possibility seriously — and think and act accordingly.”

Today we celebrate America. In all it’s battered glory. What a hard, horrible year this has been. Going from atrocity to atrocity until we have been punched so often we cease to feel it, as the newly coined phrase “outrage fatigue” sets in. But we continue to stand, to speak out and march in HUGE (bigly lol) numbers. The good must prevail. This stain on American history will be written of with the contempt it deserves, but I hope as a lesson learned.  

 She still stands… 

lady liberty

 

Whoever you are, where ever you are, whatever you believe – I bid you peace.

j.

 

 

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The Final Fall

I fall all the time;

over my feet,

head over heels,

from grace,

and I stumble from one chaos to the next,

naming the streets as I get to know them,

one part familiar, 

one part nightmare,

sometimes falling into a ghost so that

for a time,

no one can see me,

except as a cool shadow

quickly blinked away.

My season of wounding has outlasted the blood in my body and

I stand bemused in a corner of an old song

and wait for the final fall.

No longer anxious,

no longer fearful,

no longer braced for the impact, 

not having to endure the intermission

before the breath is dragged screaming back.

I want to fall into that moment

and stay

  savoring the feel of motionless

for as long as it lasts…

 

©jayetomas2018

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