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4 Poems by t. m. thomson


Three of t.m. thomson’s poems have been nominated for Pushcart Awards. She has co-authored a chapbook of ekphrastic poetry, Frame and Mount the Sky (2017); her chapbook Strum and Lull placed in Golden Walkman’s chapbook competition (2017) and is due out soon; and her chapbook The Profusion will be published in 2019.

Hallows’ Eve

The air is thick with them

on this Hallows Eve—

faces that flash

voices that peal

clear and loud

in the fog of dream

asking if you remember

if you still care

could you have done

more.

Now the voices rasp

like dead limbs

being dragged across pavement—

they will be pushed

from the pier of mind

into the ocean of your shallow

breathing.

There they will sink

to the bottom—

a thousand pebbles

each an accusation

lining the edges

of your hearing

until you pass

and join the voices

ringing hollowly

in someone else’s

sleep.

This Black-Eyed Susan

She is one in a million, this black-eyed

Susan—while others of her kind wither

in the driest wind, frayed

at the edges and downward

looking, she opens her black velvet

center to camera.

Her petals strike wind, bite back

when it collides with them.

Her stem, a sturdy emerald web rising

from grass-frazzled ground,

boasts hard roots.

Above the field a mauve twilight

sojourns, casting indigo dreams

onto the rough mountains

clamoring in the distance,

shushing them with cloud

fingers that stroke

peaks and roost

in valleys.

Miles away from these looming

behemoths, this single black-

eyed Susan turns her face

up toward the moisture-laden

air, quiescent, riveted

by its sultry promise

of rain.

Moon Falls Right

Stars are gold in a black-

oil sky. Below—

is that field or ocean

in patches of sand and grey?

No matter: the woman

in the foreground stretches

in an off-white dress

noncommittal.

Men with no faces tumble

all around her

black dog drools

horses graze on salty

grass or bladed reefs.

Moon falls right

where she wants it—

on thick stems of legs

and broad feet

on tiptoe.n

kneels to catch galaxy

of tresses.

Beside them three columns:

of stone of flowers of rain.

Flowers are circles within

circles clusters within

clusters. Rain falls pointed

and green-gold.

Wing trimmed in flax

beats softly

shaking out kaleidoscope

petals sharp droplets

cooling flesh

like glass.

~inspired by Galileo Chini’s poster “Liberty”

Old Glory

Sky is a giant today

showing off every one

of its blues: navy mazarine

smalt indigo gentian cyan

and peacock strutting in between

the larger strokes

of wind

that blow with the strength

of iron.

Mountains with soil so black

it looks like sapphire

push their keen peaks

into belly of sky

then slide into valleys

where earth pales into buff

and fawn deepens into ginger

and henna as it rises

toward hazel trees olive shrubs

like slick thumbs.

Overhead a caravan of clouds swells

shrinks dissipates spreads

like the wings of an angel

as wind sharpens

like the shriek

of a banshee.

- inspired by Louisa McElwain’s painting “Old Glory”


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