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”
