Tag Archives: writing

how they met

delicious urges boiled and simmered

as she watched the gorgeous man-boy swim

diving into the mist and spray of the sea once again

watching his bare skin glisten as he emerged into the sun

lying there on the beach she allowed herself to daydream

of feeling him against her, of tasting the salt on his skin

drunk on the thought, she languished, half asleep

not noticing his approach until she heard a voice above her

“Sorry to intrude but I was watching you watching me…”

and that is how they met

~Melanie Thomason 2/21/19

 

So my friend Gigi has been writing a series of short stories How They Met, spinning fabulous tales of could be couples’ first encounters.  If you haven’t read any of them, you really should.  Anyway she inspired me…and the above poem is a tip of my hat, if you will, to her.

 

 

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Awen

senses,

I remember the reap and feasts

of old,

I remember you.

There is a line of crimson-curled poesy

working deep inside

and it’s biting at my ribs

to be let out–

(this is Awen–when muse strikes and you are helpless before it.)

I’m trying,

oh I’m trying to live.

I’m trying to be real.

that’s what,

Shut Up.

It’s not like anything else I know.

~Melanie Thomason

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lint

wanting to write

waiting to write

I was encouraged to contemplate the lint in my navel

upon inspection I don’t even have that to provide a start

all it takes is one word, a beginning

all great works; start with one word

one note, one thought

yet here I sit…

wanting to write

waiting to write

~Melanie Thomason

2/19/19

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Good Girl (50 word story)

With his hand twisted in her long curly locks he said between moans, “I thought… you were… a good girl.”

“I was,” she said slowly, gazing up from between his thighs with a gleam in her eyes. “That wasn’t working out so well for me so I’m trying something different.”

~Melanie Thomason

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Memories (50 word story)

After violently tearing page after page of happy faces frozen in time from the album she lit the glossy plastic covered things on fire and unceremoniously dropped them in the bin.

“Photographs of other people’s memories

remind me of a life stolen from me.”

she explained to her befuddled neighbor.

 

~Melanie Thomason

 

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consider the muse

They say it’s a fine line between genius and madness

and I agree, a fine line indeed

because I can see the poetry in insanity

and the insanity in poetry

or maybe poetry is a way to release some instability

while still being considered sane

consider the muse

we wait impatiently to hear her voice whispering in our ear

to be graced with her presence, to feel her near

but we are Poets, Artists, Writers………not mentally ill!

it’s not as if we “hear voices” and are “compelled to do as they say”

In poetry we can explore death and dying, even murder and suicide

without fear of being locked away and medicated

with words I’ve killed myself a thousand times

on paper, I have a standing date with death

with sharpened pen I’ve tortured and murdered my abusers too

the acts carried out in poetry

have helped me survive in reality.

~Melanie Thomason

 

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your truth

why are you wasting time?

scribbling your words in invisible ink?

like fat fingers

on steamed up mirrors

and foggy windows…

why would you let your truth

disappear

into

obscurity?

it needs to be read, heard & recognized

chisel your words in stone

etch them in glass

hell,

paint the town red with your truth

your voice, your words need to be translated in 24 languages

& written in braille

so even the blind 

can see

your truth.

~Melanie Thomason

2014

This poem is from my book

Moonpies and Naugahyde

A Childhood Survived

Get it here!

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Filed under Moonpies & Naugahyde, People/Causes I believe In, Poetry, reblog

petrified

oh i have reasons

some are even justified

i’m sure you’d agree

·

have excuses too

but those can be brushed aside

fairly easily

·

so why do i find

ink in my pen petrified

halting poetry?

~Melanie Thomason

 

 

 

 

 

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