Category Archives: Poetry



His honeyed voice soothes

My aching psyche

His bright smile provides


His twinkling eyes beg


I run to him on slippered feet and place my palm on his chest.

The steady rhythm of his heart puts my wearied mind at rest.

~Melanie Thomason




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I gave birth today

Not from my barren womb,

but from my heart strong and my soul true

My fingertips gripped the pencil, poised over unlined paper

I had to press down hard to deliver my racing thoughts

and tore a hole right through the middle of the page

But on I wrote


When I went to read my creation

I found the letters had shifted into unrecognizable garble

I jiggled the paper to reorganize my reflections

Still the patterns seem to spell no word

Had I been fleeced of original thought?

I shook and waved the crumpled paper more and to my horror

I saw that I was continuously dropping syllables


At this rate my poem was sure to perish

as surely as apples that wilt and wither with blight

And so now I’ve had to adopt some sort of ad-lib

Some off the cuff step-child and pass it off as art

~Melanie Thomason



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Read the opening 4 lines, and it will be impossible not to continue! A fantastic, evocative poem from Chris Nelson


I hung my face

On the hook

On the back

Of the door

Unsure as to when

Or how

Or why

I would return,

And took another from the shelf

That was laden like the willow

Before the autumn knocked upon its frame

And sent its cold reverberations

Shivering like the future’s ghost

Through its aching spine,

And pulled it on as if to say

A new dawn had begun

With new words to be said

And fresh eyes to be shown

All the things that had been seen

A thousand times before,

I took my face

And wore it well

And fooled the crowd

That huddled round

With nothing else to do

But hope,

And when at last

Even the sun grew tired

Or bored

I hung my face up once more

Upon the hook

On the back

Of the door.

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Filed under Blogging Community, Poetry, reblog

Nobody Reads

Enjoy this poem from Chris Nelson, it really resonated with me.


Nobody really reads


And I sit here with my pen

And page

Quartz-white and aching

With the longing to be heard

With the longing for the scratches

Of life and love and pain

To leave their trail

Like the snails who emerge

To the freshness of the rain

With a purpose and a will

On the fences and the leaves

On the skin of another.

Nobody really reads


Eyes scan screens and pages


As if expecting something more

To leap out from the words

To seep from the page

And settle beneath the skin

Like a message or a meaning

Or something better to take

The time away

A quiet infection of purpose

Or entertainment or something

Something other than this.

Nobody really reads


As a colourless wash paints over

It’s grey

Face recycled with the same words

That we heard before

That we heard tomorrow

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Filed under Blogging Community, Poetry, reblog

words fell


At first the words fell from her lips

as nearly imperceptible drops,

as if from a falsely rumored rain

Then a quickening pitter-patter as rain did indeed pierce the clouds

and words formed sentences,

formed paragraphs,

formed poetry and prose

She continued unfolding her story aloud,

as she could no longer choke back the words

In a voice unrecognizable from lack of use

they poured out

as did the tears streaming down her face

till the words, rain, tears became indistinguishable

and the deluge was permissible

as only the trees bore witness

~Melanie Thomason


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hard candy


she sucked on the words

hard candy

pilfered from her fertile mind

rolling them around on her tongue

savoring the contrasting flavors of bitter and sweet

feeling the smooth surfaces and sharp edges

turning over the sounds of the words

that she knew better than to share

with anyone

~Melanie Thomason


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I effort to gather my thoughts

as so many scattered leaves

Only to have them blown hither and yon

by a word from you

~Melanie Thomason



Leaf blower ban strains and divides town of Newton, Mass. | Total Landscape  Care


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I’m merely a collection of sad stories

All bitterness, anger and imperfections

Pretending that I’m not broken wide open

Struggling for air as waves of past crash down

Like weeds, family roots run deep and hang on

My inability to let it all go

keeping me from thoroughly ripping them out

Each time I attempt escape from memories

They wind tighter, tether me and snap me back

To be trapped inside the confines of my mind

~Melanie Thomason



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