Weeds of Heart
Weeds
are such
impatient
creatures.
And like
time and tide,
they wait for
no man.
They often
make demands,
beset in hearts
of men
Who do not
care, or understand,
or tend to
the garden.
©️ Benjamin Thomas
Weeds of Heart
That Wedding Day
For today’s prompt on Dverse we are revisiting Emily Romano’s Mementopoetry style:
Poetry Rules:
- 2 stanzas
- 6 lines per stanza
- 2 tercets (2*3 lines) per stanza
- syllable count per tercet: 8,6,2; 8,6,2
- rhyme scheme abc, abc
Poetry Theme:
a holiday or an anniversary (formal or informal)
Helpful Links:
- We’re revisiting as Grace gave us the Memento prompt back in January 2023
- The memento poetry style – Shadow Poetry
The wedding day came and went
like the Fourth of July
fireworks
Bride and groom explode—intimate
like the Fourth of July
fireworks
Man and wife light up the night sky
like the Fourth of July
fireworks
Two kids later and we still fly
like the Fourth of July
fireworks
Benjamin Thomas
Come visit at Dverse Poets.
My Counselor Says
My counselor says I need to process the old
encumbrances hushed away in the closet.
Like unopened malicious gifts biding their
time to take a bite, weigh me down.
My counselor says I need to experience
the old maniacal memories hushed away
in the closet. As if I need to reopen old
wounds with fresh swords gilded with hope.
My counselor says I need to acknowledge
and accept the old tedious ways that left
me broken. Like telling an injured man
to accept a broken femur after the
sledgehammer makes contact.
My counselor says I need to feel all the old
scabs that have taken root. It hurt like hell the first time around, so I’m not sure
I’m up for seconds.
©️ Benjamin Thomas
Minding The Closet?
A string of three haikus.
Not sure why I need
to acknowledge the closet
of horrors. I’ll pass.
Some skeletons will have
their pound of flesh—It’s better
to keep them at bay
Than running ashore
killing the green pastures and
strangling the present.
©️ Benjamin Thomas
SUNSET RAVEN
Oh to be a sunset raven.
Guided by the will of the day’s breeze.
At ease with each wing outspread
catching wave after wave of errant winds.
Oh to be a sunset raven.
Surfing the remnants of a blissful horizon.
Sky is the only limitation.
No longer in chains like an earthbound slave.
Emancipated from every tethered nation.
Taken about blue-born skies without care.
Oh to be a sunset raven.
Guided by the will of the day’s breeze.
-Benjamin Thomas
The Grains of Truth
THE GRAINS OF TRUTH
Why is it so hard to embrace weakness
when we were born with it?
Small and helpless beings utterly
dependent upon the hands of another.
With no strength to feed, drink, or nourish
our bodies with sustenance.
Why is it so hard to embrace weakness
when it allowed us to be loved and cared for?
What is strength without first knowing
the pangs of weakness?
What is nourishment without the knowledge
of dire hunger?
It was weakness that first allowed us to know
the comfort of assurance.
It was weakness that allowed us to grow,
become strong and resilient.
It was weakness that allowed another to
embrace our needs until we were mature.
But yet maturity means to reject our
very nature.
Maturity means we dispel others who seek
to embrace our most basic needs?
It means we reject the weakness that
seeks out the flood of unborn tears.
It means we actively suppress the nature
that makes us passionate human beings.
It means we scurry away from the weakness
that brought us all the vigors of life.
Yet real maturity means we embrace the
brittleness that is—the essence of life.
It means we open to the oppressed well
of tears, and embrace the fears of flowing.
It means we grasp the grains of truth,
reject the lies that keep us from knowing—
That we are not truly weak.
We are just human.
© Benjamin Thomas
The Weightless Kiss of Truth
THE WEIGHTLESS KISS OF TRUTH
There’s a misbegotten truth,
weighing heavily on the tip of my wings.
Impeding the ascent to the height—
the cumulus flight to bigger, or better things.
Whispers of resistance, continue, in the
soft echoing of resilient wind it seems.
Companies of snow-capped mountain
ranges now break upon my sight.
Arises now a forgotten strength, and
defiance—to engage in a bitter fight.
Suddenly a pang of thought, rushes to
mind, and its presence was just right.
I bear no burden, I need no wings, the truth is
weightless—instantly I am light.
I am lighter than the restless, ageless wind.
I am lighter than the veiled, open air known to men.
Lighter than tenfold painful lies.
Lighter than the unheard strangled cries—
For the swift healing of crippled wings.
Or laments that the mourning dove always brings.
Lighter than the feigned beast, we call doubt.
Lighter than the wicked, weighted world of pout.
Lighter than the futile, hurled exercise of hate.
And soon—
I just evaporate.
Poof
For I am lighter than the lightest of them all.
For I’ve become the Paraclete, unsung molecule,
of small—
Belief. Relief.
Even until this very day.
No one knows the mystery, so they say.
Who wrongly assumed a premature victory,
in the gist of a weak, fledgling history.
But you’ll never know where I’ll be.
Perhaps, when you round the corner—
There I’ll be.
But don’t be surprised when you see…
The weightless kiss of truth—
from me.
© Benjamin Thomas
COMFORT IN WHAT I AM
COMFORT IN WHAT I AM
I am a mist of ravens.
A gale of pink petals.
the weight of precious metal.
I am a gallop of wind.
A heart of granite.
A dollop of passion.
I am the naked truth.
A season of change.
A flock of dahlias.
I am a camp of crows.
A clique of swans.
A gang of falcons.
I am a barren land.
A helping hand.
A crown of stars.
I am the woodwind.
I am the violin.
I am the taste of gin.
I am a song of shadow.
A chant of praise.
I am the rays.
I am me.
I am—
what I need
to be.
© Benjamin Thomas
The Comfort of Day
A Visionary Heart
The Writing Train: Join the locomotion 