A Game of Fools


Take me as a wordplayer.
Although some would say
that it’s a fools gold; scoffing at its mere mention, abhorring its labor and luxuriant form. Stating that’s it’s simply not the norm to lust for the written word. Counting it absurd to fancy it’s storied origins, unreservedly relish the unrivaled beauty of its captivating expression.

As they say, one man’s rubbish is another’s man’s treasure; and one man’s treasure is another’s man’s rubbish. So is it justified to measure another’s treasure by way of one’s own rubbish? Or size up another’s rubbish by means of their own treasure? It seems to be a pointless endeavor and a hapless game of fools.

Benjamin Thomas

Writers Digest, Poetic Asides
2016 April PAD poem-a-day challenge

Passion of the Black Hole

black hole


Nothing could escape…

No particle, matter

light, or shape.

Her gravitation field

was far too great;

subduing all resistance.

All I could do was wait,

until I was fully taken

by her attraction.

Benjamin Thomas

The Balm of Hope




My heart overflows

into the still of the night,

as seeping anguish overtakes the calm.

Weeping eyes worn of gnawing pains,

as wretched days grow harder to sustain.

Yet hope is fierce knowing no boundary,

her tenacious wings guide into the light.







Merry Go Round



Everyone joins the merry go round at some point.

Feeling safe and secure, as the next turn whips

around the carousel cutting against chilled breezes.

The years spin astray, night and day telling their own story.

Seems like a good deal, but it doesn’t come with its own bread and butter.

At best, we try to connect with one another; building sentence upon sentence, spelling out our own history.





Written for the Sunday Whirl:  Wordle 231

Benjamin Thomas







Her countenance was sweet

and her lure was pure magic.

Unflickering eyes of pearl held steady,

streaming love in steady gaze,

spread wild like rolling spring blossom.

Its leaves giddily unfurled, elegantly creased

thoroughly unbound  and happily released.


Then fear  viciously flooded

chambers in the heart,

draining down to the veins.

The lines were drawn, but the facts still remained.

All vicious schemes were irrelevant 

for the attraction was extreme.

All barriers disintegrated

in the reality of their dream.

Written for the Sunday Whirl

Benjamin Thomas