My Counselor Says

Posted on by Benjamin Thomas

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?

Posted on by Benjamin Thomas

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

Steam Locomotive on a trestle bride, crossing a river in the mountains.

SUGAR BABIES AT SEA

Posted on by Benjamin Thomas

We commence human life as nescient, 

handheld sugar babies nursing amply at the breast.

It is there, at no behest, we indulge ourselves–basking in

the flow of the nipple with impunity.

With mother at the helm–It’s a fool’s paradise. Peaceful,

sunny, warm with an endless supply of copious milk,

there is no cause for concern. 

Until an indifferent storm settles upon the bow, shakes the

crew, shatters the stern.  All hands on deck against

the insufferability of a horde of waves. 

The tender softness of breast is replaced by a cold

calloused hand. Hands that once assured an inviolable cradle

have now become a battering at sea. 

Man overboard! Man overboard! 

There is no one at the helm.  The captain has not gone down 

with the ship. They have not perished with the vessel, but we

have been left here alone. 

Waterlogged with the heavy burden of grief, we aimlessly drift about.

Tasting the briny bitterness of life as it splashes us in the face,

it speaks to us a hopeless abandonment at sea. 

© Benjamin Thomas

This is prompt provided by the poetry site Dverse Poets.

The Grains of Truth

Posted on by Benjamin Thomas

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

Posted on by Benjamin Thomas

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

Posted on by Benjamin Thomas

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

A Poem: Timeless Pages

Posted on by Benjamin Thomas

A Poem: In The Name of Love

Posted on by Benjamin Thomas