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Myrtle Thomas’s poems: The Wings Of Time

1. 

 

these days of summer seem to limp away

 

maybe catching

its breath – maybe time called

 

for the autumn moon to breathe

new life into

 

my soul – could it be that I blinked and lost

sight

 

of the sunflowers -they are bowed looking for the rush

–

 

of wind as it carries October leaves on its wings.

2. 

 

days

like this make me wonder where I was as the months

 

are leading

me away also

 

but you can find me hidden in my verses

 

as I

hold onto life as it comes – I’m here and there just as the

 

wind

turns the pages from the many poems I spill in the white noise

 

when

night falls around me and stings my eyes with the poison of

insomnia.

3. 

 

the moonlight and the stars hold my

attention seemingly speaking to me

 

did they sense that I’d

been reading Pablo Neruda or Walt Whitman

 

it’s as though time

is whispering into the roundness of my heart

 

sweeping away what

is the dust left from trauma and pain

 

I sit quietly in the

reflection of my life and inspect each particle

 

some golden

memories and some as dark shadows.

4. 

 

I’m

motivated when I read Pablo Neruda’s poetry

 

he too seemed to

write of the love he kept for his wife

 

I feel his heart when he

wrote “Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines”

 

sometimes I feel the same way – I’ve written with my hand like

automatic writing

 

for my fingers have seen and felt life’s

burdens and joys

 

the wounds that have never found

healing.

5. 

 

sometimes the pull of the moon brings

thoughts that stir my hand

 

and behind my eyes my soul rises as a

ghost pouring out its content

 

I leave my mind alone and give my hand the freedom to cover my

pages

 

with black ink and the feelings I can share with those who

read my words

 

I’m one of the last leaves on my family tree

 

I

watched it bud in the spring and turn into summer green

 

I felt

the hot sun burn its leaves and change colours

 

I love the feel of

autumn days and the wind’s wings.

6. 

 

today my hand spoke to me with such a desire to travel

on this page

 

now I sit and give it permission to speak for me

 

no

one knows how hard it is for me to speak- but writing gives me time

to say

 

what I intend on saying_______________

 

strokes have

caused me to have trouble with memory

 

forgive me like summer

forgives autumn.

Myrtle Thomas has been writing poetry for close to thirty years of love , loss and nature . She uses her emotions to paint a picture of her life and to set her fingerprints and footprints on each page that she finishes. She has been published in several poetry and writing journals such as Otherwise Engaged Literature and Art Journal, Literary Cocktail Magazine ,and several on-line poetry sites. Poetry has been an avenue to help with her own wounds and  trauma , an outlet to share the landscapes that she finds in the horizon. Myrtle lives in Indiana close to two historical towns and the quiet sounds of country life. She transitioned from writing rhyme to contemporary poetry finding the use of metaphors and simile are a better suit for her.

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