My Guru (& the intrusive face)
In the wilderness of surrounding social certainness,
Exiled; an audience to tables of my inedibles—bright
cheeses, canapés green&black olives, distracted; I bump
into the doyen of words, guru to a literary soul: Emma.
Standing next to me on sacred ground. Breathlessly, I
listen to your wordless sight-filled breathing.
I would drop my fashion jacket (with sculptured peace
sign) into any muddy lino. Leaning my hand to balance
Your ephemeral thoughts, celebrate your words
embrace your magic views; Egyptian cats & flowered
children floating on depths of cultured rivers, on
godlike currents…….I drifted with you;
Dammed. A stranger’s sophist storm clouds.
Witch lit lantern of malevolent luminescence.
Mad wode worn face, warrior fierce
Sword swinging mercilessly into my unsorted company.
Bringing banishment: that crowbar tool.
I prised away, slunk off.
Didn’t say goodbye
Or fashionably….. Ciao
Ciao
Lee Thomson uses the intrinsic gift with words his mother said he had to write about the spiritual aspects of Life(Death). He feels connected with the leylines of word & rhyme, & has become the poet he always felt he was. Maturity, insight & understanding... These are the poetic gifts.
