Creek
Smooth glistening skin
shines in afternoon sun
gently cooled by rivulets
dripping hair runs
rippling around your curve
riveting my attention
siren song draws
me unresistingly near
melting firm to your chest
find two warm centers
fresh new textures
hard pillow elastic rock
cool water notes
sing simple counterpoint
to this rich chord we make
fugue composed of two lines
one ecstatic musical architecture
from apprentices of passion
© 2001 Tom Coleman
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In One Breath
flicker of a quick passing
on eye's periphery
ear feathertouched by snare brush sound
poised at tail of the song
word half-spoken velvet soft
almost submerged
within single shallow breath
expelled, partially shaped
lone drop of butter on hot skillet
sizzles dancing across your mind
© 2003 Tom Coleman
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Elements
washed in water - impressionist painter, reflecting the world
soft blurred into forms and colors we can feel easy with,
to take as we will, bend to our fancy,
tempered by fire - furnace of passion, transforming the world
rending the forms, the colors into heat and ash, fast gone
our choice is slim or none, we are swept up
in the wind - reckless youth, sweeping flotsam from the world
carrying away what is loose, cleansing the pallet,
scouring the landscape, renewing the soul
of the earth - preserver of tradition, holding roots of the world.
Inhale that rich loamy odor, born of many, varied lives,
some long since past, still feeding the new
© 2001 Tom Coleman
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Electricity
faster than sound
slung arrow of flame
You, you provide the current
you generate in me flow
the flutter I feel within
from the spin of my core
under the influence of your
magnet pushed invisibly
these particles stream,
seek empty slots in me but are many,
rush headlong one to the next
your words, your inflections, your pauses
your surety, your doubt, your passion
all mean I can't stop
sparks leap gaps
rush through gutters
bend across frets
threats of soaring scorching blues
break across my synapses
You, you do it each time again
your cadence your rhyme your chuckle
your perception, your timing, your cry
grounds me hard flings me high
stringing me up in smoky sweaty
acrid acid atmosphere perfect for these blues
plucking pulling vibrating
as released projecting nuanced notes you inspire
infused with tingling tension in the ozone
chain lightning splitting the night, rattling
my cage, whitehot bolts seeking the crux of it
the feel of the unbroken circuit
the switch never thrown off shuddering ever on
couldn't wouldn't stop
© 2001 Tom Coleman
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Loveflow
Love seeps in while you sleep, a little each night,
a trickle fills caverns within that wait
patiently as rock is worn by the rain,
returning it to the sea
Love lifts you off your foundation , catches you up
a sudden violent tsunami sweeping all before it
across fine white sands used to gentle waves
an unexpected rip tide in your heart
Love touches your arm lightly, explores cautiously
ready to run at the least little move
carefully reads the fine print
before turning the next page
Love gallops down the freeway, feels no fear,
knows no mortality, gives no quarter,
an eighteen wheeler running wide open,
forever late for delivery
© 2001 Tom Coleman
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Shoelaces
words are shoelaces
string them right
they allow you to move
else may trip you up
words are sandpipers
dashing in and out
avoiding waves of bad sentiment
plucking at leavings
words are streetlights
strung along the way
revealing hidden danger
attracting moths or lovers
(Thanks to Ping Liu)
Revised June, 2001
© 2001 Tom Coleman
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Genius Neglected
Carry me from this crazy man
is my reaction
don't leave me here
in this swamp of sick
his paranoia infects me though I recognize its irrationality
In me, its not paranoia but sad acceptance
of societal ill effects on this creature
warped and twisted into stale pretzel
He leans on my wall,
expecting reward for words repeated
again and again
ad nauseum,
As if:
iterations earn illumination
slightest nod of head equals full agreement
not being yelled at means complete acceptance
He thinks, feels, deserves better,
his hunched form reflects not his own failings,
but his parents' pounding pummeling problems
acquaintances' lack of love
his friends' inability to pick him up
Listen, respond, try to turn him
from twisty dark road he is rolling
lift dim depths of his inner ills
give some slight sup
to his hunger for personal placation,
his perception of injustice based in self-deprecation,
fertilized by mother and fathers' failings -
to find full worth of his extraordinary intellect
© 2002 Tom Coleman
Another piece: Between Us
go to Tom's home page
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