White light cymbals clashed high above
Emitting strikes� percussive pools
Crescendos clapped midst black-laced clouds
While life-soaked shroud draped half of me
And the rain played its own melody.
To shelter ran �neath makeshift lean
Where things are never as they seem
And beating force of rhythmic rolls
Bade mind to drift on lyric sea
And the rain played its own melody.
This fevered pitch of sound and sight
Serves well its music borne of night;
Though now Creator�s song I see
And write new verse in key of �C�
As the rain plays its own melody.
�2006, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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From somewhere �neath its chugging heap
Came a grinding steel-on-steel death leap
And the crunching cry and screaming whine
Were heard for miles from the 4:09.
Many a soul were lost that night
In fiery pyre soaked in black char light
Where the mangled mass of train, south bound,
Rests in a grave under scarred, hard ground
No longer o�er steel belly groans
That soot-whistle shriek from black coal moans
Though the trainless track still runs the line
It stops just short of the 4:09
Long years and hearts create debris
And new seasons hide old tragedies
Like lonely lull of a south-bound train
As it moves along in warm spring rain
And the sounds it makes, after dawn
Lie quiet upon those resting long
For covered ears can�t hear the pine
Of last long whine from the 4:09
�2006, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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Something akin to nostalgia sifts over me,
especially at night, when I�m alone,
and the �quiet� falls like a dark, warm blanket.
The incessant drones of daytime noises cease,
and are replaced by my willingness to allow in
the softer moments of reflections from the past.
I miss you, my love. And, as I sit on the balcony tonight
observing the immenseness of the firmament
amid the amazing grandeur of our Creator�s splendor,
I realize, sweetheart, that in all the years we gazed
upward together, at this very same spot, before you left,
I�d never seen an orange moon.
Can you see it, darling? Somehow, from where you are
to where I am, do you understand my amazement at
this revelation? If not, when we are together once again,
I shall entreat The Father to release my giddy tongue,
for I do so want to tell you that, before this moment,
I�d never seen an orange moon.
�2006, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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Contentment sweet with joy
When hearts enlarge
And minds absorb
Memories in their place
Fixed in time and space, forever
Complete, needing no more
Cinnamon-scented mother
Wearing her apron proudly
Aroma of Sunday meals
After-church family afternoons
Friendly visits bringing
Neighboring playmates
Father�s twinkling clear blue eyes
Strong, sun-bronzed arms
Lifting, to kiss freckled child nose
Mussing my auburn curls
Mending broken dolly
Gentle teasing as I grew up
Big brother called me �squirt�
Wanting me to play catch with him
But embarrassed to be seen by �friends�
Pitching balls to his sister
Cajoled me to tuck my hair up into a cap,
Dress in jeans and sweatshirt; then we played
Face-off with after-school bullies
Who tormented my baby sister
Sending her home, I stood alone,
A scared, waif-like girl of nine
Fists raised, despising the battle
Hair pulls, punches; they ran away
(I never fought with fists again)
Growing up memories are revisited
On Sunday afternoons with gentle rains
Like smiles on lips from grandchild�s kiss
Or baby powder thoughts of grown-up sons
I pray that God will always bring
The memory of joys from simple things
�2006, Eve Thornton
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My shadow is reflection
Of twin without perception
Forced by light to stand upright
And mimic self's correction
I raise my hand to cover
Bright sun�s refracted brother
O�er tearing eye one finger lies
But shadow shades the other
A silhouetted kinship
In animated friendship
Though no word exchanged is heard
From the �me� with silent lips
What worth is noir-like mother
Whom love cannot recover
She fills her time to share in mine
Yet I cannot discover?
One dimension without face
Joined at feet she runs my race
So thus I wait and give her place
�Til last we sleep in one embrace
�2006, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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My �self� is better known today
Than ever known before
Though scars from selfishness remain,
From battles with self�s core.
What once I loved is hated now
What I love now is gentle
Like pillaging through scraps of time
In quest for diamond lintel.
I could not taste the wafers of
White manna on my lips,
Nor pheasants meat of succour sweet,
Resting o�er herbed rose hips.
Praise be to God � the old self died
With He who bore its weight
New self emerged, picked up its cross,
and shoulders now its fate.
�2006, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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The checker board lays open now
Both black and red displayed
The starting lineup comes on field
And � huh? What�s that you say?
No strikes, no outs, no home runs here,
And I can�t jump to first?
But sir, I�ve learned my rules for play
Within this universe.
Directions? No, I have none sir
Do they come with playbook?
I thanked Him for the loan of it
Then took it home to look �
It�s taken me a lifetime to
Read all the rules of play
I doubt that any can learn these
Directions in one day.
But this thought came ... to play life�s game,
Prepare with finest tools
Choose your best moves, but never play
Checkers by baseball rules.
�2006, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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White, clean snow now blankets me
Brown, leafless branches wintering
Outward, upward, girthing free
I am the mighty tree!
Whistling winds waft o�er my arms
Spring�s budding life holds flow�rs charms
�Neath my refuge lies no harm
I am all cov�ring warmth.
Summer�s sun brings leafy hues
Bold golds and reds and greenish-blues
Dress my regal stance unmoved
I am, once more, life�s proof.
Sweet Fall�s nectar gives last drink
Sleepy roots now downward sink
Holding strong beneath ground�s strength
I am your slumb�ring link.
Behold, a death in chips and chunks
Fires now feed upon my trunk
Your hearts warm, mine beats last thump
I am, no longer, me.
White, clean snow now blankets me
Brown, leafless branches wintering
Outward, upward, girthing free
Once was the mighty tree!
�2006, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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Reality�s totality
Bodes ill these winds of change
Upon its back the poor man asks
�Who rides this rainless range?�
The latter rain can�t be contained
The former rain subsides
The grapes of wrath are stored away
Til winds doth sting the eyes.
Thunderous roll o�er tick-tock�s toll
Clangs bell on distant shore
Lightening strike emits yon light
Who knocks at your front door?
Arose sweet prose of gentle men
Fair maidens virtues stand
Yet true to plan this sinking sand
Calls forth the poor man�s hand.
Authority�s majorities
Have strength but for an hour
Then white-clothed One who holds the sun
Will come in His own pow�r.
Reality�s totality
Bodes ill these winds of change
Upon its back the poor man asks
�Who rides this rainless range?�
�2006, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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I walked on a path of greenery
its twisting trails of scenery
cried out to me to come and view,
saying �We are many, they are few.�
I pushed back vine cov�ring that trail
and saw before me snakes impaled
upon tall stakes �neath craggy clime
of gothic gray and fractured time.
My feet took flight from that trail�s scene
in haste my fear caused stumbling
and ear once more heard voice imbued
say �We are many, they are few.�
I wanted out � which way to go?
Stand up! Stand up! and then I rose.
In crackling jolt of light�ning white
appeared a trail immersed in light.
And from that trail where refuge lay,
I heard a voice say �Straight your way
I�m always here to help you find
the pathway to your finish line.�
�2006, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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In an antique attic box,
lies an old lace table cloth
packed in tears with cherished care,
for sake of love and loss.
The memories most cherished,
are those which cherish us
and years embraced all have a face
though resting in a box.
My mother had a beauty
not seen much outwardly
but with a grace and care-filled haste
she shared her heart with me.
We sat at oaken table
sipped tea between our smiles
we�d laugh and sigh, sometimes we�d cry
when speaking of old wiles.
Today my mother�s birthday
reminds me of those days �
in love is spread, with words unsaid
her lace o�er table lays.
When now my fingers touch those
old tear drops and tea stains
I feel her breath, within my chest
and know she�s here again.
�2006, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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I�d clipped and snipped and sewn today,
preparing for grand daughter�s stay
and playing �dress up� in old clothes
was her favorite game, as grandma knows.
From closet I had gleaned some shoes,
bent floppy hats, and scarves a few,
draped them about on dresser top
displayed them �round my jewelry box.
Her angel�s face lit up with joy,
she ran right past her other toys
and from worn clothes spread on my bed,
picked up a dress of polka-dot red.
She, in child�s sweet four-year-old voice,
explained to me she�d made her choice,
then nudged me out the bedroom rise,
to wait for her �dress up surprise�.
I smiled while waiting, hearing sounds,
of rust�ling feet neath �pretend� gown,
a too-big hat atop red curls
delighted to dress up like �big girls�.
A little hand soon pushed the knob,
and quick-stepped out in shoes that clopped,
�Surprise!� she squealed in girlish glee,
then a circle-turn, so I could see �
The clothes, the shoes and hats are packed
again in the closet, back on the racks,
this child of love sleeps in my arms
seeing �dress up� dreams with childhood charms.
�2006, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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Meet me in the twilight, dear,
by the old stone wishing well,
where once we dreamed together,
before our dreams were veiled �
Our plans were those of young love
and of captured hearts� desires
of building smiles on mountains
embracing near warm fires.
In love we would rear children
within our mountain home
built from the finest cedars
on land of trees and stone.
Remember how we lingered
at the breaking of that day
you told me you were leaving
to serve your country�s way?
I could not calm my heartbeat
its beat was hard and fast
you promised to return, then
goodbyes were said at last.
Your letters to me spoke of
dreams soon to be renewed
when we would once again sit
in twilight�s sweet blue hues.
Today another letter
addressed in unknown hand
told me that you had fallen
on that soil in foreign land.
Before you�d drawn your last breath
you handed friend a note
and asked him if he�d forward
to me the words you wrote:
Meet me in the twilight, dear,
by the old stone wishing well,
where once we dreamed together,
before our dreams were veiled �
�2006, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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To all soft sonnets, and phrases pure,
O�er lofty languish, our pens endure,
Be they rhymed, or free in time,
Acrostic shells vs. metered mime,
Content specific, or staggered grace,
Nonets, sonnets, couplets spaced,
Singy songs, or epigram�s retort
Limericks, haikus, didactic sport,
French quaterns, or quatrain string,
So much more � but one more thing:
I thirst sometimes, for a �swillanka�,
� just a Silly Willy Wonka Tanka!
�2006, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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Do I write poetry for words,
or my words for poetry?
Have I a loss of love for life,
or a life for loss of love?
Do I but watch winged eagles soar,
or soar with the winged eagles?
And will I stand the test of time,
or but test my timely stand?
O�er climate of completed days,
adrift on seas I ponder,
Always, always, my anchor weighs,
upon the shores up yonder.
To soar, to write, to stand, to fight,
to love; You gave me answer,
And when some day You call to me,
I�ll gladly yield my life, Sir.
Yet now I speak the words I�ve heard,
my pen does surely follow,
To live I die, to die I live,
but ne�er my words be hollow.
�2006, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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A sideways stance
A flick�ring glance
�I don�t see you� attitude.
Then, ling�ring look
Then, dropped my book
My cheeks are a blush of pink.
A chance meeting
A smile greets me
We talk obliviously.
Then, our first kiss
Then, reminisce
Three years beyond we marry.
A girl-child born
A love is sworn
Our lives are most completed.
Then, suddenly
Then, quietly
Our daughter grew up somehow.
A watchful eye
A mother�s sigh
She has spread her wings in flight.
Then, he sees her
Then, she concurs
Too soon you went away dear.
A sideways stance
A flick�ring glance
�I don�t see you� attitude...
Now, I�m alone
Now, father�s gone
Ah, youth ... I remember well!
�2006, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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This forum is a forum, of an �attitude� in hats;
An answer will be given, after a question has been asked.
The four respondents listen, then speak their minds, you see,
This forum is a forum, of an attitude�s degree.
The very first of questions, is posed to �Mr. Stetson�;
Who slowly thinks upon it, then wages his best �bet son�.
A gentlemanly answer, flows from his soft-drawl lips,
The moderator�s cautious � �cause two guns hang from his hips.
Miss Senyorita Lovely, wears a black-rimmed red 'Cordobe';
Her question, then her answer, are soft, like warm adobe.
She tilts her hat just slightly, eyes flick�ring �neath long lashes,
The �sighs� she�s generated � give all male hats red rashes.
The next-to-last of questions, is for �Mr. English Bowler�;
Whose walking stick is tapping, to the tune of �Almost Over�.
This distinguished, dapper, hat, sits atop a regal ilk,
And its ever-stately cloth � made most certainly of silk.
�Mr. Safari Twill� hat, one side of brim bent upward;
Its khaki color neutral, it�s bold and strong in structure.
One eyebrow is seen raising, and it signals an inflection,
Mr. Moderator�s hat � has asked too many questions!
This forum is a forum, of an �attitude� in hats;
An answer will be given, after a question has been asked.
The four respondents listen, then speak their minds, you see,
This forum is a forum, of an attitude�s degree.
�2006, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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If winds should cease
To carry the sounds
Of geese in flight
All homeward bound,
And willow trees�
Sighing rhythmic sways
Strong wafting arms
On summer days,
A stream�s travel
O�er pebbles and stones
Tinkling cymbals
In wat�ry homes,
A child�s sweet laugh
Youth�s bright wistful glee
Their tag-team games
Or �come find me�,
Then I shall cease,
Even understand,
What beauty is
To the ear of man.
�2006, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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An Irish father gave me laughter in my growing
An Irish father gave me music to aspire to
An Irish father gave me books to quench my hunger
An Irish father gave me quiet contemplation
and humorous reprise a constant flow
learning early how to smile, at myself and all the while
showing cheerfulness and care when I was low
his love for song will always fill my ears
from the heart he softly sang, all his words in rapt refrain
and he taught me even men sometimes shed tears
in wisdom's recitation fed my soul
he spoke to me of meaning, which words were fit for gleaning
how in wordless acts sometimes a story's told
and how to say goodbye when it was time
but what you couldn't teach me, was just how most completely
to stop missing you oh Irish father mine
�2002, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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We contemplate existence
We come to some conclusions
We read the books that matter
Signs of times we recognize
run races with persistence
we smile and speak of list'ning to
the whispers of our souls
allay our mass confusions
about what makes us who we are
our right to passage here
that shock and soothe and flatter
watch world events unfolding at
an unrelenting pace
look truthfully at compromise
embrace the only answer left
existence through God's grace
�2002, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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My unsighted eyes have seen glory
My unhearing ears have heard music
Silence the voice that would whisper
have soared to great heights through the mind
where souls see more clearly than crystal
when unhampered by space or by time
then joyously danced in its glow
fell softly within secret chambers
to rest upon winged rhythmic flows
"You can't find your way, there's no star"
for I have seen flowers through windows
and heard love's lullaby with my heart
�2002, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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Light moisture has misted the window,
joining small droplets together,
creating trails of imperfect etchings,
spreading out to rest on the pane.
Within the misty frame a spider,
sharing space from the other side,
wove patiently her splendid wonder,
to shelter life as she was dying.
Outside, dampness from a lazy haze,
sphere-like shapes in slow motion float,
nearly touching heads beneath their refuge,
who do not stop to sit on green benches.
In the park grows a garden of roses,
hedged purplish-reds, risen up to drink,
rain ceases; sadly, now I see
closing umbrellas, and, in the garden,
one old man sits alone.
His eyes transfixed, straight ahead,
staring at the flowers before him;
unmoving, his folded hands lay in his lap;
he is lost in a memory, caught up in another time;
he has forgotten to open his umbrella.
�2002, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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Surround me now completely friend and foe
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
Come walk slowly by my side for danger lurking
that I might make comparisons of mind
and wisely choose not being told to do so
'twixt comfort's ease or ghosts of dark derision
my choice to fade away is my decision
appeaser of my intellect or coupler of my fear
vowed we a secret silence silently?
when confession pushed out need to speak of it
then did we forfeit love for lack of vision?
may steal away our souls and leave us cold
clasp fast this hand my love for it is trembling
though this question must I ask and tell me true
of those so close beside me, which are you?
�2002, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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The pot spoke to the Master Potter,
�I�ve grown old and frought with woes
re-create me once again
and restore my faded rose.�
�Shall I then dim all memory,
of souls who drank so long
nourished by your deepened bowl
blessed by sweet nectar�s song?�
�Yay, do so Master Potter,
for within your hands you hold
formation from a lump of clay
all strength and beauty mold.�
�Tis done,� spoke the Master Potter,
�away your aged grace
mix once again with dusty earth
ten thousand years replace.�
�2002, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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If I knew how to say the words
and heal a heart�s content
I would no doubt express such thoughts
to soothe that love�s lament.
If I knew how to sing the song
to those who�ve felt the pain
when love has left them far too soon
my tune would not refrain.
Though now I only speculate
with lyrics of my own;
I sing the song once sung to you
the rest I leave alone:
�We walked together in our youth
went hand-in-hand as one
scaled the mountain moments sweet
caressed the setting sun.
While you and I against all odds
through many years held strong
I�ve sometimes had to wonder why
and when it all went wrong.
Our vows were more than trophies, dear
displayed upon the wall
and �blame� is unproductive as
two breaking hearts recall.
Yet time, indeed, can heal old wounds
we know this to be true
for love that�s forged above the stars
was forged in me and you.
And when our time has closed the gap
between what was and now
please know, my love, where'er you are
I�ll join you there somehow.�
�1992, Eve Thornton
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without written permission.
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