- Poem 1
- Poem 2
- Poem 3
- Poem 4
Transformation
Art proceeds
From quotidian thinking of a start
A prosaic beginning, a recognition
Of something of a part.
Need precedes necessity for more
Wanting shape and form of what it’s for.
Slowly now the earth and hour proceed
Turn toward night and spring,
Dreams, thoughts, and flowers bring
Inspiration and alchemy.
Trial and error
To pursue each other so
Frequenting misgivings that I know
Succumb to understanding nothing
Without the sought for factor
And bring
Only intuition and not the rule
A delicate balance
Of the bold and true
Found in a painted, abstract thing.
What’s A Few More Years
What is our ignorance,
What is our guilt? All are exposed,
no one is safe. And where
is courage: the unanswered question?
Dumbly calling, deafly listening – that
in warming and drought,
discourages others,
encouraging doubt
and seeing what it’s about.
Who looks deep with shallow vision
accedes to mortality,
struggling to be
free and unable to be,
accepts its continuing.
So he who strongly feels,
changes. As birds cease songs,
he quiets himself for life
to come. Though he is captive
with unsupported efforts,
satisfaction is a lowly thing,
when only children sing
a few more years.
The Red Gasoline Can
So much depended upon
A red gasoline can.
Etched with acid rain,
Rust, disuse and stain
Beside the Chevy Impala.
Thom Wright 2007
Next Years
These are the desolate, dark years,
When nature in its barrenness
Equals the cupidity of man.
The year warms into night,
And the heart cools
At the common plight.
An empty, searing place inside,
A sun without stars or moon,
But a peculiar light as of thought
That feels a dark fire –
Whirling upon itself, grows
In the cold and kindles
To make a man aware of nothing
That he knows, not emptiness
Itself – Not the past, but
Would be self-inflicted emptiness,
Despair – (They whine and roar
Among the flashes and booms of war).
Here the heat is more than can be accounted for.
The life is gone that we loved,
The flower beds lying empty,
The yards dry, the cars unused –
Hide it away somewhere
Out of the mind, let it creep and grow,
Unconscious to watchful ears
And eyes – as change.
In this world they come in spite
Of less and less.
The source of change,
Reveals that progress has stopped,
That nature and people have stopped.
That ran yesterday so well?
And heard the sound of engines
Running – that is now silence.