[POEM] Otto’s Pub, at the bar

Otto’s Pub, at the bar

it’s hard to sit here without thinking
but I quiet the heart and watch
liquid from tap to glass to lips
listen to layers of conversation
echoing against tables and ceiling

I sit, hollowed out by quieted silence
smile at the drunken man beside me
the last time I was here, a man
moved to another seat
because my laugh was too loud

I’m always too loud
too abrasive
too intimidating
too open
too sexual
too alluring

I’m too much
but I also know
I’m never quite enough

/ / /

Gina Thompson
20 January 2018
State College, PA

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[POEM] rebirth

rebirth

I had an extra copy of Jose Angel Valente
it now sits on a friend’s nightstand
the first poem read, a reminder
was the reason I got the book

no longer indebted, the only string I hold
now is compassion
now is love
not leftover cycled through love
but reborn into new
grown different and strong from a place
that dwells deeper than these surface holes

At midnight I slept, dreaming of new
anxieties, hopes, fears, loves
this new year might bring.
I want to start living
on the other side of fear.

We reset and start again.

/ / /

Gina Thompson
1 January 2018
Bellefonte PA

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#whyiwrite


By Nayyirah Waheed

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Snapshot in time, middle of October, 2008 & 2017

Snapshot in time, middle of October, 2008 & 2017

I chose the date strategically. Because who doesn’t want to get married surrounded by the vibrant colors of fall? Reds, oranges, yellows, browns, with a hint of green still hanging on. There’s still the warm from summer mixed with the cool breeze of Autumn. There were chrysanthemums bought at the farmers market. Apples bought at the local fruit farm. A little pergola in a tiny park tucked in an old Victorian town. There was duck food wrapped prettily for the guests, because there were ducks waddling and enjoying the cool waters from the natural spring. There’s always a risk with weather in October. But this day was perfect. Not too many and not too few. Our friends stood and said beautiful things about us and about marriage. We laughed and cried at their words. Friends read passages from favorite texts. There was sunshine and there was noise from the town traffic. I wonder now who might have been driving by or walking through the park that day to steal a peek at our fun. There was no driving from ceremony to reception, just a short walk down a tiny road to the old town mill-turned-restaurant. Cozy and intimate and warm. There was no grand entrance or bouquet thrown or garter tossed. Just everyone we loved there to celebrate with us.

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That was almost a decade ago. This year we spent that day mostly in the way we do now: busy and hurried, forgetting to slow down and appreciate one another. But there was a surprise picnic, coordinated with the help of dear friends who loves us so much. And on this second weekend in October, when nine years ago we were celebrating our love with friends, this year we celebrated our love as of family of three, enjoying all of the pleasures of fall. These little moments are just that. Nothing profound happened that day or this weekend. But it’s these little moments of joy that are so necessary for our hurried and anxious lives. The hay ride, the acres of pumpkins, the yellow flowers that made her sing, the mud and the hay that clung to my clothes, conversations with strangers, hearing her talk and talk and laugh, the homemade soup and whoopie pies, seeing an old friend, the corn maze, planting the seed from the apple, a friend’s homestead, the bearded dragons, the cats, the friendly horses, the conversation. There wasn’t anything particularly remarkable about it all, but somehow it was so very remarkable. A lovely anniversary weekend, unintended to be.

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[POEM] Would I still turn right, knowing that you turned left?

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Would I still turn right, knowing that you turned left? 

to guess takes too much out of me
so I just go without expectation
on the ridge there was wind pushing fog
in the valley there was damp stillness
up here on these rocks I hear voices
the trickle of a dry Autumn spring
the rustle of remaining leaves
the sun is trying hard to burn away the morning
I watch an insect trek across glacial rocks
willing the answer to be yes and always so
willing my heart to make peace with my mind
to never again go in the direction of pain

/ / /

Gina Thompson
15 October 2017
The Boulders, Shingletown Gap

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[QUOTE] as for me…

 

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Thru-hiking in Aurlensdalen, Norway with Stacy, August 2006.

I love to sail forbidden seas…

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[POEM] unbroken

unbroken

I want to be malleable
bend against obstacles
stretch to reach just what is out of
not quite so resistant to change
or forces beyond my control
but elasticity was never a characteristic
like patience for anything other than calm

but here I go again
not giving myself the credit I deserve
being too hard, not acknowledging my strength
because the definition says:
“able to be hammered or pressed permanently out of shape without breaking or cracking”
and these past four years…
so many times of hammering and pressing until breathing was hard, sleeping was hard, smiling was hard, living was hard, loving was hard…

Yet, here I am unbroken.

/ / /

Gina Thompson
7 October 2017
Bellefonte PA


via Daily Prompt: Elastic

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[POEM] the circle game

Inspired by the WordPress daily prompt: Circle


 

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(poem) for women who are difficult to love

Just discovered this poem by Warsan Shire. It’s everything to me right now. I’m sure I’m not having a unique reaction after reading this, but I feel very connected to these words in so many ways. So, from one difficult to love woman to another, here it is:

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