The Shindorim Crowd

a mixed bag of nuts
phalanxes of sheep
waiting for the cowboys
to bring 'm home alive

I don't believe in Djins and Daemons

i wish i were a better poet
then i could write a golden sonnet,
prevent poor Romeo from dying.

but could i blame this withered flower
on empty air, when golden boughs
drop manna everywhere?

i can't keep count of all the notes aborted.

where is the palm that holds the tree,
the black feathered bird that speaks?
why are they silent, those ghostly walls?
there is no other ggod but me.

rose bush - an object of meditation

in the silent throes of autumn
what seemed
dead
from spring
a violent burst of petaled red
- as if to remind
from the midst of naked thorns
and limbs -
that life
nor death
are never things
to be
assumed.

no start
no finish
always
unexpected.

what came to life in spring
then faded
only to appear today
as full formed
new found
cycle defying
blossoming -
against the
seeming
odds.

and i
i
am reminded
- as oft i am -
of words by another
of how life just carries on
no matter the
passing of one hope
to the next

beginnings
and
passings
anticipated.

but then there is always
that one
that one almost as if
"death defying"
act of nature
of living
to remind
that
nothing

no
thing

is ever truly gone

even when all dreams of
spring
seem seasons far gone

you walk up the stairs
out the door
doing as you always do

and then

and then

there
she
is

waiting silently
without announcement
face
arms
open
to the day
bowing only
to the
breezes.





kim thompson. wed 28 sept @ 13.29. seoul. s.korea

and in.

and in the quiet

of the in between

of night

and dawn

when lights go dim

and only monitors illuminate

when the world is full of

original silencio

and thoughts rest

to leave space for the core of constant

(i) map a mental choreography

of invisible long stretched arching limbs

that extend past the realm of now

moved by a song

moved by the pauses in the song

- rhythm

drum beat

(my)

fingers hit keys in time with

the piano

weaving a dance of their own

a blank screen

(my) stage

a dim and glow

(my) stage light

... raise

arch

float in thought

(i) circle with

this song

like all others

directed by some kind of

inner

sense of

of-otherness

everything but me

is fleeting

and even i

am passing

with each tap down

on these lettered squares

one day

all that will be left (of me)

are these traces of thoughts

traces of moments

translated into a form of

typed out

language

its words that brought us here

it is words that will lead us out

i

we

each

the spoken reclamation

of a single act

of

another's

exhale

i

we

each

solitary

in communion

joined by inner

strings and strands

of

phosphor-essence

tonight

i yearn for nothing

wanting everything

in the

eternal

silencio

of

a temporary

now

though my body does not

my words

they dance

through space and time

weaving you into my

hear and jigum.


kim thompson. written on monday 2am or so 26 sept 2011 seoul. s. korea