A Lovely Thank You Poem From Thomas Kemp, Added to Pics At My Home...With Complementary Music!

On Reading His Words...*

Thank you Glenda 

It's so nice to get a poem as thanks...!

Touch

Touch my petal

Then much more

Ease me from the plastic growing pot

And find a place for me

Close by

Let my fragrance capture

The morning just once

And you will wear gold

For sunshine the rest of the days.

Sooo, took my sister, Dee, to doctor Friday
and then my own appt. was this morning...

I've been trying out my phone for photos so 
some beautiful pics of new flowers planted in the front of my cabin
amonst the river rock that was added this year...you'll see me in other pics!
(Is the placement of the petal right outside my door close enough
my dear friend?)
seemed to work for matching Thomas' words...
What do you think?  

Your Poet Is Thomas Kemp...Sharing...Midnight and You...

Eight PM, a tide of evening sounds presents themselves,

Tonight for me; vibrating through my open window,

As I sat waiting, looking often, trying to read my book.

The midsummer southwestern promised cooler breeze,

 was blowing the brown curtains you picked-out and made me hang.

This time the wind was forecasting a wet night fast approaching my home.

Coming from the nearby fire station a siren blasted from the red rescue truck,

Its pitch also a warning too…"get out of the way we're coming, 

get out of our way."

Coming up the green river valley cliffs a lonely whistle, could also be heard,

from the old sightseeing train warned everyone…’clear the tracks make way’.

Night coming, a storm and warnings…

the hard rain now beats the petals off the yellow peonies,

you planted by the gray front door.

Nine PM, everything is hurrying now; 

the birds are all in their nest coving their chicks.

The bugs and insects have cleared the space

 and found themselves refuge.

Everything is hurrying, except time and you darling. 

 Where can you be?

The TV news says, "a bridge across the river,

the one you must cross, has washed away."  

“Five cars and trucks are being swept downstream

 in the torrid cascade of flooding”.

You always wondered why I worry, tell you, “Be safe."  

I look around my home and everywhere I see,

 a special thing, you placed here for me. 

So, I begin to pace looking for the cigarettes 

I hid away from you a year ago. 

My pipe just will not calm my despair.

Eleven PM,

I see a figure between the lighting flashes walking towards me, 

my voice calling out, is drowned by roaring thunder

 that shake even the mighty old trees.

Oh God, it is you.  

Wearing what you called, “I will never wear this Hades yellow rain suit Thomas, I’d look like a school child."

Midnight,  remember? 

 I put you in under the warm shower and then dried you off.

Thomas Kemp/poet/03/08/2016 

Your Poet Is...Thomas Kemp Sharing One of His Latest Wonderful Poems!

So many of us just know,

We are just time travelers.

Her feet had carried her more steps,

then she had thought possible today.

The Sun’s warmth above her all the way,

She resides composed on a park bench of blue and gray

Minutes go by and she does not move,

except her eyes scan left and right.

Minutes go by,

an orange Monarch Butterfly bounces its wing on her left hand,

acting as if it wanted to stay, hopefully to live for just one more day.

Minutes go by,

Time is transient like the migration of Madam Butterfly.

Sunshine starts to wain in the western sky,

Mother nature will always have her manner of doing and saying,

It’s time to get up and go toward home,

But if she does both must go,

Madam Monarch looking for Milkweed plants, 

And she for her own special friend…

Just let a few more minutes’ slip from the warm sky.

Sitting perfectly still.

A bumble bee lands on her right grass stained knee.

Life is this way,

Minutes with a bumble bee

So little time for Madam Butterfly and me.

Thomas Kemp/poet/03/03/2016

Your Poet Is...Thomas Kemp... Just For You...

If they choose to,

Poets can be self-contained souls,

Individuals who others think are always lonely.

A dark blue cork sealed wine bottle floats endlessly.

It has endured many storms at sea, a shark, a great blue fin tuna,

Has swallowed it whole and spit it back from Ocean depths,

Only for it to pop back up in serene warm seas.

The message still intact for some solitary woman to find,

As she walks the rocky shores and sandy beaches of tranquility. 

Could it be, that the poet in primitive times,

placed his written soul in the bottle, after,

he and his fellow monks,

ended their meal and finished the godly wine?

Time in a bottle, a poem written 200 years ago?

I am far,

from the period of intervals where no one reads my poems.

Today I have the internet,

words and time moving through space…

Stopping in front of just you to read, delete or love.

They come just for you.

~~~

Thomas Kemp/poet

03/04/2016

Your Poet Is: Thomas T. Kemp

I am old,

Too many sights have my eyes left unseen.

Too weary are the ones shown to be so hateful and damned.

Too many songs have my ears left unsung, 

not because I can’t sing, I can.

Too many are the words I have wanted

 to sing at your feet, but you’re gone.

Too many sounds have my ears left unheard…

wailing are the ones in my dreams I hear.

Yet, in all respect I must admit

Being old has taught me who GOD is…The Great I am.

Thomas Kemp/poet

Maybe when you’re seventy you will find the time to remember,

How lonely my fingers were

Pulling you to my side of the bed on cold snowy white nights.

Oh yes, winter dreams are like escaping breath,

When you find out as you wake up…the question.

Was I dreaming again?

And your fear is opening your eyes to find the dream disappears.

How much time do I have to love once more?

Thomas Kemp/poet

YOUR POET IS... Thomas Kemp - Celebrating Poetry Month... And More...

Two AM

Where could you be?

To love is to worry, again.

Now, it is twenty past three

you’ll say, you were looking for me?

It is true?

I was out there so lost without you.

Even my verses had ice-covered,

I was speechless and dumb.

Everyone thinks I am crazy.

To risk everything once more, 

I just grin and tell them,

Have some respect for my woman.

Four Am.

You come inquisitively to the door,

God, she is downing again.

~~~

--Thomas Kemp/poet

~~~



Love is an irresistible desire
to be irresistibly desired.

--Robert Frost
Via LOVE SAYINGS By Bradford G. Wheler

Connecting the Talents of Two of My Favorite Friends!

Spring May be Here, But Winter Held on This Year - 

Photographer Adolfo Caso Shares!

Finally...

A black button there, a white one on my blue shirt here,
I counted five to go on your pink flowered blouse.
My fingers were too nervous 

while they caressed your beautiful tanned face.
From your chin they travel up behind your ears,

my heart kept counting
Five buttons to go.


You said you had never rode a cable tram before 
when the door swung closed.
You pulled so hard on my button 
it popped to the tram floor.
Who was more filled with success, I wondered. 
Would there be anyone to 
meet us on the valley floor?

As now we were passing over the side on the mountain 
and the upstreaming air makes the small tram car rock 
in the breeze as downward we went.
The perfect get-away, 
slowly my fingers unlocked the fifth button,
my vacation with you.
You leaned into me with red lips and bit off my button, 
four buttons to go.

  
The fog cloaked our slow descent, 
as we plummet, 
no one would see.

Thomas Kemp, Your Poet Is

Thomas Kemp's Latest Creates Image of Jewelko...

Jewelko is one of the characters in Thomas Kemp's Novel. This poem reminded me of that character and the wonderful exchange between Jewelko and the young soldier who became her lover... Some other poems of those beautifully written exchanges are included in Your Poet Is...

She spoke my name twice, Thomas Thomas.

And then added, please by all means

do come closer.

I was stretching as far as I could
while still trying to hold my balance.
echoing she said again
please by all means...come closer Thomas please.


It was then with those words I fell so far.

Expressions were the law
If you saw the soft face of love
Holding on to it was so necessary
To be sure the sound need not be uttered

Your hands were tight around the dream.



Thomas kemp/poet

Responsive Poetry - Poet Thomas Kemp...and Moi!

I cannot sleep tonight
And the day went on forever.
When I first stopped today it was only noon
I was hoping my daydreams would surrender by then
Shamelessly I spent the entire morning hours with you
Was I unbearable to be with?
Did you enjoy breakfast and coffee in bed?
I had to have bored you by dinner time…
Your perfume still on my fingertips each time I took a bite.
The music from the movie playing was an inauguration for my desires.
So I ask...When will you be home?


Thomas Kemp/poet

I will be home each time you call

Your words always touch me, make me want

But now I only think of you,

Just every other day...

You see, there must be trust

Before love lives forever...

I thought you loved me and then I knew

Your words are only memories

Of someone's else's love...

That I only wished were mine...

gabixler

~~~

Ending the Old Year... with Poet Thomas Kemp

Old Golden Love...


Why is it I still carry,

Incised small pieces of old golden love?

Here around my neck on a small gold chain.

I am so old now and grey fills my hair

Incessant are my nights

Where you float across my blue swimming pool

Your face always carrying a smile

And your breasts are covered with yellow dainty flowers.

Maybe the answer is now Christmas is over

Another year of danger,

another year of almost loving someone new,

It’s all over… with just the thought

Spring hurry to me

Winter is gone…

How I wish it was so easy to do.

Thomas Kemp

Far-Away Friends Share Responsive Poetry for Holidays!

The evening chill is trying to make some sense

 

as to how to end the day.

Snow falling around the green pines

with a light coating of confection sugar settling

on the back of the horses.

They stand close to one another

those two and prefer the bug free winter

over the hot sun with its fly biting days of summer.

Then there is the Elk Hound and Border collie

Who love the white snow as much as the deep green grass.

Smoke from brick fireplaces can barely find enough up drafts

to carry off the Sunday afternoon wishes for a romantic dream

or a NFL football invitation to the Super Bowl.

The sudden mid December 21, 2009 snow storm has locked us all in

up and down the East Coast.

Incidental as all this seems, poets somewhere will be disposed

to write about it and wonder about your love?

Merry Christmas Glenda

thomas

~~~

Tried to get out through the snow today

but got stuck half-way to the clear, main road, 

Guess I'm spend the holiday alone, here

in the log cabin I love so, except when I can't leave...

Then, only then, do I realize just how being alone can be

more than you want to have, on a continuous basis

Though who knows if I'd have some place to go anyway

Only thoughts and dreams of those with whom I'd wish

to spend the day--they are far away, and didn't ask

My inside cats help of course, but they don't return an embrace

or come close to kiss my lips and enfold me with love

For that's how I would want to share my feelings,

especially to those that I know cares...

I always hope that would include you

but my dear, only a man would compare

a romantic dream with football...(smilingly)

Merry Christmas to you as well, my friend Thomas

Love, Glenda

Latest Poetry from Your Poet Is...Thomas Kemp

Red Train

The last red train out of my heart is leaving now
I can’t look to see if you are standing on the edge
or sitting in the darken window with him.
The cold winter wind is driving us apart
So cold, not even a white angel will follow you away
It is not too late for you to reach back again
Let’s try to be devoted to one another once more
even if now you cannot love me.
Love will come again,
Give it a chance please by spring
Love will come again.
I will always love you.

Thomas Kemp/poet

~~~

I'll bet wives would love to get this book as a Christmas stocking stuffer!

GFAUCY9EHSRG

Latest Poetry from Thomas Kemp - Author of Your Poet Is

In my mind I would always see her curls as pine cones,
Hanging or falling down from the side of her skull.
What you ask, do I mean?
As a child she wanted to be known as a trouble maker,
And Irish kid with mossy green eyes.
Like someone who is always out front

and hounding the neighbor boys.
If it were not for her Dad…Bruno
The boys would have won.
But, he saw to it that she could
handle herself playing baseball,

kickball or in the woods,
hunting butterflies and birds...

listening to the blarney
she heard
from the lips of faithless men.
So, you think she was a tomboy, no I do not agree…
She was a tom tom boy in a girl’s pretty Sunday school dress,
With pine cones for curls hanging about her head...

Thomas kemp/poet

~~~