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 

Connecting the Talents of Two of My Favorite Friends!

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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

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

~~~

More Poetry of Thomas Kemp, Spotlighted Author!

Face in the Mirror


Touching is what minds do best
thoughts become fingers
reaching back or forward for helping hands

Words run both ways too
but always to the center of a heart
to comfort the lonely space that wished for love

Touching is what minds do best
even echoing in the space between us
as dancing over distance brings us closer

To embrace the place
we stand on Sunday morning
looking at the face behind us in the mirror

***

Go On, Touch My Mind


I send you these words
As touches to your mind
If I were there by your side
Laying next to you
There would be no place
My lips would not touch
Nothing would escape my eyes
No place could your soul hide
But, alas, I must not come to you
Else I would never have courage to leave
For it is true, the tear that falls across two faces
Washes away the pain of the day
To announce freedom to
We who cry for each other.

copyright

Thomas Kemp

Spotlighted Author Shares His Poetry!

Summer Nights Again

Summer nights,
the campfire just for light.
The time a heart is best rested.
For there is no fear from winter storms,
where worry is overhead
and we try so hard
just to stay warm.
The light of the fire
makes your skin look so clean.
From the top of the pool not a ripple is seen,
as your hand slips like butter into my own.
From the top of your head I smell your hair.
Can't help but pull you near.
It's a summer night.

~~~

Summer Time

You gave me the summer time
When I was young, we called it endless
With warm evenings and soft kisses
White hands we held onto.
In its dark nights with shooting stars
We drank your wine and loved
the summer time.
Help me remove this speck?
Some heartbreak had to follow,
How was I ever to know old men show the way?
That we men must go away
Before we love the summer time too much
To make War on other men on distant shores,
Feel the sand in your eyes?

~~~