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Six Poems
by Taunja Thomson



Levitating Over (In Hell There Is No)


In hell there is no yellow moon
eclipsing the ends of country roads


In hell the yellow moon
does not remind you
of a wolf’s eye
a poppy petal
a topaz.


In hell you do not breathe in
edge-of-woods honeysuckle  
rain-drenched bark
snowy wind.


In hell you don’t stand
on the rocks of a river
amazed at the moon
levitating over
black trees.



a line, (a short blue one)




Only Being Two


I dreamt we sat on a pew of rosewood
that was too long for just the two of us;


the stained glass window brought out
the wood’s red and threw it


back through the saints’ cloak
and up to the sky.


Effortlessly we followed still seated
on the rosewood pew:


over stumps and the tops of trees
brown and gold and moss


sharp like daggers and feathery like ferns.
A valley revealed itself to us


complete with waterfall and birdsong
soft mist rising from wet grass


and the loneliness we were told
to feel for only being two


simply could not be
outside of stale walls


and windows that bite with hard colors
that throw down judgment upon the heads


of those who follow with bent backs.
We choose to soar without wings.







a line, (a short blue one)






shreds of self
washed away, burned
away, absorbed by roots
of trees--nothing
left to rust or spoil
or betray







a line, (a short blue one)




This apex is ours--


upon an ashy settee
they agree on silos
spewing missiles
            how many
            but not why






a line, (a short blue one)




Portrait of Solitary Hazel:  Chuck


Dark hair looms
over one eye—
the other
Body lean   unsure
movements suggesting
running away
or the desire to.
Slim wrists decorated
with yarn.
Flip of head
long fingers sweep
brief glimpse
of other eye.





a line, (a short blue one)



Sweeter Garden


Come teasing   begging

thin bending

old desperate river.

Come, black taking  

tearing brightest pardons

from my lips

over whispering

minutes—fast breathing

satin answer.






            over broken


            tongue flowing




            sweeter garden

            unreason   fleeting

            mandolin turning fire—

                                                come to bed.






~Found poem from Jethro Tull’s “Black Satin Dancer”



a line, (a blue one)


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