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This small book of poems with much to tell holds poignant vignettes of one woman’s life. From the humor and empathy of character studies about people whose lives touched hers to the terror of a nocturnal tornado; from the depth of her love for nature to the life-long love that survived despite wartime separations that often left her to raise four children alone, Thompson heralds the unique joys and struggles of being a woman that embraces all of life.
36 pages, Paperback
First published February 14, 2013
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March 14, 2018
We are the publisher, so all of our authors get five stars from us. Excerpts:
POLISHED JEWELS
Artists search their palettes, unable to
capture Fall’s jewel tones, elusive
deep shadows, the kiss of sun.
Fall will not stand still to pose, moves
about, draping jeweled necklaces
on crooked dogwoods, stretching
to crown the mountains.
Hills put on their Fall attire slowly,
choosing to tantalize: revealing first
rusty reds, then blurs of topaz and amber.
Sapphire and ruby appear with patience,
colors of crusty, rough stones.
Her random decor is not unflawed,
but when only tall pines and hemlock
thrust cold arms toward dull winter skies
and stark tree skeletons stand in snow,
we will tumble over in sweet memory
Fall’s rough stone colors
until all become polished jewels,
perfect, and warm to the touch.
THE PARTY’S OVER
The mountains wait, stone
silent, for Fall to go about her business,
then depart.
The hills grow weary of the gaudy
season’s riot and wait for Winter’s
housekeeping to blow rattling
crumbs of faded leaves
down to valleys below.
As beauty longs to remove
makeup, retreat from admiration,
the mountains yearn to pull up
snowy blankets and sleep
a dreamless Winter, having set
the precocious alarm clock of Spring.
POLISHED JEWELS
Artists search their palettes, unable to
capture Fall’s jewel tones, elusive
deep shadows, the kiss of sun.
Fall will not stand still to pose, moves
about, draping jeweled necklaces
on crooked dogwoods, stretching
to crown the mountains.
Hills put on their Fall attire slowly,
choosing to tantalize: revealing first
rusty reds, then blurs of topaz and amber.
Sapphire and ruby appear with patience,
colors of crusty, rough stones.
Her random decor is not unflawed,
but when only tall pines and hemlock
thrust cold arms toward dull winter skies
and stark tree skeletons stand in snow,
we will tumble over in sweet memory
Fall’s rough stone colors
until all become polished jewels,
perfect, and warm to the touch.
THE PARTY’S OVER
The mountains wait, stone
silent, for Fall to go about her business,
then depart.
The hills grow weary of the gaudy
season’s riot and wait for Winter’s
housekeeping to blow rattling
crumbs of faded leaves
down to valleys below.
As beauty longs to remove
makeup, retreat from admiration,
the mountains yearn to pull up
snowy blankets and sleep
a dreamless Winter, having set
the precocious alarm clock of Spring.
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