Part # USxxxxx – Night Goggles

Moon and men

play dangerous games

of hide and seek

in shades of green,

contradicting memory

of cerebral pools

of familiar colours.

Part # USxxxxx – Head-mounted Computer Display

Alpha-numeric shadows

flit like bats at nightfall

in some surreal space

where once butterflies

in colours of party balloons

frolicked and nourished

innocence of childhood.

Part # USxxxxx – Rugged Laptop Computer

A lone lizard squats

in shade of smoking tank

and rests, its half-lidded

eyes on guard should

discarded beeping notebook

awaken to the danger

of drifting sand.

Soldier in desert camouflage

with sweaty finger on warm trigger

ready to deliver instant death

thinks of his young family

while dust-covered Arab children

run along side his armoured

vehicle with thin arms outstretched

and soprano voices pleading for

some water please, some water . . .

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     (First published in "Echoes in the Wind")

CHRISTMAS EVE by Richard I. Thorman.

As night descends round the earth

            and the light show of the heavens

                        signals Christmas Eve,

thoughts of children and some adults

            transcend barriers of language,

                        religion, race and wealth,

enjoined in a fervent wish

            that all humankind may find

                        peace and freedom from fear.

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(First published in "From Cynwyd Castle")

ETERNAL DANCES by Richard I. Thorman.

Excited by irresistible fragrances

of delicate summer wildflowers,

humming bees instinctively lust after

golden globes of sweet nectar

cloaked in mysterious depths.

Slender young stocks sway gently

as humming birds in colorful best

intimately probe with softest touch

the secrets of translucent blooms.

Seasons and generations of man

in ecstatic heydays of sensuality,

in fever heats of deep mouthed passion,

in flaming raptures of the eternal dance,

rise to the primeval urge to procreate.

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(First published in "Echoes in the Wind")

CRAZY ANNIE by Richard I. Thorman.

She is called Crazy Annie

      in the streets and alleys

               where she lives.   

She speaks to herself and often everyone about her

understanding babble of babies and young children

when often rapport with adults seems unnecessary.

She dines in the company of pigeons, squirrels, gulls

and sparrows; hugs trees and park sculptures; plays

with old treasures and waltzes with shadows of dawn.

She revels in the uncertain humors of seasonality,

tasting rain, watching pussy willows, tracing sunsets,

humming to fragrant winds and dancing snowflakes.

She shuffles along through harsh realities of living,

knowing she is not alone with pain and adversity,

playing out a unique role in some greater unknown. 

She is Crazy Annie

      but she is someone else

               someone special.

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(First published in "From Cynwyd Castle")

AUTUMNAL SOLITUDES  by  Richard I. Thorman.

 My walk around the farm perimeter

this rare blue-sky day in late autumn

is shrouded in melancholic musings.

Even the antics and bubbling enthusiasm

of Major engrossed in canine pursuits

of wispy trails of shadowy creatures

who have dared to trespass in his realm

fails to divert from deeper reflections.

Crisp leaves crackle and complain underfoot.

Hardened lumps of earth wobble the soles,

ankle musculature conjuring up past sprains.

Fragranceless, sanitized whiffs of cool air

tingle the nostrils and cheeks, reminding

that soon the grey faded greenery will be

snuggled under a plump duvet of white on white.

Wands of grey colourless golden rod

stand poised ready to strike when spring

signals the annual competition of rebirth.

Evergreens stand reassuringly like sentinels

reaffirming continuity, chromatic colour

mid the somber pigments of the fall canvas.

Sounds of a barking dog echo hauntingly

across the hills and stubbled fields

as if scolding a master who has deprived him

of summer diversions and friends.

Major freezes and listens.

All is dearly familiar

like cherished memorabilia,

family albums with fading images,

reruns of old movie favorites

and old recordings recalling

memories of love and romance.

After twenty-one years of symbiosis

twixt mortal being and living earth,

the last thread of substance

is waiting to be broken.

Tractors, machinery and sundries

which inhabited the now deserted

century buildings departed reluctantly

by auction on September 26,1992.

Ere long, this familiar path I trod

will pass to the hands of a stranger

by the simple act of signing a paper.

Time has a way of overtaking all.

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(First published in "From Cynwyd Castle")

THE BARD'S MALEDICTION by Richard I. Thorman

There are times the SVGA screen stares back

Like a chilled grey corpse in a morgue in a sack

When brain storms and stimuli usually here

Are as flat in the noggin as yesterday's beer