CYNWYD CASTLE BOOKS

LIBRARY - POETRY

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@ Richard I. Thorman 04-09-1996

MORNING SERENITY by Richard I. Thorman

 Looking out over the frozen lake

this lazy morning in early spring

thoughts float aimlessly

on some distant Sargasso sea.

Monotonous line of distant shrouded mystery

teases memory of twinkling night shores

and winking shoal markers.

Eye-squinting reflected light blurs mind images

as a Great Grey Owl unusually far from home

perches on a dark branch sculpture listening

for non resident bog lemmings and red-backed voles.

Wind traces and skidoo rubbings

in filigreed oriental designs of spectrum whites

grace the crystal comforter of sleeping waters.

I and the spirit lake

      are as one

in the quiet being

  of the moment.

(Grand Award Winner in the Scarborough Arts Council 1996 Poetry

Contest and deposited in the City of Scarborough Bicentennial Time

Capsule to be opened in January 2046.)

@ Richard I. Thorman 11-08-04

GOD SPEED by Richard I. Thorman

 Mists of early morning

yet greyed the sky

as the sober faced youth

stood motionless

and contemplated

the broad Atlantic

with its restless currents

and resistless undertow.

Like many a mariner

on the brink of a voyage

of self discovery

the youth prayed

for strength a nd courage

tp face whatever

gale force adversity

he might encounter.

His ambitious  goal

was to run  from

sea to far off sea

soliciting donations

and persuading

ordinary Canadians

to join with him

in the war on cancer.

On that grey dawn

so many years ago

and with a smile on his face

Terry Fox balanced

on his muscular left leg

to dip his artificial left leg

in the Atlantic Ocean

then pivoted and was off.

With a hop/stride

hop/stride, hop/stride

this determined young man

with wind-rippled curly hair

started a quest for a cure

which millions around

the world would join.

God Speed Terry Fox"s Dream.

@ Richard I. Thorman 03-12-01

AVALON ANON by Richard I. Thorman

mounting each a stallion wide

   and steadied by a mane

these young relive their final space

   warm flesh explodes again

minds savouring cry and scream

   as thunder flashes fears

steed and rider sharing hell

   dust channels sharing tears

in high meadows bright in sum

   wait innocents of old

hearts of friends and foe to cleanse

   and waiting arms enfold

@ Richard I. Thorman 05-12-03

Part # xxxxx  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 # xxxxx  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 # xxxxx  Rgged Laprop Compurter

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.

Part # xxxxx  G.I. Joe

Soldier in desert camouflage

with sweaty finger on warm trigger

ready to deliver instant death

thinks about 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.

(First published in "Echoes in the Wind")

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.

(First published in "From Cynwyd Castle")

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 colourful 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.

(First published in "Echoes in the Wind")

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 very special.

(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.

                                                                                                               Back to Top

(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