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Three
2 Stanzas On: Love (b. 5 - 29 -
2001)
By Jeffrey Thompson (b. 3 - 3 -
1968)
O love of love - do be my love
Where faith and hope do fall. -
And G-d above, do be my joy -
To prosper on - and onwards: all
Do have it - deep in self -
To teach it to their by-gone days
Where penance finds a vast abode
In higher, fragrant, godly ways.
Of: Heaven And Hell (b. 5 - 26 -
2001)
A Poem By Jeffrey R. Thompson
(b. 3 - 3 - 1968)
Heaven and Hell
is a thrilling theme
of what it all does mean to me
my gifts were taken in a shift
of coffee
ingrained
to the sway of the perfect image
of one g-d in me
making the page for a day.
Heaven and Hell
is a trilling wean
that captures by the sea ere
a-strophied
and past selahed to chaos
of coffee
and the greek gods ingrained
to my weather.
so come sweeter . . .
Heaven and Hell
is a billing scene
of what it sure does mean to men
in the pews at church
with all of their women, not knowing the
lurch
that hides itself as near as Cain still
speaks to this day, here . . .
abide: that fur elise has found me here
of LvBeethoven’s starry, seeing -
Mercy eyes?
"Big Money"
A Poem By Jeffrey R. Thompson
Big money.
seething bodies of corruption
steal the scene
away from me
and say that it’s obscene to type.
But: the Lord will surely make it right.
mesquitos bite . . . .
And: violin strings just sear of a
well-burnished beauty.
what has really happened here?
I saw the rainbows past the dew
that made a hue for rhyme forgot
and distant people, so as sure.
i’m in it just for something more: -
like: role models and / decency.
i’ll steal the sinner from the grave
of: wake the dead, and what he gave
of: but a certain solution for all of
the luxuries
inside my house. of doubts and rumors
that so spread,
‘tis just big money to write dead
and thrill a nation with your sounds
that out-renown the comers there
to a slow-stroke of ransom
for a violin concert.
yes, alas, I have hearkened the dead
to a new page within me
to a rue-rage upon me
that just comforts me: sorrow.
it was: ME
so screaming at the dew in my headroom
that I’d play that one compact disc once
all over again
just to show the salutes
of: my poetry works
of: a piety
before the sanhedrin in yeshua’s time.
God, do save us from the tidal waves as
turb’lent times
that rage as fast as pen can go
at my deep-desert woe
turned to joy again, here
that I forget the year
that it happened at first -
on this page of my death
as this rage of my birth
woed to asunder, again
to a thunder attained
by the gifts that Christ gave . . .
BIG MONEY
will kill you
with the joy that does thrill you
to: classmates - adieu
to my cause - and me.
eventually: big money doesn’t matter /
it makes no difference
whether you were rich or poor at your
death,
and we all just breathe the same breath
of statutes
and gain
that I can’t say
what was I wore before the coming dew
made it’s own roar
at the cleft of the stars
in my jail-house room bars
I am bored w / the tricks
of political ######
working an acupuncture upon me?
I simply: do not know.
the coming fragrance winds shall ####
of vapors that try me, rancid
and a pacified #### of a new, truest
vision
of tapers, and: Yeshua.
Eruption
A Sonnet By Jeffrey Reed Thompson
Eruption
from within
seizes my brain
for call it sin
on the wrath of this planet
to the devil in Hell
of my joy delivered as to another
sanctuary
of the heaven within us / the heaven
about us
the heaven we climb uselessly in
struggle towards
like men in action / men at war, we say:
Man your torpedoes - again!
how it all claims it’s luxury
and comes to a useless, bitter end
or Hell’s escapees delivered . . . .
"A Sprinkled Seed - For: All Of
The Tumble-Weed Inside ME."
A Poem By Jeff R. Thompson
Let us see what we can do. I have the
sunlight
And the new
view
of the stagecraft i’ve passed
past a witchcraft so sage
hating
that I forgot to play a game:
upon my name, here, fell a blame
of the fells
in the witchiest city:
Oberlin, Ohio
where heartland is by-passed
to the surgery of what will do me, and
truly
just throw all those ####### strait into
the sea
so that I can breath a nervous end,
at least
to all the derision
that so eats
the moral fibers of my body I can’t
speak -
the earth is G-d’s gift to the meek,
not the wicked that geek
me
in a new way in secret
in the art for humility of me
in my humanity, that human need
that finds a spark out on the page -
great men may share a common rage
of graffiti upon them
of the so-spaken wren
that departs so a mourning dove
my roof-top wore awhile, and there, I
smiled
that I could walk a common mile
w / the ########
w / joy of the #######, once escaping
the truth
for my own Hell of joy . . . .
that, bottomless, for treating ware
of a mad snare
of w / in us/ upon us
the kingdom of Heaven comes back to the
wind
of me: deep, and within
of the depth of sarcasm I write w /
adventured
to a new land of bores, not /
as to a place that Heaven never can
forget:
to know at least the curse of Noah?
all about the waters just flowed to a
rainbow. -
and the wicked drowned in wicked need .
. . .
The WORD Of The LORD As
Perceived Under SUN
A Sonnet By Jeffrey R. Thompson
"I am who I am."
- find some sinners god-damned
- find some sinners become
- and here, under the sun
BE,
Here, and fortitude - Yeshua in you.
The truth that has made us / what
Becomes: morning to ev’ning.
I go on in lim’rick
for the truth is a mad trick
upon sinners
upon winners
found the be-you slick . . . adieu.
Vast Ocean - The Vessels Will
Brawl With The Storm (b. 5 - 29 - 2001)
A Sonnet By Jeff Thompson (b. 3 - 3 -
1968)
I just want to be forgiven
of the all I do not do; -
I’ll just try my hand at leavened
bread, for all the joyful, too
rue of the burning and starriest
tensions
that arise in the lepers, as so
the one truth of the fallen liaisons
that just fallen, and fallen next: go!
I, how: seek to be wise. -
I, lo, and behold, seek to tame my own
name
of disguise
that just beckons to meek eyes - the
lame.
I, here, so just forget it all -
for: I am lon’ly again - and the vessels
will brawl . . . .
Strange Moments Of Awareness (b.
5 - 26 - 2001)
By Jeff Thompson (b. 3 - 3 - 1968)
1.
Vanished felt
was myself
driving the road
in that car
thinking: I / me.
A doctor's prescription
saw sheets
formed my mad way
coming
out of heart.
The valley of desert
confronted the flower
I was
by gypsies.
Does it all prove me any saner than all
of you?
I gather / sow.
2.
It was better in those days.
Manuscripts and doctors
all made me wise.
I just want to get it done now;
so shackle me
joy
to the dearest.
The sheets found me again
coming out of my heart
to
a slavery?
Use the gifts that G-d gave you - ask
your questions, you poets.
And: dream on . . . .
"A Story Of Onion Head - A
Freaked Out Monk."
A.D. 10 / 20 / 01 Written In The USA
A Sonnet By The Poet, Jeff Thompson
Onion head dreads cancers of his soul;
shined
So well mind, which, so sunny, too, a
rue
For wearing well around the town -
remind
Me why hate they've a me! Jesus is true
-
Even to them who lack the sense
enshrined
Sublime to men, women, and children -
view
A birth of they today, so vast, entwined
To fate they choose - a loser's fall - -
adieu
To me! My destined braves pray which,
repined,
Give health to ours - I, who, in psalm
askew,
Give yields to verse - my fairer way!
Declined
The fools to hear the Lord is good to
who
So seek His name for help - all sinned!
A kind
Is God who, from strife free, forgives .
. . me, too!
"An
Eve' Of Johannes Brahms' 1st Piano
Concerto."
10 / 17 / 01 A.D. Written In The USA
A Sonnet By The Poet, Jeff Thompson
Had where you gone? It was my heart in
black,
To soul! I tossed a bit in fits of
strife,
I found "it" really wasn't gone - I
lack?
Evil of mine in question, comes a wife
Of sorrow, seemed I in peace - flagged
attack
Of derision in creeping mind's - mine
lifed
A many raindrops, glides the winds in
what
God love does bring - ah! perfect -
gifts, of night
In chorus with an evening bride, so
young,
Marries a Virgin, that Yahweh - of
slight
Ages ago that breeze, in still of tongue
Too short to frame it art, in sages,
bright
Intellect, massed beyond - in stars'
cry, clung,
Clustered, unseen imaged, but Brahms -
gold? Right!
"Do Not
Interrupt The Virgin In Her
Meditations."
A.D. 10 / 20 / 01 Written In The USA
A Sonnet By The Poet, Jeff Thompson
My tastes so change in music flows that
turns
Away with haste - the next day news that
feels
The privacies I've made to know what
yearns
Inside myself . . . Devils! It wrecked;
appeals
To some salutes of notion's wares - it
burns
Inside me - consumes crushed soul which
for heals
Of it's need, greed? I have so many
churns
Of that nuisance intruding stings - the
deals
Men make bereave me who together learns
So just as it's from where it comes that
steals
My solitude and stars for peace - to
ferns
At grow on grave of mine in time repeals
Me towards a finer place - Heaven
returns
To you a portion owned by you God seals.
"Atlantic Ocean Seized My Mind."
A.D. 10 / 20 / 01 In the USA
A Sonnet By The Poet, Jeff Thompson
Ocean comes, learned it's hues of sky,
so rich
In blue by day to see it's leagues that
seize
The mind to higher realms of beauty's
stitch
To hem a bit of fathomless fair freeze,
Mysteriously, and beckons the pitch
Of the sound towards a music - shoreline
trees
To the hum, true, in blessing mind's own
itch
To reach the sands before it was - what
breeze
Did call but God's? Endlessly, souls may
snitch
To think they caught a wink of God by
sea's
Reply - so vast, and rings archaic hitch
Of which so sweetly seems to sing that
seize
The heart and mind, as soul made whole;
the ditch
To sea is water born - ponder what
frees!
"Nocturnal Dream Freedom:
Insanity"
A.D. 10 / 20 / 01 In The USA
A Sonnet Written By The Poet, Jeff
Thompson
Insanity does seize my mind, harbored
In chaos, strikes oblivion! So sad
An outcome, which is mine to bear,
labored,
And trod by those who come afar, so glad
To see the pressure feast I eat, arbored
By change as the lily's domain, as mad
As dandelion's seed spree, froths
sabered
Sergeants to tree life, whacks the
leaves so bad
They drown me - sins of nature! Ghastly,
and
Evoking witches for approval! Knights
The shepherd - sheep for snatching lures
the land -
Idolatry in the still breeze - come
lights
Of those, who, seen by God, escape from
bland,
Restore nocturnal freedom - freedom
fights!
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