Monday, March 2, 2015

Voiced // POEM: Sun Sunk by Thomas Rivet

Sun Sunk
Consume me
O love dove,
dive into my soul,
unearth me like a blind
worm or mole.
Forgive me - my impatience,
it is my conscience,
tired, and
in need of a hug,
for it has been dug
out from shell,
dragged from light
to sombrous, wet well.
I sink, I have sunk,
I too miss
her radiance
for she shines
on me
for she be
a lady
of the highest


Saturday, November 15, 2014

Voiced // SHORT: Call for Attention by Thomas Rivet

Call for Attention
In a world filled with beauty, I wonder why we shut ourselves indoors, badgering numbers to make more precise predictions, yet we dismiss the Earth's directive, and then we shrug and wonder why-oh-why she erupts and shakes. How else would -or should- she capture our attention, our attention beyond the lifeless machines we share our lives with?

And this will cause guilt and criticism, for the author types this call for action behind a bright and shiny screen, O the hypocrisy of it all! Scrutinize if you may, but it won't do us any good.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Voiced // SHORT: Lost by Thomas Rivet

"...because even if I were lost in the darkened woods, far removed from town or city, 
with frosty fingertips and purple ears ... I would latch onto my soul, 
hold to my every breath, and, only then, in moments of fragile existence,
would I find myself instantly."


Sunday, October 26, 2014

Voiced // SHORT: Lucio Maxima by Thomas Rivet

Lucio Maxima
And so, then, without a dearest cause,
a yonder spotlight from the above angelic haven
came to me nearest, in such synchronicity, or so it seemed,
as I stretched my forearms to the edge of thy blistered park bench.
A whispering wind tickled my senses, nudging me towards the speckled light,
only to lift me higher, and higher; so high, so high, so close, so close,
to what one might be gentle to call a spiritual awakening. I was there,
and now I am here.


Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Voiced // SHORT SERIES: O Quentin!: Part I by Thomas Rivet

O Quentin!

Quentin examined the faucet,
four drops would hit the sink every minute;
Quentin counts. A tall, skinny boy
with pupils so deep, one could sail a boat in them.
His long brown streaks would hang like curtains across his face,
like bamboo, or seaweed dangling in the ocean currents.
Quentin sweat, but would swipe his forehead with a dish towel
before the drops could mix with the faucet’s drool.
He was an odd fella, Quentin was.
I would leave the house for hours, and days, sometimes,
and Quentin would always be counting drops.
I had to get the faucet fixed, why hadn’t I earlier.
Friday morning, briefly after lunch, the plumber came with his wrench,
I left him to quibble the rusty tubes.
Upon my return, broken glass and porcelain everywhere,
I didn’t order a painter, nor did I order a tint of red;
the plumber wasn’t a plumber,
his wrench wasn’t a tool,
but a weapon,
to kill my
odd friend


Thursday, July 24, 2014

Voiced // HAIKU: Raindrops and Hail Rocks by Thomas Rivet

Raindrops and Hail Rocks

Pale long grass tickled
by the raindrops and hail rocks,
flooding and laughter.


Sunday, June 22, 2014

Voiced // SHORT: Anger & Soul by Thomas Rivet

In episodes of anger
and weakness, we roar
to slice the silence,
to cleanse our core.