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
degree.

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // SHORT: Lost by Thomas Rivet

Lost
"...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."

THOMAS RIVET

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.

THOMAS RIVET

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.

Catastrophe.

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

dead.

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // SELF-SERIES: Me, In Some Words by Thomas Rivet

Voiced // SELF-SERIES: Me, In Some Words by Thomas Rivet

Voiced // SELF-SERIES: Me, In Some Words by Thomas Rivet

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.

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // SHORT: Anger & Soul by Thomas Rivet

In episodes of anger

and weakness, we roar

to slice the silence,

to cleanse our core.

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // POEM: Eat the Goddamn Cake by Thomas Rivet

Eat the Goddamn Cake
Be the water that you are,
pure and light, like a star.
Judgement is a cloud, full
and grey, if you let it be.
Reign over any ignorant scrutiny,
whether cold or sly,
give it up,
give it up,
it isn't worth your time and effort,
no word of a lie.
Hail your uniqueness,
be strong, be courageous,
take no orders; eat the cake ...
you're a goddamn snowflake!

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // POEM: Renewed Generosity by Thomas Rivet

Renewed Generosity

When she's having a bad day, she doesn't cry.

She may shed tears every once in a while,

but they aren't shed in the name of misery, no, 

rather over an accumulation of joy.

Tomorrow, or later,

she will smile, or shine,

when she will have

turned grass greener,

given trees and bushes a chance at life,

and we may curse at her while she weeps,

with a fork, or a knife,

and for what ...

Sure she makes us wet,

but she isn't in debt

to us, the fools

who fail to see

her decency,

her renewable generosity.

THOMAS RIVET

--

Voiced // POEM: Zero by Thomas Rivet

Zero

In the dust

I see lust -

there is a gale

however frail or pale,

the wind blows below me.

With a whoosh

and a whistle

my oily tears drizzle

to our crust;

our moss

and dismissed and missed,

loved-one loss.

In a world unjust,

there is none to dust

nor shivers in the air.

O few know,

but in our world unjust,

zero declare.

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // SHORT SERIES: Isabella IV by Thomas Rivet

One evening, under a crimson skyline, Isabella ceased

her usual stroll from the muddy marshes.  Her movement
paused as she gawked at the two fungi-ridden towers

that stood at the entrance of our medieval-esque dwelling.
Isabella suddenly

felt disorientated - letting out a scream of agony,
as she pressed her fingertips

on her temples to alleviate the overwhelming pain.
She took the matter in her own hands; 

hurrying to our kitchenette -

stumbling and knocking herself against
the matured wooden stools and tables
that stood in her way.  Isabella fearfully
searched for any item or ingredient to
provide healing.
Isabella thought a ground-vegetable broth would resolve

the excruciating aching.  Despite her effort, it was of no avail.
She was overcome by her weakness ... and fell unconscious.

Days, weeks passed ...

Isabella rested - soon recovering from her
macabre fall, she then crawled to our bedroom after awakening, 
spending many fortnights under the bed sheets ...
thankfully, that is all it took to have her emerge, 
almost transcendently.

Particular events preceding our way to our yonder abode
were now carefully being pieced together, and
there were some discrepancies.

Voiced // SHORT SERIES: Isabella III by Thomas Rivet

My lady of the sunshine, Isabella, soon began to wander

the rustic whereabouts surrounding our empty abode. 
Silence crept through the unsettled lands;

waters ceased to flow, birdsong felt banished, only the winds 
breathed down our spines.

There was a presence - au contraire - an absence.

Isabella said nothing.  She would only murmur to me; 
invariably ending her utterances with an adorable giggle.  
Her cheeks would refine, 
turning red - matching her palpable ruby lips.

She seemed detached; Isabella stopped bathing, but would return 

drenched from the nearby marshland; mumbling profanity. 
Isabella was swirling into severe psychosis.

"Gods! Gods! Forsake not - forsake me not,"

Isabella, in impulse, exclaimed from our stone balcony,

with no one to hear her despair.

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // SHORT SERIES: Isabella II by Thomas Rivet

Isabella spoke in soft tongue; 
she could lullaby the fiercest of predators.
Her words, however, could poison the last man's blood to fatal lengths.
Without her callous charm, her and I would have never been royal lovers.

"Cursed you - you wretched warrior - to the depths; to the abyss with you,"
she would reiterate to herself, as she stood in the shady corner of our bedroom.

I witnessed a glimmering tear, as she strenuously heaved her pride apart.
Isabella fell to her knees, incomplete.

What was I to do? Seek help, or let time heal all wounds?

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // SHORT SERIES: Isabella by Thomas Rivet

"Take me yonder,

and I shall call it home"

Isabella cried in desperation.

Isabella now despises me;
have I become a tame man?
It cannot be yonder,
although tempted to wonder ...
what other reason 
for this irrational treason? 

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // POEM: Anger by Thomas Rivet

O thunderous sky
why do you sting
and side with lightning?
Are you angry,
are you in discontent?
Clouds; your Brothers,
your grayscale blankets,
clothe you and feed you droplets
of Earth's freshest
sources and streams.
O thunderous sky,
cease your rumbling,
halt your bolts,
veer your volts,
tell what's wrong
and welt not
Our big blue dot.

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // LESS: Silence by Thomas Rivet

There is something about silence 
that renders me 
speechless.

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // POEM: A Frolic Alcoholic Once Told Me by Thomas Rivet

A Frolic Alcoholic Once Told Me
A frolic alcoholic once told me,
"when times are glum,
have a glass or twelve of rum,
until your toes and fingertips go numb
and don't even bother leaving me some,
for it grants you release and freedom."
He added,
"and I could do without,
for my words are slu-urred
and delve from three dozen years (or about)
in and out
of bars and pubs along my ordinary route,
and thirst-quenching bouts of existential doubt.

He stumbled and tumbled; 
turning back to face me,
bowing in drunken glory.

THOMAS RIVET

Voiced // POEM: Catch My Drift by Thomas Rivet

Catch My Drift
"Catch my drift,"
Ocean said to
clumsy coast.
Clumsy, as it be,
it would miss. Boast,
the wicked wave would,
as it knew it could,
not that it should.
Ocean paid the price,
as his solid neighbour docked
and became its bed rock.
Now Ocean is alone;
nothing to hate, 
or humiliate -
except its
sudden, 
sodden fate.

THOMAS RIVET