Dying to See

(An original poem by Ty Thomas)

On the wayside, lost in the rising smoke
of burning ships lighting across the sea,
trapped by my own hands, I wait for my death
for the flames to devour all in me

Past regrets surface, as I breathe no more
foreign doubts subdue my heart, dragging me
down, down
down . . .

a thought as alien as a new life
lilts softly through the current, shining bright
it pries open my eyes, forcing me to
see, see
see . . .

nothing is lost while the mind still wanders
nothing is silent when the waves crash down.
water, once stagnant, now bursting, alive
in tidal wonders of a spacious mind

I Sleep in Every Class

(An original poem by Ty Thomas)

Bursting with reckless abandon
I am a creature of the night
But come the time of day
When school demands attention . . .

I sleep in every class.

The teachers are all rising
My eyes are slowly drooping
The clock rings seven forty-five
I'm down and out, lost in the sands 

I'm jolted every forty-five
My mind still half-way trapped inside
Drifting through the halls, I wander
Hoping I'll find my bed in time 

Visions break through reality
Fall into half-sentient sight
I can't remember anything
Past, present, or the president

Through blurry sight, red numbers shine
Two thirty-three, two minutes left
Until I rise up for the night
Ready to rule my little world

Alarm bells ring, and teens chatter
Sight going weary . . .
Limbs growing cold . . . 
I collapse on the tiled floor 

Only to find it soft and warm
I find myself within it
Then my mind screams out to me
"It was but all a dream." I sigh.

My clock reads three in the morning
I lie in bed, awake and alive
Perhaps a being of the night
Would have been born without any dreams . . .

To keep him firmly trapped in sleep
Yet make his mind run wild, alive.

The City of Gears

(An original poem by Ty Thomas)

Alive, but dying
Free, but shackled
United, but torn
unreal reality

The black ash billowed towards the sky
The gears and pistons pounding
They wander the city roads, mindless
unaware of all around them

The heart, three large and strong
the lynch pin of our world
should it fail, and cease to beat
we all shall fall, we all shall die

We fight to keep it turning
and thus, we have survived
We've lost ourselves, we've lost our minds
We've even lost the heavens

But as it turns, nobody knows
we go about our lives
unaware of what we've lost
unaware of all the costs

We see the heart, we call it good
it turns to keep us breathing
its' patterns blind us, keep us hidden
from the truth behind the facade

The gears, they turn, three large, three strong
dictating our lives right in front of our eyes

Voices of the Minorities

So let's just get right to the point, shall we?

Found some pretty awesome poets, and figured I'd share a few of my favorites with you. . .

"Dust" by Dorianne Lux

"Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver

"The Word" by Tony Hoagland

Personally, I gravitate towards poetry that has an expressionistic tone, the kind of poetry that leaves you thinking long after you have read it. Isn't that the point of all poetry, to make you think? I really liked these three poems for those precise reasons. "Dust" essentially sums up that little feeling that any artists gets when they feel inspiration, and that hits me right at home, since I'm aspiring to be an author, and just like the person in the poem, I often fail to see said inspiration. I would try to analyze this little thought more, but now is not the time to go all philosophical. There will be plenty of room for that later.