Poetry and really short.., p.1
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       Poetry and Really Short Stories, p.1

           Lawrence Thomas
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Poetry and Really Short Stories
Poetry and (Really) Short Stories

  by Lawrence Thomas

  Copyright 2010 Lawrence Thomas

  Discover other titles by Lawrence Thomas at:


  PLEASE NOTE: This collection is a work in progress. I will upload new versions of this ebook as I re-work and insert the pieces I wish to include within. Last update was August 17th, 2010.



  Really Shorts

  Postcard Stories - 150 Words

  Postcard Storeis - 250 Words


  I Love Before Your

  Of Kings and Coles

  Transit Traces

  < Index

  I Love Before Your

  your eyes

  your hands

  your hair

  your lips

  your scent

  your smile

  Stay awhile

  Of Kings and Coles

  Music sings of Kings and Coles

  Loves unseen; love foretold

  Winters night light with snow

  Streets silent; still, no where to go

  Fingers linger under cover

  Softly, smoothly, they gently discover

  Bodies warm, curled perfect; tight

  All is dark but winters light

  And flickering embers of fireplace coals

  Reflected in eyes of obsessions souls

  With conviction I indulge in loves cuisine

  Her naked flesh, desires caffeine

  Reaching depths of her body, and in between

  Natures intention for an arctic scene

  Look into my eyes in fires light

  Vow every end, sings your goodnight

  Place your hand upon my heart

  It’s rhythmic pulse, your beauties art

  It beats for you, your tender touch

  The smell of your hair, your smile and such

  Take me places, in dreams not seen

  So I may sleep, dreaming where I’ve been

  Take my hand from your thigh

  Draw me close, in passions high

  Grasp me; hold me tight, I come into

  In my arms; surrender, as I breathe you

  Tonight our passions have been told

  Now to have, now to hold

  Warm with sweat from winter’s cold

  Bodies formed to soul mates mould

  I’ve dreamt awhile the girl in you

  With beating hearts enchanted view

  Would find alive the boy in me

  Our flesh inline, our sprits free

  Close your weary eyes my sweet

  So I may admire your peaceful sleep

  I’ll long for the moment your eyes return

  To stare in me eternal, by the fireside burn

  Until morning my love, kiss me tight

  With soft, subtle lips gentle goodnight

  Then quietly whisper in my naked ear

  ‘I love. I’ll love you – forever my dear’

  The phono ends to not a sound

  But the drum of beating hearts abound

  And the crackling embers of music’s souls

  Of Kings and Queens, of Kings and Coles.

  Transit Traces

  Missed the 5:32


  Missed the train

  Through the tunnel

  Catch the bus

  I take my seat

  Start to write

  It’s quiet

  Then he starts to talk.

  It’s Friday night, in an exuberant tone

  Plonks into his seat at the back of the bus


  Hey, to the guy on the opposing window

  Hey to anybody who will listen

  Hey. Hey. Hey.

  Like Fat Albert

  Without the fat

  Without the deep tone

  Without the hip cat.

  I stop writing

  Look up

  It is, I say inside my head

  Awoken by the things he said

  A beatnik

  A character

  King of the streets

  On the buses

  In its seats

  Carrying the harbour city beats.


  A celebration

  Of my brothers creation

  Thirty years in the making

  Seven years my younger

  To the day

  It’s your day

  One day

  The realisation

  Of the aging cycles

  Of life’s gestation.

  Kicking around on transit

  Dank smells

  Engine yells

  Next stop bells



  The sadness

  The emptiness

  Their faces tell.

  Woman reading

  Guy reading sideways

  Guy on walkman, now sleeping

  Teen pauses in front of me



  Shows me

  The God Delusion


  Black cover

  White text

  Horn rimmed glasses

  Well read


  Tucks his hair around his ears.

  Bus quiet



  Mid-way train

  Older lady slowly tossing

  Side to side towards the bus



  Bag full of books?

  Welcomed aboard by nosy looks.

  People anxious


  Heater rattles in

  An airy rhythm riddling

  Its weathered windings twiddling.

  Wipes his hair around his ears.

  Days almost fallen

  God guy’s sleeping

  I’m still writing


  Look around

  Lights flashing

  Doors close

  Lights dim


  On the road again.

  Like a kid

  Riding the bus

  So playful

  I look up


  Attentive to the faces their wearing

  I listen

  BLInk, bliNK, go the flashers

  Vroom, VROOm, goes the engine.

  Move people

  Back a little

  Further please

  More people

  Coloured people

  White people

  A curious child’s delight

  Old people

  Young people

  Every kind of neat people

  The day has turned to night.

  Why is that man sleeping daddy?

  Can I read my book too?






  Wish my girls were here.

  The elusion of God

  Deep in thought









  Wipes his hair around his ears.

  Train diary


  Creative titles



  Fear of dying

  Afraid to live





  It’s not the order of

  This road we’re riding

s sharing the fears

  That we are hiding

  Listening to the cries

  Of our dreams subsiding.

  A vision out my window

  Sudden memories

  An image of



  Night long conversations


  Their illuminations



  No moment ever boring

  Lost in gazes

  Of early loves romantic stages.

  Visions of

  What’s missing in this love

  Now love

  Supposed to be forever love

  Got to get it together love

  How do I find again

  In this love

  That love

  The love we had before.

  My mind returns to home






  Leg embraces

  Sad goodbyes

  The looks of love

  From my creations

  The adoration

  In their faithful eyes.

  Wipes his hair around his ears

  The uneasy twitch of knowledge’s fears.

  Gets up


  Black cover

  White text






  Steps off

  Doors close

  To political clauses.

  Hey buddy

  Hey buddy

  I finally turn

  He’s talking to buddy

  I discern

  I turn back


  No cause for concern.

  Hey buddy

  Hey buddy

  I turn again

  Chocolates for a smoke?

  You got ‘em?

  A trick or treat bag full

  I don’t, but I would

  He looks dejected

  His fix rejected.

  Hey buddy

  Hey buddy

  He doesn’t smoke neither

  Hey buddy

  Hey buddy

  Not that guy either.

  Candy man

  Friday night man

  I gotta get home man

  Hey buddy man

  Back of the bus man

  Gotta smoke man

  This is your story man

  Thanks for the reminder man

  Of the Friday 5:01 plan.

  He’s my cousin

  My brother

  Share’s my birth day

  Almost died one day

  A father

  A husband

  A friend

  A son to his mother

  His father my dad’s brother.

  Your birthday there

  I am here

  I’ll be there soon

  To cheer

  Be merry



  Their voices carried

  A toast

  A laugh



  Our birthday’s married.

  Arrive at the station

  The TH&B

  Missed the #2

  Took the 3

  Not too out of the way for me

  Full load





  The Friday night sensation.

  I am here now

  You are there now

  Finally, a brotherly embrace

  Feel the music

  Breath it’s bass

  Hear the voices

  Gathered in this place

  Your day

  My day

  Face to face

  Societies’ sadness

  Their smiles displace.

  Really Shorts

  Between Faded Blue Lines

  < Index

  Between Faded Blue Lines

  As I finger through these pages, my hands lose twenty years of knowledge. The grey hairs dissipate, my eyes return to passionate green naivety. All the dreams I once carried are alive and well within my heart. The possibilities are endless. Marriage and fatherhood so far off into the horizon.

  I wrote this story in grade seven. It was the product of a week long creative writing elective our English teacher taught. A stack of foolscap paper, edges torn, faces wrinkled, and various scribbles on the backside of most of the pages. Course marks, math equations, sketches, names of childhood crushes and little love notes unsent. Even pages dedicated to practicing my signature for when I went on book signing tours perhaps. I must have carried this story everywhere with me that year as it evolved into the hundred or so pages that now loosely fill this folder.

  There is so much of my past evident within these pages; so much of me, but what I long to recapture as I flip through these chapters of my youth, is the passion and dedication that once lived between these faded blue lines.

  Postcard Stories - 150 Words

  In Through the Bathroom Window

  Her Valentine

  Love on the GO

  Monies Things

  < Index

  In Through the Bathroom Window

  Three Words: statue, massage, geography

  Word Count: 149 words

  Jonathon lied in bed, admiring how Sasha’s statuesque curves reflected into the bedroom mirror. The way the sun emanating in through the bathroom shades, glistened off her wet body as she stepped out of the shower.

  As she finished drying off, Sasha reached for the lotion, pouring a moderate amount of the oily liquid into her palms.

  Jonathon made his way into the bathroom and reached for the container in Sasha’s hands. Sasha submissively released her grip on the lotion bottle, turned her cheek to his awaiting lips, and smiled as Jonathon began to massage her soft figure.

  After a short while, Sasha turned, brushed her long fingers outward across Jonathon’s chest, releasing his robe to the floor.

  They made love as the hot, sweaty summer’s breeze, breathed deeply in through the bathroom window.

  Geography had taken away their time together, but time had not taken away their passion.

  Her Valentine

  Three Words: frizzy, temptation, breakfast

  Word Count: 148 words

  Even as Claire looked into the mirror at her frizzy hair and pillow indented face, she couldn’t help but smile, thinking about the events of the past twelve hours.

  The evening was one she had dreamt of from the moment Jake caught her eye. They had also danced for the first time that same night, and it was in his arms where she immediately fell in love.

  It was now two years later, and all the temptation leading up to last night came flooding through her thoughts, as she stared into her peaceful blue eyes in Jakes bathroom mirror. She had not known this kind of happiness, this kind of contentment, in a long time.

  Claire let Jacobs robe fall off her slender, tanned, naked body, and slipped back under the covers. She didn’t want this perfect night to end.

  Suddenly, the sweet smell of breakfast. Heart-shaped pancakes.

  Love On The GO

  Three Words: forgiveness, muppet, interloper

  Word Count: 150 words

  Riding the GO today. It’s been awhile.

  Many days left behind without memory of events, passing the hours like a muppet on a wire. An interloper, in my own skin.

  These moments were my hearts forgiveness; my minds inspiration.

  I notice them at the handoff. Through the tunnel, I follow their path. She resembles my Tara with her ebon coat and gentle spirit.

  With aging bones she pushes up the stairs.

  I stop beside them on the platform. Remembering a friend I’ve lost.

  I admire the love between these two friends.

  Waiting to board, she reaches down to rub her girl’s ears, tenderly stroking her soft, silky fur. Her companion closes her eyes in comfort. In love.

  I didn’t realize how much I missed her.

  We board the train. A blanket placed on the floor. She cuddles in and closes her eyes. She does the same.

  They look so peaceful.

  Monies Things

  Three Words: closet, antagonist, amendment

  Word Count: 147 words

  In my closet, my antagonist lives

  Under my bed lurks my adversary

  In silent prayer my echo forgives

  That within these walls my enemies marry.

  In the basement my opposer dwells

  The boilers thunder is Evil’s cell

  On the telephone between words

  And in the songs of black birds

  My enemies poisonous whispers tell.

  In the back seat of my car, on the floor

  In drawers behind my office door

  In my mind their voices control me

  In my thoughts, in dreams I see.

  I made an amendment to destiny’s sole

  Reaching for monies things, takes its toll

  My dreams possessions quietly stole

  So now anger follows my every move

  Within my shadows, and in my shoes.

  In thoughts our message carries

  The Evil in our eye the devil queries

  But I can’t keep these thoughts out of my head

  For within these walls their anger spreads.

  Postcard Stories - 250 Words

  Turn Down, Yellow Night

  Confidently Into The Horizon

  < Index

  Turn Down, Yellow Night

  Three Words: lustrous, fluttering, eclipse

  Word Count: 246

  I peer out the curtains. The streets are dark. The house is quiet. Our family sound asleep. My faithful friend curled at my feet. I bend down and softly stroke her lustrous ebon coat. She lifts her head gently, stretching out her aging bones. Voicing an energetic yawn, she looks up at me with a playful stare.

  “Time for a walk, pretty girl?”

  She jumps up. Her happy tail fluttering with anticipation. This was the moment we patiently awaited each day.

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