Alan Bruce Thompson
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Alan Bruce Thompson Poems
She stood there pouting, adopting a film star pose, As her curvaceous virile body, pushed shape into her clothes. She perched on her stiletto heels, threw back her blond hair,
Is it possible with just words too conjure up a smell, Do the words ‘burning flesh” remind you of Hell? And the mere mention of the breath of a lady’s perfume,
Free Market Economy
The world began with me, there was nothing before, History what's that? Your past is a bore. What's there is here, was simply not there,
Missing Your Voice
I hear your voice sometimes now, It's in the wind when it blows right through. I hear your voice daily now, There's no mistaking that sound quite true.
If you look another person in the eyes and they look away, Then your soul is free to look another day. Don’t look a dog in his eyes, because you’ll never be free,
The Way Back
During my life I got lost along the way, Did not watch myself, let me be carried each day. I simply let someone else decide for me,
Deep beneath the surface of the sea, Away from the tides and the winds from lea. The mighty kraken floated as if lighter than air, Their tentacles swirling like octopi without a care.
The holy family made of wood, Hoisted on shoulders, staggering then stood.
She looks into the mirror with a loving stare, Wallowing in her beauty, adoring with care. She turns herself around in her selfie affair,
I can get what I want if I stamp my feet, If I make enough noise, I get what I want to eat, Exactly what I want, very colourful, very sweet.
Free ticket to heaven
Jostling past the other pushers to be first on the train, I push and shove and love to complain. If I'm first, in time, I'll find a seat and sit down,
Strangers Each Day
She saw him and wanted to meet, So she stumbled as she crossed the street. He picker her up and gazed into her eyes,
Facing The Wall
The history of the world flashed by as I faced the wall, The unraveling of the past from before the rise to after the fall. Lifetimes and dynasties pass in seconds before the eye,
Into The Nursing Home
We should put mother in the home without much fuss, Move her across country to be close to us. Nearer to us would be better for her,
Comments about Alan Bruce Thompson
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
She stood there pouting, adopting a film star pose,
As her curvaceous virile body, pushed shape into her clothes.
She perched on her stiletto heels, threw back her blond hair,
She stood high above the crowd, aristocratic, without care.
She rehearsed for hours to become Venus personified,
She got some men excited, the others she mortified.
She swayed along, her hips swinging, so vain.
And all of his performance to collect tickets on a train?