tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53826731037321985172024-03-21T02:12:14.504-07:00Poet Domainby<br>
Clinton S. Thomas, Th.D.That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-38987607366036691462015-07-24T13:43:00.000-07:002015-07-24T13:45:33.854-07:00Polluted Rapture<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">At that trumpet call </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">we will gag as we</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">pass polluted clouds </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">naked on our way</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">to the judgement call </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #292f33; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">to see Jesus Christ.</span>That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-43834575258004559112014-12-23T20:50:00.003-08:002014-12-23T20:50:34.017-08:00Christmas Truce<div class="MsoNormal">
To a hundred years ago</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In that 1914 snow.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cold and frost made mud a ground</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And men rose up all around.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The lines of death forgotten</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even those that were rotten</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Were placed with care in the grave</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When Christ once more ruled that day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Men sang, drank, and prayed</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To celebrate in a way</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The day silent night rang out</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Closing man’s war throughout </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When the guns, gas, and the bombs</div>
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:DocumentProperties>
<o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template>
<o:Revision>0</o:Revision>
<o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime>
<o:Pages>1</o:Pages>
<o:Words>62</o:Words>
<o:Characters>359</o:Characters>
<o:Company>My QIDP</o:Company>
<o:Lines>2</o:Lines>
<o:Paragraphs>1</o:Paragraphs>
<o:CharactersWithSpaces>440</o:CharactersWithSpaces>
<o:Version>12.0</o:Version>
</o:DocumentProperties>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Were made quite with a Tannenbaum</div>
That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-55000093516338556572013-04-01T22:10:00.001-07:002013-04-01T22:10:52.456-07:00Four Letter Word<br />
<br />
A four letter word<br />
He waited to hear His Father shout it.<br />
Laying still in the cold and dark<br />
Where fear seemed to be living for eternity<br />
Nightmares, demons, and haunts<br />
Surrounded Him as the gates of hell were closing.<br />
He may have been afraid,<br />
Or He may have been a brave Son.<br />
Just before His Father spoke the four letter word<br />
That struck through that eternal moment<br />
"Rise,"<br />
Then the stone rolled away.<br />
<br />
<br />
4-1-13That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-63151852937177421282012-09-21T07:28:00.003-07:002012-09-21T07:28:28.707-07:00Against OddsHaving a dream<br />
does not always ensure<br />
a reality delivered.<br />
I have a dream.<br />
<br />
A plot, a shot<br />
and dreams die in spilt blood<br />
leaving words admired today.<br />
I have a dream.That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-26434952454509151572011-03-21T18:52:00.001-07:002011-03-21T19:06:12.565-07:00Murder of the Fogels<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEkgPhxLej4q7tpZSsdynDQZebhH2PAlUEoa0-qsKa62IzXgk5tByTZ-FqxTSwCrchoSkOdjo_G6LZhHwXgn5gKPk6wNHDfgIub-05N6AsBGZToH3nyhgl7T37P9lscra7FVwERmqnB_U/s1600/fogel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEkgPhxLej4q7tpZSsdynDQZebhH2PAlUEoa0-qsKa62IzXgk5tByTZ-FqxTSwCrchoSkOdjo_G6LZhHwXgn5gKPk6wNHDfgIub-05N6AsBGZToH3nyhgl7T37P9lscra7FVwERmqnB_U/s200/fogel.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="jp-mainarticle-picture" id="ctl00_ContentPlaceHolder1_article_control_art_pic"><span id="ctl00_ContentPlaceHolder1_article_control_imgTitle">Photo by copyright: Courtesy Yesha Council</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Forget and ignore the world says<br />
Over popular media connections.<br />
Get on with life and live your dreams.<br />
Even the Rabbi said, “Let the dead bury the dead”<br />
Live, you are half a world away.<br />
<br />
Men and women die<br />
Under the flag of David’s freedom.<br />
Rising in the dark of night<br />
Devils and murdering cowards feel strong.<br />
Even as tiny fist clenched in pain,<br />
Rivers of blood from stabs and slashes drained.<br />
Somewhere seeing five, He holds back the Angel’s sword for now.That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-91237208453648330752010-11-14T17:19:00.000-08:002010-11-14T17:19:49.867-08:0080's Day (2nd Draft)The 80’s<br />
big hair, big bands, metal ballads and parachute pants.<br />
Cable television, just over the horizon<br />
Don Johnson, Bo Derek - never growing old<br />
Whitesnake, Van Halen, Michael – young<br />
Eight tracks, records out to cassette tapes.<br />
Reagan offered hope<br />
Communist offered doom<br />
Amazed by DOS, stunned by Windows<br />
Typewriters to computers.<br />
<br />
80’s day<br />
A celebration<br />
Where’s the beef, Like a Virgin, headbands<br />
Big hair is big wigs,<br />
parachute pants costumes<br />
Going retro<br />
Saying, “I like the old stuff.”<br />
Spandex, leg warmers<br />
wondering about music<br />
on MTV.<br />
<br />
<i>{This is an updated version of "80's Day" found below. Feedback would be appreciated and I hope you enjoy the changes.}</i>That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-83123654778087514782010-05-15T16:47:00.001-07:002010-05-15T16:47:19.275-07:0080's DayI remember 50’s day<br />
in the 80’s when we had it all<br />
big hair, big bands, metal ballads and parachute pants.<br />
Cable television, just over the horizon<br />
<br />
We were unique, never changing like Magnum P.I. <br />
Don Johnson and Bo Derek were never growing old<br />
Whitesnake, Van Halen, and Michael before he was weird and still cool.<br />
Eight tracks and records died to cassette tapes.<br />
<br />
Reagan was going to save us all<br />
While the Terminator reminded us, we were doomed<br />
We were in awe by DOS and stunned by Windows<br />
Computers were innovative, while we typed on typewriters<br />
<br />
Now they have an 80’s day<br />
Where’s the beef, Like a Virgin, and headbands<br />
It’s all retro now with spandex and leg warmers.<br />
Foreign to a generation who never saw the music on MTV.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
5-12-2010That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-51604413036516162782010-01-20T20:03:00.000-08:002010-01-20T20:08:18.063-08:00BearThe mightiest of animals in the woods.<br />It is said that when a bear falls, <br />even the trees take notice.<br />Graceful and free in life.<br />Humbled and stilled in death.<br />From birth,<br />a cry distinguishable <br />always<br />until extinguished <br />by death.<br />Throughout the woods the bear is heard<br />leaving prints <br />where greatness roamed.<br />For all the ones gone ahead,<br />and those still to go,<br />we will not forget the bear.<br />The mightiest of animals in the woods.<br /><br /><br />The above poem was written after visiting a Facebook group started by Susan Haley for all former students of Sylvan Hills High School in Sherwood, Arkansas who have died. Susan has done a fantastic job at pulling this group together and it reminded me not only of lost friends, but also of the "prints" those friends leave behind on our lives and the world as a whole. This poem is for all SHHS Bears and Susan.That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-91667891956996754212009-12-17T12:26:00.000-08:002009-12-17T12:27:25.202-08:001963So your work exceeded <br />you, and<br />like those before with <br />very little <br />in the world, you left<br />a masterpiece growing.<br /><br />People argue your <br />life<br />a fact you might find amusing<br />the words reach out to immortality<br />honed by your graceful use.<br /><br />At the last moments, in the month of hearts,<br />you escaped the world you described.<br />You got it write that time; starting an effect.<br /><br />Could have been a mentor,<br />Instead; brilliant, voiceless works of words.<br /><br /><br /><br />12-17-2009That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-81136848411370628362009-12-12T08:10:00.000-08:002009-12-12T08:12:05.911-08:00Warsaw PicturesI am drawn to chaotic images of people in Warsaw<br />lives shredded, torn, destroyed for <br />Hate.<br /><br />Jew Families, Jew Children, Jew Husbands, <br />fathers, wives, mothers, friends, brothers, sisters<br />dying and dead.<br /><br />Pictures stare at me, grab me, pull me <br />back<br />to their time, their story<br /><br />Men look stressed, knowing.<br />Women look hopeful, regretting.<br /><br />Children, thrown to the streets. <br />Parents dying for faith, and blood.<br /><br />Hate is powerful. <br />I Hate those who hated you and <br />seek forgiveness for that emotion.That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-58441506955411520112009-09-29T12:38:00.001-07:002009-09-29T12:38:59.058-07:00Life todayYesterday, when I was young,<br />reminds me of music I once heard<br />and I can imagine my life being that song.<br />When I was young, I had the world spread out for me.<br /><br />I dreamed of being a spaceman,<br />a cowboy, an army man, a fighter pilot<br />maybe even a policeman or a firefighter<br />and at times I knew I could be President.<br /><br />Growing a little older, those dreams changed<br />doctor, teacher, or businessman<br />started to occupy my plans as I considered my<br />options and decided to write.<br /><br />With thoughts of scripts, novels, shorts, and poetry<br />it was easy to see myself doing that.<br />Suddenly, I was older <br />and what I decided turned to how I would survive. <br /><br />In the end there is no lake house, or hut by the sea <br />where typewriters and keyboards<br />keep me up through nights of writing.<br />Kids, responsibilities, and bills have become life today.<br /><br />2009 Clinton S. ThomasThat Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-82849646235330591812009-09-11T10:45:00.000-07:002009-09-11T10:46:51.152-07:00We ComplainWe complain<br />unemployment is up<br />the economy is dying<br />the stock markets down.<br />a recession is around<br /><br />Burma <br />villages disappear <br />genocide thrives<br />travel is to survive <br /><br />Darfur <br />forced to kill<br />raped, tortured to break the will<br /><br />Still, we complain?That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-21125816919758827122009-08-27T15:11:00.001-07:002009-08-27T15:11:34.622-07:00Without CourageWithout courage I walk out into a cold,<br />cruel world<br />It takes guts, I once heard someone say and I have to wonder,<br />whose guts?<br />I am afraid that time has robbed me of that fearless,<br />conquering youth.<br />As worries about broken bones, injuries and lost time at work prevail,<br />courage fails.<br />I become afraid, forget courage and convince myself it is simply <br />mature caution.<br /><br /><br />© Clinton Thomas, 2009That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-40500775432073103172009-08-22T03:57:00.000-07:002009-08-22T03:59:15.957-07:00The PlayAt the curtain it’s proclaimed, the world is a stage and each of us play a part.<br />I have to wonder how I am doing, playing at my part.<br />It could be that I am in a role, and at the end I will win.<br />Maybe I am just pretending, and someone else will win.<br />Finally at the final scene, it is always someone else who wrote the script.<br />I will try, but ultimately cannot change the contents of that script.<br /><br />© Clinton Thomas, 2009That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-36044092886370583772009-08-19T21:42:00.000-07:002009-08-19T21:43:51.314-07:00Internet gamesInternet games leap at my attention<br />Like pong, tennis, and asteroids did<br />Black and white filled the television screen<br />With bleeps as the digital ball bounced <br />Around<br />But now the colors advance me into<br />A realm of stunted imagination<br />I no longer have to paint in my mind<br />the games can fill the screen in my head <br />With colors, and sounds beyond my dream’s realm.<br /><br />© Clinton Thomas, 2009That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-8804974496606343102009-08-09T19:50:00.002-07:002009-08-09T19:51:30.255-07:00Childhood TransitionI played when I was five years old.<br />I was young and freedom was free.<br />Then the limits of life took hold.<br />All of the demands soon robbed me.<br />And memories of play grew cold.<br /><br /><br />© 2009 Clinton ThomasThat Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-87066168643438006092009-08-09T19:50:00.001-07:002009-08-09T19:50:36.500-07:00ArchieI never had a dog-named Spot<br />or Red or Lassie.<br />Had an Archie.<br />Named after checkout line comics.<br />He had black fur<br />there were no spots.<br />He ran, he played, he kept my childhood company<br />until his age advanced past mine,<br />and time <br />caught up with his playful spirit.<br />I never had a dog-named Spot.<br />Had a great dog-named Archie<br /><br /><br />© 2009 Clinton ThomasThat Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-29362016079868637542009-08-04T09:00:00.001-07:002009-08-04T09:00:21.999-07:00Never allowed to playThey were never allowed to play<br />only stripped of dignity and life.<br />Their short existence too much for a master race<br />to stand<br />Led by a star to travel toward <br />gas, gun, and graves<br />that became the last toys in this life.<br /><br />Never could they have imagined<br />a greater evil than that nameless party at the <br />zenith of a nations unspeakable history which<br />intelligence demands its name to be hidden here.<br /><br />But now their names are lost<br />divided right to left and left to <br />Death.<br />To be a Jew was to wear a badge of honor<br />because we will never forget that<br />they were never allowed to play.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Holocaust Remembrance 2006That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-3215012635933242302009-08-04T08:58:00.001-07:002009-08-04T08:58:59.510-07:00Beneath The Grove of TreesLooking into their eyes, I’ve wondered if they knew?<br />Did they understand that the time beneath the grove of trees was their last?<br />Children played, old men talked, and women handed out bread<br />Soon they lined up and marched like good Jews<br /><br />They carried clothing, suitcases, toys,<br />the things they brought on the train ride from home.<br />Coats, hats, scarfs, and shoes, socks, undergarments<br />treasures to those conducting the day.<br /><br />Home, roundup, train, gun, then a pleasant place beneath the grove of trees<br />Some may have asked what it all could mean<br />Stand tall little ones as you walk, old ones lift up your chins<br />mothers look brave for the photographs, soon it will be all that’s left.<br /><br />Ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, sixty <br />the decades that roll on and the photographs remain.<br />Looking into their eyes, I have to wonder if they knew?<br />Did they understand that the time beneath the grove of trees was their last?<br /><br />Their faces, their eyes, their fear, their common star<br />reminds us today that they could not understand.<br />We know that the time beneath the grove of trees was their last<br />and photographs remain with us to speak out Never Again!<br /><br />Clinton Thomas ©2008That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-25333380106046164782009-07-22T09:20:00.001-07:002009-07-22T09:20:32.075-07:00Cartoon VitaminsBelow is Cartoon Vitamins. I prepared this poem after my doctor told me I needed some annual exams now that I'm... well, let's just say a little older. My doctor, whom I'm certain is younger than me, also recommended that I take a vitamin daily. I began to remember those various vitamins that I had taken as a child with all sorts of cartoon characters and dinosaurs on them. It actually started a flood of good memories going back to childhood and progressing through the years. This is a first draft that I wrote, made a few changes on and submitted here. I'd appreciate your review, input, and/or comments, but more importantly I am thankful and humbled that you have taken the time to read it in this crazy world we all live in. Thank you.<br /><br /><br /><br />Cartoon Vitamins<br /><br /><br />One year, two year, three year<br />they pass so quickly,<br />it seemed I was a child,<br />teenager, <br />young adult,<br />man,<br />all before I knew what happened.<br /><br />I wanted to be adult<br />and now I reach for childhood<br />Elementary, Junior High, High School and<br />College<br />a twenty-year reunion<br />a glance at the past that’s gone.<br /><br />Nothing changes, everything changes<br />my hair changing now<br />my body changing too<br />vitamins the doctors recommend now with test<br />Invasive, odd, strange and reserved test for other, older people.<br /><br />I am those older people now<br />it has all changed <br />but I still remember cartoon vitamins<br />they tasted grape.<br /><br /><br />© Clint Thomas, 2009That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-85744373115314551092009-07-22T09:18:00.001-07:002009-07-22T09:19:17.998-07:00Visiting Section 60I have to wonder, if sixty years from now they’ll still visit 60.<br />where those fallen for freedom lay sleeping and surrounded.<br />It’s called the saddest acre in America<br />with beer bottles, dog tags, hot sauce, and rocks.<br /><br />Each stone tells a story as it stands shamelessly out of the ground.<br />A father, mother, friend, cousin.<br />A co-worker, son, daughter, but more a life.<br />I have to wonder, as small children leave their toys,<br />will they still come sixty years from now to sad section 60?<br /><br />© Clinton Thomas, 2009 and dedicated to those who serve for my freedom.That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5382673103732198517.post-339454216514807522009-07-22T09:17:00.001-07:002009-07-22T09:17:55.093-07:00Long HoursLong hours slip by slowly with each passing tick of the clock.<br />Time clicks.<br />Minutes seem to drag out toward an unreachable eternity.<br />Seconds, to minutes, and then hours<br />But when it is over<br />we are surprised at how<br />short<br />long hours really were with each passing tick of the clock.<br /><br /><br />© Clinton Thomas, 2009 <br />(1st Draft)That Writerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07816758298098242191noreply@blogger.com0