thomas m. conant

with your lightning

thomas conant — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 08:05:51 +0000

i can see
we crazies in the night
water freezing
like two shooting stars weaving
shining past the passersby
we, now exchange electrons freely
in new speeds of light
pings whatever this
stripped element of radiance
nuclear and shy
how could such a thing
precious oh my newborn
all mine
if there were no tomorrow
so perfectly perfect
to me

X

thomas conant — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 21:48:36 +0000

there is a place where
no other place is

like a wishing well

it’s alright ma.. i’ll remember one day

thomas conant — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 07:50:47 +0000

if it’s all a lie, then i want to grow old like the fir tree and believe
these chipmunks are good, and the wind is good too
carrying the resurrected warm souls of nuclear winters past
and sweet musician birds i’ve never heard before
before i came here. and saw such devastation beauty

beneath the surface in ant colonies or decomposing foliage
there is life they say; i heard a voice say i need you
and what good is an incomplete ecosystem? sure to die
if providence does not smile upon the meek when dragons alight
and we cannot stand on the shore together

we’ll meet again she said, when all the kamikazes fall to this earth
those wicked men obliterated and the good torn apart
and no one can tell anymore. and we’re all dust particles
there on an updraft floating with the clouds on a staircase dream
oh! what a nice view from the top

what a pity this. reaching out for dear life as it’s fast falling
how once we saw the sun setting with the same eyes
the same sweet forgiveness of everything fading into soft slow taps
your frail hand against the wrought iron, delicate and ethereal, and cold
maybe then we won’t miss each other

∞

thomas conant — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 08:24:57 +0000

this girl
and

everything

i think about
all the spaces

between

“To its devotees..

thomas conant — Fri, 18 Nov 2011 09:59:30 +0000

the bow tie suggests iconoclasm of an Old World sort, a fusty adherence to a contrarian point of view. The bow tie hints at intellectualism, real or feigned, and sometimes suggests technical acumen, perhaps because it is so hard to tie. Bow ties are worn by magicians, country doctors, lawyers and professors and by people hoping to look like the above. But perhaps most of all, wearing a bow tie is a way of broadcasting an aggressive lack of concern for what other people think.”
—Warren St John, The New York Times

maha mantra

thomas conant — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 06:08:25 +0000

hare krishna
hare krishna
krishna krishna
hare hare
hare rama
hare rama
rama rama
hare hare

have a heart

thomas conant — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 07:08:23 +0000

the anonymous kid walks the street at noon
he hides in the shade and finds his next unsuspecting straight face
there is a dollar for you miss, he says with a smile
no excuse me; hello, nice to meet you; could i trouble you for a second
but that is the point as he turns around and is lost to the past

he has no family; no friends, except for strangers and short-lived acquaintances
the birds in the park, wind, and the trees he especially is fond of
reading his books to pass the time as mad hordes gallop by
some might stop a minute mulling over the virtual crossroads
taking a phone call and rushing off to the next pressing appointment

his hair blows with the breeze, like everything else, unruly and dynamic
sometimes he would get compliments on its sheen or curl
there’s no telling how the day orders itself: now presenting,
the frolicsome young girl with ribbons in her hair and a red balloon..
how he remembered watching that balloon eternally sailing away

amazingly her face faded not a bit while the wind carried away her prize
almost happily it seemed to him she watched with an outstretched hand
not to seize as most would think, but in a gesture of kindness and goodbye
what a thing to believe? like a tragic sad clown in a strange little body
what is the world coming to if this is the new lollypop?

Something Finishes

thomas conant — Wed, 07 Sep 2011 15:07:59 +0000

The end of long beginnings
And many days away
Blowing together like sheets of paper or
Sand on the beach
It comes, and, is off where it goes
A new species foaled in the mist
Something like a book
Some trite storyline unlooked for
And the pages unrecognizable;
Where the darkness comes a smile
Once when the stars sang in verse like
Little magic fires leaping up then going out
Whispers and smoke dreamily wisping
And a stray lost breath through the fir needs catching.
I imagine a firefly there glinting
Carving beautiful arcs through the black as if a star
This never-ending second where he lives bristling
A chance meeting in the vacuous vigil wild
We stare, and blink,
That forever is somewhere, I forget
But I think it’s after the end.
Perhaps it’s a happy ending. Yes,
They say that a lot

drop little rocks

thomas conant — Tue, 24 May 2011 03:16:40 +0000

wind pushes the shore
on painted water, comes to life
some sitting watching
a deep breath then dive.

swirling beautiful she is
insouciant airs goes walking
a penny for such wishing wells
let fall the going out
coming in, perfect.

gales through pine needles
breathe deep the real
this gallant ripple come
laps upon a turbid memory
we once touched.

red stars

thomas conant — Wed, 11 May 2011 07:39:45 +0000

come in words tonight
sometimes waving millions
falling here, gently swept
eyes wink another silence
so much subterranean sanction
inkwell freeways zigzagging
my precious smiling endless

it takes an atom bomb lady
mulling over through earthly fingers
heartbeats come in delicacies
welcomed stains and sentimental scars
looking out over balconies
private kings we think

sooner the road narrows north
to damp strangers and strange
colorful eyes on terra-cotta bodies
some spray paint illusions scream
live wires sparking alive
stolid fog in the hollows
come back to me