Conversations Between M. Thomas and M. Lyon
A Request in Two Parts
Mikethelyon
The first poem I sent M. Thomas via email; in two parts
Pt. I
I heard the legend of a man,
a man who was quite great.
He is the focal point of my master plan,
and the reason I've cleaned my academic slate.
I once heard he lived in a closet for a year;
only appearing at 4.
This mere fact made my purpose clear,
I must write fiction until I simply can write no more.
Pt. II
Yet there is a barrier in my path:
simple lack of facts.
I need some info,
on a thing about your high school days.
I've abandoned by pattern,
and probably my meter,
bur who gives a crap?
I'm just trying to get some facts.
Did you ever toss a man in a river?
Perhaps on his birthday?
In freezing cold Washington,
on a Thursday? Tuesday? Maybe never?
Who's to say?
All I know is this:
A story is brewing,
about a man who graduated in linen.
The story will forever go incomplete,
if I cannot muster some details
about your senior year of High School.
An Open Book
M. Thomas
M. Thomas's response to my poem.
Not really in the mood
but you’ll think me quite rude
if I don’t make a reply
around me on the plane
folks eat, are entertained
no one’s writing save I
So I’ll take a look back
to days at the dog track
where I ended up by mistake
thought we could beat the odds
just silly teenage sods
there was no money to make
I know not if J.I.
has spun a pack of lies
concerning my personhood
Yes, I wrote poems for girls
who told me they were pearls
ah--but they weren’t any good
About a cold river,
+ the rest of his quiver
of myths and exaggerations
Well...if someone was shoved
it was done out of love
or of congratulations
So to upstate New York
in a trenchcoat--what a dork
but the world took pity
the life there was fine
but naught was on the line
should have gone to the city
I did two things quite well,
needing something to sell
I wrote brilliant excuses
‘bout ridiculous capers,
couldn’t finish my papers
I claimed aces, held dueces
My second great skill
is one I hold still
I fell for crazy ladies
locals, Russians, and Turks
they all drove me beserk
with a boatload of maybes
Four years in the dorms
and countless reforms
led to little of note
I left sans a sob
a plan or a job
and without my trenchcoat
Written: 4/27/09, Posted: 5/11/09
The Hardest Part
Kate Takata
The hardest part
Is the transition
From summer to fall
Break to being in school
Free time to homework
But we’ve survived the beginning
And along the way we’ve had some good times
The slow but steady progression
From absolute “WTF?” to “WOW!” with round-tables
And getting “Disturbia” and “Hot ‘n Cold” stuck in our heads
But at the same time
We have to think
This is it.
The hardest part
Is that before we know it
The stresses of college applications will be over
Our “creative think-tank” will have its final meeting
May 1st will come
Our Jostens packets will come in
And then
That’s it.
It’ll be over.
The hardest part is the choice
What memories to hold on to
The opportunities to take
The choices we’ll have to make
So I guess
For now
I’ll have to cherish every moment
Every memory
Every odd thought
Because in an instant
It’ll be over.
The hardest part
Will be letting go
But in the end
We’ll figure it out
Kate Takata is a senior at Valley Catholic High School. This was a Creative Writing assignment during first Semester. This is Kate's first entry on the website.
An Airplane Romance
Mikethelyon
To my front sit lovers,
fitting two into one seat.
Shrouded into dark blue cover,
they cuddle, happy with each other.
They rub sockless feet
intwined in sweet embrace.
Clearly, their worries obsolete,
for being with each other is a treat.
She says, "kiss my face."
and he does so eagerly.
Anger shows not a trace,
this is love in its full grace.
Written: 5/7/09, Posted: 5/7/09