The Michael Lyon Experience

Conversations Between M. Thomas and M. Lyon

A Request in Two Parts

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

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