Bryan Thompson :: Blogged - poetry

Sir Peters, May You Rest In Peace

noreply@blogspirit.com (Bryan Thompson) — Sun, 23 Jul 2006 02:05:00 +0000

M.A. Peters (June 6, 1927 - July 22, 2006)

Husband. Father. Brother. Grandfather. Great-Grandfather. Friend. Artist. Musician. Gentle-Soul. Warrior. Soldier. Patriot. Mechanic. Good-steward. Humorist. Sir Peters, join with angels as you are welcomed into your new home. Pass gently from this world into a new one and know that you, my dear, have fought the good fight.

Awaiting

The sound that travels beneath your ears
The sound of water, river, brook
The clarity of ocean waves
That smiles as you look down;
If only but to see a glimpse
Of a you that once saw mountains ahead
In a future that looked unending.

The land around is new and fresh
And perhaps unknown at best
The journey winds along a road
That soon shall meet you with rest;
Rest from a long road traveled and crystal-clear air
That will guide you as you walk along.

As light beckons you toward a truth you have dreamed
And wondered with hope and bright gleams
As you join with all angels and history makers
And are welcomed into your new home;
May you smile, on dear sir, with the light of new dreams
And know you have fought hard for this.

And may you rest your young head
In a deep place of dreams
And know that you're a being of love
And feel our hearts as they travel alongside you, love;
For those are the things you may take.

And smile as you pass from this world to another,
And laugh as you're now welcomed home.

Moments

noreply@blogspirit.com (Bryan Thompson) — Mon, 3 Apr 2006 06:09:28 +0000

Breezes gone by at the distance of a twilight's throw
Where the night sky falls and the moonlight glows
And the sounds from Neptune comes and goes
To the balcony of hopes
With moments passing by with good things
Taken by the thousands of memories
'Til the light of solitaire comes many
Moments where we cope

The Epiphany of the Priest Gone Swine

noreply@blogspirit.com (Bryan Thompson) — Fri, 31 Mar 2006 17:40:00 +0000

Chaos and fortune met in a house of java
At the end of a sundown moment in the spacetimecontinuum
Providing light, projection, and flicker of thought;
Could be pointed, could be smooth, could be near explosive
But the spark remained lit for the journey

From journeys long in dark rooms
From winding road in Chaucer’s tales
From belly laughs of light gone by
And onward to a peacetime

Chaos and fortune met in a field of nightmares
In the heart of confusion and the remnant of old campfiresites
Giving hope, tranquility, and stillness of moments;
Maybe darkness, maybe fireside, maybe tossed in the ocean
And the flame grew in size in the dream

From pathways steep and driving
From whiskers of a weeping giant
From winded Catechism vespers passed
And forward to a quietspace

Chaos and fortune met in a haunted planetarium
With the prospect of molding and shaping deepprecision
Holding chainsaws, fire, and engines of imagination;
Should be mystic, should be close by, should be something holy
As the priest takes his place among the swine

From monasteries cold and distant
From spotless confession booths
From road to Sermon on the Mount
But downward to the pigstrough

Amen.