Shannon M. Thompson

Antioch, GA, USA

Shannon has written poetry since Junior High School. She is also a massage therapist, and neal touch therapist. Currently, she is attending The Clayton School of Holistic Healing, in hopes of becoming a natural doctor. Shannon has been published in: textbooks, anthologies, pamphlets and advertisements. She has also had one of her award-winning works recorded by The National Library of Poetry on "The Sound of Poetry" cassette. When asked for one philosophical statement or quote, she simply replied: "If only life were as easy to persuade as thought."

Monsters

Snuggled down, in a cove, of pillow and cover;
As the song, of the invisible night, starts to hover.

With a titter-tap, from the web, of the old oak tree,
Flesh, sounds the question of: "Do they come for me?"

Fear, deepened by the wind's howl, that beckons the wars of night;
Backed, by the memory, of the boogie man, that kidnaps men, full height.

And so, it seems, that the hiding witches can sacrifice one more,
To the devil's one-eyed army, that camps behind the door.

You realize, while watching, the bloody games of ghosts and ghouls;
That even, the closet spiders, feel safe, to leave their darkened pools.

Peeking, as the cat's hiss, muffles the witches' cackle;
The mind senses, it's not long before the dull fire's crackle.

As the fading crescent moon covers the stains, of these sparse visions;
Night will swallow, the burnt images, of these shadowed missions.

But, when from under the bed, comes a creek, shake, and rattle,
Little Davie knows: It's time for teddy, to go tattle.

Life To Choose

Intermingle sweet springs, with peering feathered scowls.
Allowing courage, to shade roadless travel's unmuted howls.
Painting the past faded, in destiny's children warred.
As the moon's night flicker thought, in lost souls adored.
Drawing ones, who left behind, sparse fire games, to flow loose.
Changing legacies, in cherishing, a second life, to choose.

Bow In Strife

In a discerning character, born to nature's eye;
Waters onus soldiers unmottedly pass by.

With the essence of void, in it's flowing manes;
The hematite glass, mirrors the stoop, it claims.

Misty waves spread like wings, to transcend;
Beyond this tombstone, where rivers drowned and bend.

Marking the gibbous reach, of eternity's battleground,
Where chancy perils entreatment is renowned.

In a wayward time's ideal invitation:
Amending a sacred journey's dictation.

The sun stained statue, stands aloof, in it's haul;
As pleading sleeves of pearled lace, affront it's wall.

Ceding the burden, of a wave's tedious toil;
That bares, the ferocity, of this sandstone wall's foil.

It's supremacy perching, as if, in an unruffled slumber;
Residing in a mystic haven, where sway vision's comber.

Here the spirit, holds the conflict, of heart and hand;
Counter weighed, by the opaque quisling's precious land;

Cradling sunshine's burns, with it's bubbling tears;
Softening it's heart, where even granite will veers.

Hurling winds stir the breeze, into heated restless tide;
With duel encounters, more numbered, than history can hide.

Spraying the wind's skirt, with gilt billows;
That exhale sand, in a flow of powdery pillows.

Observed, and admired, in the high spirit of life;
As, this sand castle, takes it's last bow, in strife.