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Thom Douglas Carlisle


Northern Minnesota, CA, US

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Thom Douglas Carlisle

I awaken and turn
toward the window.
The morning breeze
much cooler than
it will become.

The pure scent
of the air as it
Rolls over the garden
Is laced with
Sweet perfume.

I see your body
Tucked neatly
under the
Crisp folds of the
linen sheets.

Curves like water
over rocks
in the

Adrift . . . ( An Imagined 'Brief' in Long Hand. ) - tommy boy


Thom Douglas Carlisle

" There is this hiding place, this special place. This relative and gracious room in which to most comfortably dwell, this realm of all realms, the Soul. Aye, protects us from the ever oncoming tide of lackluster intent, bent on sharing cold, unyielding access to those things we most solemnly reject. For in the time of the ancients we spoke out FROM the Soul. This was our deepest inner emotional way of being. I know this truly because my ancestors spoke this very language. And, my friends, we are the " Moran's " from up in the border counties of Ireland. Me great grandmam, Bridget, I'm certain, applied this 'speak'. And she was if nothing else, gracious. A precious Angel.

Language is a freedom. The Soul, a Currach along the ocean shoreline. We must grab our oars and head out to another island soon, all of us. And when that day comes, my friends, my precious gathering, it will be 'The Soul' calling. Aye, we must board our Currach soon. Will ye ever hand me - me oars?! " C'mon, hop in now, we've other islands to reach. It's our time to fly."

Be well, warm friends. Stay safe! I bid ye peace, from here on the island of Ireland. You ARE my friends and by God I like ye, one and all.

tommy boy / Ireland / July 16th, 2013 - 8:05 AM, Ireland time. "