Alan Bruce Thompson
Alan Bruce Thompson Poems
|81.||Into The Nursing Home||9/9/2013|
|83.||A Dog’s Life||3/27/2014|
|84.||Thirty Hour Work Week||2/14/2015|
|85.||Among The Folk||3/12/2015|
|86.||Autumn Means Winter||2/6/2013|
|87.||The Coming Of Summer||4/17/2013|
|94.||Chain Of Lies||3/12/2015|
|95.||Missing Your Voice||2/12/2013|
|96.||Granada Mi Amor||2/14/2015|
|98.||Speaking Some Truth||3/12/2015|
|99.||Free Market Economy||8/31/2014|
Comments about Alan Bruce Thompson
It's a bit rusty at the edge, falling apart at the seams,
Its times are past, its hopes, its dreams.
From inside our glass house, its easy to scorn the past,
To think we're the only ones, who will endure, who will last.
Those thousands who strove, and built the world in their time,
Built the world of tomorrow in a city so fine.
But in its perfection, its all still there,
In the virtual world, flying in the air.
Its still occupied by an angel with wings,
Who dreamt up this city, placed himself among kings.
But kingdoms come to pass, and ...
Head Of Honey
I like to fall asleep slowly,
Let the mind-honey flow through my head.
The trickle of mind-treacle through the brain,
And no mind-molasses on the bed.
The best medicine for me,
Is to sleep endlessly.