Jacqui Thewless

Freshman - 624 Points (November,1955 / Manchester, UK)

Jacqui Thewless Poems

41. February 2011 Middle East Memorial 2/17/2011
42. Nonet: Phases (For Adam) 3/16/2011
43. Crone 3/18/2011
44. Triptych (For Adam) 3/22/2011
45. Rip 7/19/2011
46. Hermit's Romance 8/4/2011
47. My Old Man 8/4/2011
48. Plan 8/4/2011
49. October (I) 9/29/2009
50. Harvest Ii 10/5/2010
51. Recipe For Smiles 10/9/2010
52. Three Days 9/3/2011
53. For Troy Anthony Davis 1 9/21/2011
54. Hermitage In September 9/27/2011
55. Yang Yin 9/8/2009
56. Yin Yang Yin 9/27/2009
57. Scapa Studios 2/17/2012
58. Painted Lady 3/10/2012
59. For Haiku Writers 3/10/2012
60. Joan 4/7/2012
61. For The Big Rock Outside Scapa Studios Orkney 5/4/2012
62. Precious To Me Is My Sunny Welsh Shore 6/19/2012
63. Stevie 6/26/2012
64. Metanoia, While Walking To School 6/30/2012
65. Pembroke Paparazzo (As If) . 7/1/2012
66. Questioning The Well-Known Vision Of Fish 7/4/2012
67. On Taking Leave 2 (For W.P.) 7/14/2012
68. Nant-Y-Cwm, Summer,2012 7/16/2012
69. Today 10/22/2012
70. Mood Swing 10/28/2012
71. Steps Into The Air 11/10/2012
72. Christmas 11/11/2012
73. Minutiae 11/11/2012
74. Traveller 11/11/2012
75. Stereotype 11/11/2012
76. Exhibit 11/11/2012
77. Tender 11/11/2012
78. Carningli 11/11/2012
79. Advent 2 12/6/2012
80. After 3 12/7/2012
Best Poem of Jacqui Thewless

Strange Thoughts, Tonight.

Last evening
sharp-snipping scissors cut my hair

and white cream squeezed from a nozzled
tube in a box turned
my locks
black

and tonight I have strange thoughts
about love
like ash
stirred in a bronze dish with
the stub of my pen


when I wore
a patterned silk kimono
smelling of
patchouli oil
and moved inside the slight
ghost of my long-haired youth

after the lover’s cigarette
I slept
on newly-warmed
white wedding-bed-sheets
then you were green too weighty in-
between my tender thighs
...

Read the full of Strange Thoughts, Tonight.

Orkney Islands

The light’s faith-keeping with the land
in those wee isles of Rousay and Egilsay -
it made the sea’s third wave’s curve, pale green; the flower’s cup,
a whiter shade than Hakon’s tower-kirk;

it frames, on one Chinese White strand, today’s
loose brushstrokes with a tide of fresh calligraphy in seaweed-inks.
Light sinks the floundered war-ships in less bloody hue
than sunset on a bluebell-blue sky’s rim.

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