a boulder in the sun watches a

silver fish leap from the rushing river

a circle of shadow ripples left behind

treetops sing with twilight gold

mosquitoes crowd the purple air

another lazy day to memory

across the river the sun drops

behind a stand of old oaks

And dark deepens into quiet violet

bats and swallows swoop low

competing for dinner in

the mosquito-laden heat

a child screams and points

adults rush to the bank as a fat raccoon

trundles along on swift feet below

an island of locust trees provides

haven for the masked river traveler

and the camp quietens

lying in limbo somewhere near sleep

the people next door try to

build a fire with no kindling

smoke curls and winds its way

around my neck and nose

restless sleep begins

Call to her in dreams

mother’s footsteps running bare

waken to cat’s purr

Hope

A haiku by Livia Thomas

small acts of kindness

infinite ripples in time

Somewhere children smile

A tanka by Livia Thomas

Imagination

Elusive will-o’-the-wisp

Milky morning muse

A flurry of words chase dreams

On the edges of my eyes

8/2/2019. In memory of Patricia

By Livia Thomas

I went walking among the redwood trees today

the sea nearby and wild

my legs channeled the freedom

of a child when school lets out for summer:

an indescribable joy

my feet strode — soft, sure footed, silent

along a rising dirt path

looking up, my eyes swam

In blues and greens

and

the sparkling light of seaside air

two ancient redwoods breathed

their sweet misty breath

on me and

my arms tingled — goosebumps raced

from my fingertips

to my shoulders and

down again

like a silky shadowy skin

reaching out — the redwoods

gently

held my hands within their needles

broad and long -

an unexpected thrill of green

tiny feathers appeared

on each of my quivering fingers:

gray ones, white,

and deep golden-brown ones

the needles swept up

my arms in cool green waves

more feathers followed in their wakes

while

dogwood trees

giggled

birds

stopped singing

squirrels

paused their morning acrobatics

the touch of the trees found

the planes of my shoulder blades

where feathers clasped onto

the inside edges

the two trees exhaled

standing tall again

in the mist

dogwoods

applauded

squirrels

moved to new rhythms

birds

chirped another song

I bent my knees and leapt

my new walking wings spread wide

they lifted me

and up I went

swirling round and round

in warm updrafts

higher and higher

larger and larger circles

Until the path below me

Became a thin pale ribbon

on the green and gold blanket

of the hills by the sea

August 1, 2019

Written after the Gilroy Garlic Festival shooting

In honor of Steven Luciano Romero, age 6; Keyla Salazar, age 13, Trevor Irby, age 25

By Livia Thomas

I am the fallen angel

The one seeking god’s love

Thirsting to sit beside the throne of goodness

But choosing extremism instead

I am the tool made of metal sleek and light and long

Caressing the hands of the lost the angry the children

Who turn to twisted ideologies and bigotry

in the light of a computer screen

I am the bullet of varied calibers

my only purpose to kill —

animals, people, hope

it matters not to me

I am the loose law that sits in a file in an office in the Capitol

Written by those who live by the dark sword

of blood money for the right to bear arms

Turning blind eyes to systemic injustice

I am the gun the pistol the semi-automatic weapon

Easily carried easily accessorized “military-style”

One pull, one shot — that’s all it takes it’s easy

And legal

I am the bullet the destroyer

the fast speeding projectile of death across state lines

Through open air, through wood, through targets,

through hearts and stomachs and brains

I am the rush of power that fills the shooter

The thrill through the body — mind

the antithesis of peace and reason

the voice of fear

I am the fallen angel of deception of disguise

Of unwillingness to talk compromise or feel

the pain of those cut down in cold blood

By hot speeding metal

I am the fallen angel of cowards of hatred

The lover of division spitting seeds

Of carnage and racism and

“It won’t happen to me.”

I am the fallen angel encouraged by your arguments

Your pride — your need to be right

The national rationalization

To do nothing

I am the fallen angel who delights in death

I am the tool the gun the bullet

Designed to kill as many people as possible

As fast as possible

I am the cruel deception of this time

The king of killing opportunities

And fools

I am your fallen angel

In memory of P. Cramer

By Livia Thomas

laid crossways over

the heart

sorrow grinds away heartskin

to raw aloneness

Salty tears rub fever into

the broken places — and,

the heart opens

By Livia Thomas

Liberate the cells

Into the forgiveness zone

Release the old ways

That bind bones, blood, raw heartstrings

Find the divine and grab on

I was a child when President Kennedy died

I was a child when Jackie reached and held his head

Our great planet fell to her knees and cried

Her pink dress drenched with his blood Chanel washed red

Across Dealey Plaza the shots rang out

People pointed and ran to the grassy knoll

To this day there remains a lingering doubt

That the truth of his killing will ever be told

A coverup and lies from white men in power

While John Jr. saluted and the people cried

With dignity Jackie walked through that dark hour

Her children and Bobby never leaving her side

President Kennedy rests on a high green slope

An eternal flame burning for truth and hope

Written May 29, 2019

Recent events in our area regarding flying the Rainbow Flag for Pride Month in June reminded me how equal rights can easily slip away if we aren’t vigilant. Freedom only works when we’re engaged. Silence will only take us backwards. My attempt at poetry helps me grapple with the intersection of my personal life and the politics of today.

These recent events sparked curiosity in me about the history of the Rainbow Flag which is now an international symbol of love, inclusion, and hope for all LGBTQI people and our families.

I write this with gratitude for those who came before me and forged a road to freedom, especially Del Martin, Phyllis Lyon, Stella and Ina Mae, and Harvey Milk.

With deep appreciation to the flag-maker, Gilbert Baker, 1951–2017.

The Rainbow Flag

By Livia Thomas

The Rainbow Flag has a story to tell

Of Harvey Milk’s dream for a symbol of pride

The colorful stripes the world knows so well

Unfurling with love for a bursting queer tide

The flag-maker was a Vietnam vet

His hands stitched a flag for our fight

To break open at last the doors of the closets

And taste the freedom that’s everyone’s right

It’s been forty-one years since the flag first flew

Strong and united we won’t go back in

To the dark secret lives of the closets we knew

We’ll stand for our families again and again

Still the Rainbow Flag rises above all the fray

For love and inclusion show us the way