Five poems by Thom Hart

Modern Art

We are monkeys
We make things
Shiny things
We look at them
Epiphany.




Class in the garden

I sit. The dampness of
The earth below me
The persistent knocking
Of the woodpecker
The ambient noise of
Cars. Sunshine. Nice.
Very nice. My black
Nehru blazer absorbs,
Sponges heat from
Rays. Brilliant. I shall
Seek shade.



Moon Dream

I dreamt a dream
It did not seem
To be a dream
But a pale moon beam
The light beneath
My closed eyes.




Identity

I do not know who I am
Do not try to help me
Do not define me,
Stereotype, or prescribe
To me
Some sort of form
I am shapeless
And do not know
What I look like
I do not know who I am
Do not try to help me.



Gray

Gray.
I wonder what it sounds like.
Rain muted by fog
Heavy clouds, a cold breeze
Drizzle, sleet, freezing rain
A snowy day.
All of these are gray.