Alan Bruce Thompson

102 Pages·2015·0.11 MB·English

Poetry Series

Alan Bruce Thompson
- poems -

Publication Date:
2015

Publisher:
Poemhunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive
Alan Bruce Thompson(01 May 1947)

This anthology of simple poems about daily life, I have called
' OUT OF MY MIND'

Alan Bruce Thompson lives in Zurich, Switzerland with Elisabeth Thompson
Huerner. Alan trained as a geologist and has spent more than 40 years as a
professor and researcher. He is a passionate traveler with interests in world
culture, world art, and the development of society. He is now able to devote
more time to his other interests including painting and drawing, and writing
fiction.
Comments about his poetry on this website can be made to
alanbrucethompson@,
some of his paintings can be seen at
www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 1
A Dog’s Life

It’s not bad being a dog, this time around,
As long as I live in a happy home and not in the pound.

Being born again was just my luck,
But a dogsbody is better than an elephant, a donkey, or a woodchuck!

I’m lucky that I look really cute as a pup,
And belong to a breed that looks good even when grown up.

I’m an even-tempered breed and never get angry,
I don’t yap or slobber, nor look always hungry.

I have a pleasant fur, a marvelous coat,
I look like a dog, not a mouse nor a goat.

To come back next time as a human would be very mundane,
I’d much rather come back to the world as this dog again.

Alan Bruce Thompson
www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 2
Abc Of Terror

Did the CIA tell the FBI that it knows the work of the IRA?
Just as the RCMP confused the PLO with Al-Quaieda?

The biggest weapon of terror is alphabetic confusion,
It blends together ignorance, fanaticism with dogmatic infusion.

For the homeless, poor and hungry, there is basic need,
To the yammering of the privileged and rich they do not heed.

Food and medicine for all is delayed by poor distribution,
It’s waylaid by the mighty against retribution.

It’s hardly a wonder the world’s a more dangerous place,
That the rich and famous try to escape into space.

But the Almighty knows who deserves to be here,
And it’s not the humble and poor, who have something to fear.

Alan Bruce Thompson
www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 3
Among The Folk

Must I ride inside this coach? My place is not in a bus!
These children make so much noise, all this fuss.

These disgusting people should be kept apart from me,
I only ride this dirty coach because it’s free.

The can see from my nose high in the air,
What I think of them, their foul skin and hair.

When I get in the bus they should all get off,
My presence alone should tell them enough!

How dare they come close, what do they want to see?
How dare you suggest, I should take a taxi.

Alan Bruce Thompson
www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 4
Angel City

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 even angels fall,
And then we realise that his xanadu was very small.

In our ambition to rise and place a monument on this hill,
We forget that down there in the slum, life went on still.

We realise that it's people that count, not glass and steel,
That walls are lifeless, but communities thrive and feel.

So Angel City is fallen, the angel long gone,
But that doesn't matter for even angels need a home.

Alan Bruce Thompson
www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 5
Anxious And Nervous

I can’t concentrate, can’t get things done,
The medicine I take, makes me quite numb.

With a hundred things to do, I can’t even do one,
This nervousness frightens away the fun.

It’s this wonder drug like cortisone,
That strengthens my muscle but chills my bone.

Family members mistake a cry for a groan
I’d rather stop taking it than turn to stone

Even when it’s time to go home,
All this confusion keeps me quite alone.

Alan Bruce Thompson
www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 6
Army Of The Night

How do they do it, so calm and bright?
Striding along like guardians of the knight.
Strong and confident, no fear in sight.
Tough resilient, and full of might.
No self pity, no self doubt,
These ones throw all weakness out.

I sit and wonder as they march by
What it is that they have that I might try.
My puny self, often full of fear,
Put on bravado, put on smile and cheer.
To be like them is something I won't try
That's the Army of the Dead that was marching by.

Alan Bruce Thompson
www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 7
Ascent From Resentment

Feeling torn apart, very pulled down,
No room for a smile, beneath this heavy frown.
Why do I get so low? so close to the floor,
I kick myself a round, then do it some more.

I am my worst enemy during this descent,
Bathe myself in my own resentment.
It’s only when I’m almost below the ground,
That I try to stop the punishing sound.

The helping signal arrives just in time,
I hear a saving voice, which sounds like mine.
The words encourage me to rise,
But I’m nowhere near reaching the skies.

“Pull yourself together, lift yourself up,
Take the charm of life from your own loving cup.
You’ve been so unkind to yourself, time to be good!
You can be nice now, as all men should.”

There’s a reward for all those who try,
To start the ascent, to give the reply.
To be a whole soul again is my intent,
And I begin by burying my resentment.

Alan Bruce Thompson
www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 8
Autumn Means Winter

It's the time of year when the sun begins to turn down,
The leaves start turning, they fall then they're blown.

Each day is shorter, each night a little long,
Quite soon at midnight we'll hear the midday bird song.

The evenings are cooler, the mornings quite chill,
It won't be long before the temperature's at nill.

I used to get depressed at autumnal time of year,
Not because I don't like the fall, but because winter is getting near.

But I have learnt a way from all my hibernating fear
Is to find a new job each autumn in the other hemisphere.

Alan Bruce Thompson
www.PoemHunter.com - The World's Poetry Archive 9