All tagged Poetry

"OUT OF PLACE" Prose by Gabriel Thomas (A Poem from "Lone Cow" available on Amazon)

in a bar

there are dueling pianos

and only one beer special

that's not a special

but it'll do


and food is good

and expensive

but when the mouth is numb

the tongue is primordial


those piano guys

are pretty good though

and the women here

are beautiful

even the ones that aren't

but my Chevy looks out of place

between those two beamers

through the window


I take a sip

and listen

and scratch my neck

looking around


sometimes it's better

to be with the dregs,

there's more action

if a fight broke out in here

attorneys would arise

and commence billing


right now,

I need a snarled tooth Bubba

to start shit with me

I need a sag-tittied mother of five

to believe I'm god

I need a low place,

a place where the bar is sticky,

where the music is Grunge,

where the music is Rap

bassing my balls off


some things,

the things you take for granted,

they really get you sometimes,

you know?


I feel like a gorilla

in here


I don't look out of place though


I've eaten

and drank


been polite,

my clothes are clean,



when they go home

they will fuck

their beautiful women

on Egyptian cotton,

they will rise tomorrow morning

and don their father's suits

and manage their father's businesses,


and tonight, I will go home,

and not have any of their beautiful women

and tomorrow I may rise

and my life will be unset and unsettled

having pain and happiness both

and through any of it

I'll only hope for luck

for control over anything is so sparse


but right now

at this moment

I'll sit here a while longer

I'll finish my beer

and maybe another

I'll still look at that blonde

at the corner table

and in that mini-skirt

I'll watch her tanned thighs slide

up and down

up and down

and I will be happy

with myself

with the music

with the beer special

that's not a special 

and enjoy the night

 "OUT OF PLACE" Prose by Gabriel Thomas

For New Writing, News and The Everyday Grit of Life, follow Gabriel Thomas on Twitter.


"DIRTBAG DREAMS" Prose by Gabriel Thomas

We lived in a tiny shit hole 

above a crack den 

in downtown San Diego. 

We slept on the floor 

and purchased 

the cheapest food 

and cooked it 

inside a closet sized kitchen. 

And we worked. 

We worked, 

as the homeless roamed the streets, 

as the traffic and parking 

attempted to murder us. 

And the west coast sunsets, 

they brought me back to life, 

and there was always something to do, 

but we never had the money to do much. 

So we walked the city 

and watched the tall buildings 

with the light and glass dancing. 

The Bay was that way, 

Coronado over the bridge, 

and we had a pet snail named ‘Hank’. 

He lived inside an old salad container, 

and we loved him. 

We loved him 

because he was life 

and we were life 

and we were living. 

We shopped at thrift stores 

and tried new foods, 

and in all our time 

we were wondering 

what we could do with our dirtbag dreams in this behavioral sink.  

"BEAUTIFUL IDEAS" Prose by Gabriel Thomas

he News plays a carnival of violence and I watch this shit in my underwear.


The world is burning.

Nukes are fueling.

One group’s pissed.

Another plays coy.

Hate funks the air

and so on and so on.


Molotov cocktail meteor showers.

Riot gear, batons, plastic bullets, tear gas…


The tank canons rise like something from your mother’s wet dreams,

and university campuses are in Hippy Orgasm


…and those politicians, Mannnn.

So scrubbed and clean and healthy and smiling.

Fuck yeah, they want it this way.

A communion of hate and fear is easy to manipulate.

Getting those VOTES!


I scratch my balls through soft cotton fabric

a dumb hairless ape.

Jesus! We really are a massive herd of cattle.


I snag the remote then and flip to a new station.


On the magic screen,

there are panels now debating free speech.

Next it’ll be a free thought…

Cellphone monitoring.

A new tobacco tax.

Another gas tax.

Another strike.

I begin to feel ill.


Elon Musk? Take me with you!


I look at the TV remote’s power button,

a glowing red eye looking back at me.

I slam it then

and sit in dark.



I sit in the silence.

There is goodness in the silence.

My great couch of solitude.

I breathe and rub my face and try to remain still and try not to think…


We are fighting with ideologies,


structures of ideas.

They stack, oh, so precisely,

in just the right way

hoping only for calm wind.










Free Markets.



The Parent FUCKING City!


Philosophies all containing beautiful thoughts,

beautiful ideas,

and we fight with them.

And for them.


Most think,

if implemented in just the right way,

in the correct combinations,

just enough of this,

and a little of that –

our elixir of beautiful thoughts –

the world would become a utopia.


You are crazy if you believe this.


We are strange anomalous creatures, you and I.

Freaks of Nature.

And we are very good at many things,

and one thing we are good at is lying.

We are even better at it when lying to ourselves.

It might be what we are best at.


We really fight because we refuse to look in a mirror.

We refuse to understand what we really are.

Egos and Truth seldom harmonize.

We don’t want to see what we really are or what’s inside of us.

We love our beautiful ideas oh, so much.

We lie and believe they make us beautiful too.


This is a problem.

This is a BIG, fucking problem!


You see…

There is something down deep,

something underneath

your self-righteous thoughts,

under the current of your so called life.


It is down there in the dark,

deep in the dark,

further than most are willing to look.


It sits there in an animal silence.

It sits,

a warrior king in the night,

a black archetype,

lounged on a thrown

forged from a millions skulls

of evolution.


He sits there listening and waiting.

Patiently waiting.

Waiting for your beautiful ideas.

"BEAUTIFUL IDEAS" Prose by Gabriel Thomas

For New Writing, News and The Everyday Grit of Life, follow Gabriel Thomas on Twitter.

"ELEPHANT" Prose by Gabriel Thomas



I remember the circus

and the elephant.

I remember standing in a line

with other children,

and we were silent.


We were all pondering

this real monster

so close to us.



In awe.

Five at a time,

we rose up

wooden stairs

to a platform.


A man would move us in and over then.

Our legs straddling the beast

like a cowboy’s.


Cameras flashed.

Smiling mothers goggled.

Their babies so adorable on an elephant.

Then a man would say,

“Let’s go, Lisa”

and the elephant would move.


She moseyed

around a large ring

on a dirt floor

in the center

of the circus tent

five children on her back.


I waited my turn

(with the other silent and terrified).

I watched the elephant’s long sways,

her colossal legs taking ginger steps 

in slow motion.


I watched  those pillars move.

I watched her toenails,

her ears flapping like sails,

that long impossible trunk.

I watched her.


I watched her,

and when she was close enough,

I  looked at one of her eyes.


I saw her eye

and in her eye

I saw her,


in her eye

I saw that she saw me.


I saw that she saw me

but saw me

from some depth,

from some place,

some inner world,

I couldn’t imagine.  


But when I looked at her,

I saw goodness.


I rode in the front

behind a skull

as wide as a coffee table.

Her smell was strong and thick and animal,

and the way she moved…


She moved like a rock that changed shape.

She moved like a rock that moved like water.

And when she moved,

she moved around the circle

in the circus tent,

and I was so high in the air.


She could have done terrible things to us.

To anyone.

Something that powerful.

She could have done anything.

No one could have stopped it.

But she didn’t.

She was good.


She was magnificent.