Summer in Santorini

My summer began

With the sound of

A lively song

Being played by

A local Greek band

On a street corner

A zoumas and lira

Filling the air

I checked into

A bed and breakfast

Which overlooked

The Mediterranean

A sea as blue

As the rooftops                                                         

Of hillside houses   

                                                             

The whitewashed plaster

Would sparkle in the morning sun

And again every night

When lights flicked on

In the city

Along a windy road

I walked

Until I reached

A quaint restaurant

The sweet aroma

Of olives and wine

Luring me in

Plants and candles

Adorned small tables

And pita bread with humus

Was laid out

In front of me

I ordered chicken souvlaki 

White rice

And baked potatoes

For dessert I wolfed down

Sticky baklava

This is the Greek experience

On the eye-catching island of Santorini

Katy Thompson

Block: 3

June 11, 2012

Pen to Paper

The pen snorted disdainfully

No words flowed out

From its pointed tip

That round lip

That spat

Invisible ink at me.

Katy Thompson

Block: 3

June 4, 2012

Dessert

The aroma of freshly baked sweets

Penetrates my nostrils

Reeling me in as if I’m a fish

Hooked by the sea of

Sweet sugar-crystal air

That chocolate fudge brownie

Towering mountain of melting ice cream

Like a waterfall of sugar-white froth

Sticky chocolaty syrup

Oozing down porous sides

Topped with real whipped cream

That melts in mouths

And forms the peak

Where I start to eat

That piece of ecstasy

After the first bite

Chocolate and vanilla

Swirling and swishing

Churning

In my mouth

That place where the soul

Ascends to the heavens

And returns to Earth

When only crumbs remain.

Katy Thompson

Block: 3

May 28, 2012

Vancouver on a Rainy Day

Shards of iridescent raindrops

Pelt, hammer, strike

Slide off steep rooftops

Shatter on my head

And scatter on the cold pavement

Leaving behind neon puddles

Reflections of towering edifices

That shoot down from the grey-stained sky

Like lightening bolts from sinister storm clouds

I splash my way through sidewalk puddles

Letting my old rubber boots get wet

They make a squish, slosh, squish

As water churns between my toes

After every step

Not afraid of the damp

As can be said of all true Vancouverites

I twirl my yellow umbrella

Between my hands

Above my head

And watch as water cascades down

On all sides

Katy Thompson
Block: 3
May 21, 2012

A Pastoral Painting

The white siding is peeling with age

Like a blister does with time

And the jade shutters swing

With the wild western wind

A creaky staircase

Leads up to a wrap-around porch

Woven baskets of carnations and tulips

Hang from the high ceiling

A dog-eared book rests on a cushioned chair

In the cobweb corner

A tall brick fireplace

Consumes the crackling logs

By the bay window

In the living room

And the kitchen has been swallowed up

By the yellow sun

An old grandfather clock ticks away

And its hour chimes find their way

To my bedroom

Where I sit amongst feather pillows

And floral wallpaper

On my window seat

Gazing out at the golden hew

Of rolling meadows

As the sun dips below

The distant hilltop.

Katy Thompson

Block: 3

May 14, 2012

Navigating the Namib Desert

I am walking on salmon-pink waves

No end in sight

To the sea of sand

A body as endless

As my thoughts

And most dazzling dreams

The pinnacle of a nearby dune

Collides into the teal sky

A steep slope

And an ambitious hope

To reach its summit tonight

Time for water and rest

To wipe the prolific beads of sweat

From my ripening face

The torrid climate

Barren landscape

And seething sand

An unforgiving terrain

I’ll make it to the crest by sundown

When the sun floats on the horizon

Engulfing me in a tidal wave

Of crimson and apricot

The last step was the longest

And then I collapsed

Under the dense blanket of stars

My pillow the soft sand

And the chirps of nearby birds

My soothing lullaby

Lizards slither and ostriches gather

On one of the darkest nights

In the oldest desert in the world

My unforgettable African adventure

Katy Thompson
Block: 3
May 7, 2012

A Family Photo

A snapshot of the past

A forever frozen

Image of a split second

Of life

Amazing how the smiles on our faces

At that instant in time

Can so adequately sum up

Our strong family ties.

Katy Thompson

Block: 3

April 30, 2012

Smarter than the Average Bear

Yogi roamed through Jellystone Park,

Strolled across my TV set every Sunday

In his mint-green tie, matching hat,

Marshmallow-white collar and

Nothing else,

Steadfast sidekick Boo-boo by his

Furry side

Ready to snatch another

Pic-a-nic basket.

I never comprehended exactly

How massive Yogi’s stomach was

Or how many jelly sandwiches it would take

For him to explode,

But when Yogi got his yummy catch,

I watched him gobble it down without

A hiccup of hesitation.

In retrospect, I don’t think

That Yogi was sending the right message about

Stealing

But then again, Ranger Smith did often give him

A severe scolding

And Yogi was entitled to good food

Every once in a while.

Katy Thompson

Block: 3

April 23, 2012

Ripples on the Lake

The lake shimmers in autumn colours;

Reflections of trees light the sparkling water

A cool breeze carries orange leaves

And flowery scents across the lake

My picnic basket is replete with many foods,

Including tuna sandwiches and sweet apple cider

A canoe floats nearby

Like a cloud on the calm water

I paddle out to the middle of the lake,

Where I am assailed by the urge

To dip my hands in the permeable mirror

It’s cold at first, and the impact creates small ripples

That look like the wrinkles on my

Aged face.

Katy Thompson

Block: 3

April 16, 2012

A Picnic by the Old Oak Tree

Like protruding tendrils

The branches of the solid oak ascend

Into a cerulean sky

Music ensconces every curve of bark

Rising from the portable radio

On the red- and white- checkered

Picnic blanket by the soft-sloped hillside

A clover-speckled meadow of moss

A silent solitude

Save for the vociferous fluttering

Of my zealous heart

As I breathe in

The fresh oak scent

And the purity of nature.

Katy Thompson

Block: 3
April 9, 2012

Time: Reflections

The steady ticking

Of the hands on my

Grandfather clock

Didn’t stop

Didn’t wait

As I slept

As I ate

Or as I counted the stars

Now alone

In an icy world

On fast-forward

A lens of dark storm clouds

Hiding yesterday’s sun

Nowhere to go

But back

Back to when I was young

Naïve, indecisive, lost

But free

Free as the crisp winds of spring

Free from the onerous weight

That chains me to the rubble earth

Free to explore my boundless imagination

And to discover new and wondrous places

Across the world

To the torrid Sahara

Or the raging Amazon

Perhaps to the zenith

Of Mount Everest

And back down again

In desperate want of adventure

The tingling of my hands

The eager twitching of my feet

And the vociferous pounding of my callow heart

Leading the way

Many a time I fell upon

Forks in the road

Life would come to a full stop

Which road to take

Or simply turnaround

Nothing to assuage my indecision

And now I know

Much to my dismay

All forks eventually

Lead to one dark and tapering path

Which I am currently heading down

It was a world bathed in a yellow dawn

Now draped in a black velvet shroud

No stars or moon or shining sun

Just the dying embers

Flickering in my old fireplace

But as the clock keeps ticking by

And the seasons continue to cycle

An inexplicable yet irrefragable

Peace has come over me

From beyond a layer of creviced wrinkles

And years of sorrow

I see the world differently

And suddenly I am assured

The sun will rise tomorrow.

Katy Thompson

Block: 3

April 2, 2012

Skill for Something

School is about expression

Tongues rolling off

The roofs of mouths

Like rolling waves

Into new places

Uncharted territory.

Education is about

Learning about life

And about yourself

What makes you tick

And stick

Like a magnet

To your passion

Whether it be

Human anatomy

Or gastronomy

Or analyzing a line of poetry

Or learning why trees

Grow so high

From a secluded seed

To giants

Ascending into clear skies

Because whatever it is

The magnet will not repel

That which does quell

The eager student’s mind

After all, both sides of a magnet

Do attract

Only they attract different things.

But then reality sets in

When walking down those

Narrow halls

Trying to ignore

The constant din

That surrounds you

Like darkness at night

Everything feels tight.

If these walls could talk,

They would remain silent

Like so many students do

Lost in what educators say

Must be

Instead of considering

What might be.

And if my report card told the truth

It would say that grades don’t matter

And self-esteem does

That your skill for something

Doesn’t necessarily match

The number emblazoned on that

Perfect piece of paper

That piece of paper

That seems to determine

Your self-worth

And potential in life.

Until students stop caring

Uninspired by the monotonous

Drone of teachers

Or the pale lights

That suck out life

Or the red splotches

Like blood splatters

On your last report

When you expressed yourself

And apparently your opinion

Wasn’t “right.”

School is about expression

Tongues rolling off

The roofs of mouths

Like rolling waves

Into new places

Uncharted territory

Because voice matters

Even if you’re lost

In a seemingly endless sea.

Katy Thompson

Block: 3

March 26, 2012

Man’s Best Friend

He doesn’t bark

He snorts

He doesn’t run

He waddles

His favourite food

Is anything

He sleeps on his back

His tongue protruding

And flapping as he snores

Loud as thunder

And his big brown eyes

Almost melt your heart

He nuzzles his chin

Into unsuspecting thighs

As he begs at the dinner table

Feed him kibbles

He’ll spit them out in disgust

Onto the tile floor

Greet him at the door

He’ll look right past you

Waiting for Mom to return

Try to play tug of war

Or talk to him like he’s

Your baby

He’ll look at you

Like you’re off your rocker

Tell him to rollover,

Play dead, high-five

Good luck with that

Unless you’ve got

Food to offer

Take him for a fun-filled day

At Doggy Daycare

He’ll throw up in the car

Shout “squirrel”

He’ll know if it’s a false alarm

Throw a ball for him

He won’t fetch it

Because he’s too “mature”

Leave him alone for too long

Be prepared to face the consequences

He’s prejudiced against big dogs

And he hates his own shadow

For some reason

People think he’s really cute

They try to pet him

And so of course he bites them

Try to hug him

He’ll reciprocate it

With a shower of sneezes

But you know he loves you

Because that’s what

Keeps you sane.


Katy Thompson
Block: 3
March 19, 2012

The Window

Gossamer threads of early morning sun

And the sweet smell of honeydew

Seep in through my bedroom window

I stretch and pull the languid bed sheets

Off the restless rapture that is my soul

Embedded in a zealous body

I eagerly race to the open window

And see spring

Life and colour

A conflagration of green and blue

Summer soon approaches

And again I skip merrily to the window

The sight is still as magnificent as ever

Hews of silver and pure gold

Pour in through that bedroom window

There is growth

And the lush trees breathe in the fresh afternoon breeze

Now it is autumn

And the trees are many different colours

But the leaves fall to the ground as I walk up

To that omniscient window

The sky is aspen, grey

And the sun ducks behind fierce thunderheads

But sometimes comes out to play

On that dark and dreary autumn day

A sudden darkness embodies the world

When winter at last arrives

An irrefragable loss of vibrancy and light

Enervates the hollow room and me

I hobble into the bedroom

Close the shutters

And lay on the bed

Covering myself with the heavy shroud

I say good night to my room

The window

And my soul.

By: Katy Thompson

Block: 3

March 12, 2012

My Best Friend’s Brain

Below a glossy canvas

Lurks a dark undercoat

Cool paint brushing

Against the salty seabed

Waters change with

The clouds – nature’s kites

A tsunami of feelings

Bulge and smash

Against electrifying currents

Moods like tides

Rise and fall

Rise and fall

Rain splatters like grey paint

Against her face

Waves of pain crash against

Jagged cliffs – those tenacious teeth

Jutting out

Into darkening skies

The storms of life

Until sunrays filter in

Threads of light

Thin as cobwebs

Illuminating the pastel picture

Her stomach undulating

As she laughs

Like a jellyfish

Propelling itself

In any direction it pleases

Around speckled fish

And curling seaweed

And creatures that glow

Miles deep with their bioluminescence

An ocean so full of life

And power

Like the consequences

Of a brush stroke

Memories wash ashore

A soggy pink shoe

And crumbling shells

A rusty shovel, too

I’m buried in the sands

Of the past

But the ocean never forgets

Soon the tide will carry

Everything back out

To rejoin the vast sea

And the mural will be complete.

Katy Thompson

Block: 3

March 5, 2012

The Turning of Wheels

The elevator doors opened

Revealing a young boy

Sandy hair, blue eyes,

Smooth rounded face

He couldn’t have been more

Than fourteen years old

Yet he was bound to a

Wheelchair.

His life is a continual turning

Of wheels

On cold concrete and slippery ice

Legs that wouldn’t move.

Yet something in his eyes showed

A heart that had to prove

That he was not weak

Like a wilting lily

Or tenuous twigs caught

In churning waters.

No, the power

With which he spun

Those ersatz legs

Like a spinning wheel

Forming a lovely yarn

An intricate story

Told silently

Showed

Determination

Greater than studying

To ace a bio test

Courage

Worth more than being

The first to put up your hand

When the teacher asks a

Difficult question

And beauty

Far surpassing that of a girl

Who swipes on layers upon layers

Of mascara only to hide

Her crystalline eyes –

Eyes which told a much different story.

No, this boy faces challenges

Every waking hour of his life

And he is unique

Something that always

Stands out

In hierarchal High School City.

People avert their gaze

Pretending to look at

Empty billboards

Walls drenched in pale white 

I have, I admit

But not today

Today I waved

As he exited the elevator

My hand saluting a soldier

Of perseverance.

But he didn’t see me

And I kept walking

As the doors closed

Behind a world most choose

To ignore.

Katy Thompson

Block: 3

Feb.23, 2012

Poem of my Choice 3

The Steadfast Arbor

I live in a gnarled forest

A vast sea of old cedars and white pines

That rise as giants above the loftiest mountain peaks

And stretch like a sunrise far beyond the highest cloud

Yet I am firmly rooted to the ground

Where I cling tenaciously to the fecund earth

And to my distant past

When I was but a single seed

In that enveloping dirt

A dark and moist cocoon

Though I was sheltered

I was inexorably excluded from life’s pelf

Trapped in an ostensibly perfect world

Shut out from all else

Finally I burst out of my baby bubble

I emerged beside matted moss

Dancing dandelions

And myriads of mixed berries

Cranes and bald eagles hovered overhead

Like kites following the intricate patterns

Of a fierce and majestic wind

And though my vibrant imagination

And solemn desires

Rocketed to rivaling heights

My tenuous branches

And skeletal trunk

Barely lifted off the icy ground

Yet as each season

Transcended to the next

I ascended ever higher

And every year

Another ring embellished my inner core

Pine needles as sharp as the tip

Of a hummingbird’s beak

Sprouted here and there

Sweet sap exuded

From my porous sides

While I matured

So, too, did the wild woodland

Prolific animals have passed under

My cloak of dense foliage

Some have made a den

In my wooden womb

I watch upon the forest

As its protector

Its lungs

Its home for many

I breathe in the powder blue sky

And the dewy morning fog

That clings to my moist needles

I inhale the crisp sound

Of a sparrow’s caw

And the delightful smell

Of fresh rain on tall grass

Through many a season

I have grown and seen the world

Today I rise to even greater heights

Surrounded by the purity of nature

Katy Thompson

Block: 3

January 22, 2012

Poem of my Choice 2

The Bear

I am hidden

From sight and mind

Under a stifling shroud

Of cobwebs

And thick layers of dust

Amongst towers of dented boxes

Overflowing with forgotten merchandise:

A squeaky rocking horse

A one-eyed doll

And an old clock that no longer

Tells the time of day.

I peer out the small attic window

In time to see him run after the bus

The contours of his face

Recognizable but different

A pointier nose and bushier brows

Yet his short straw-like hair

Is the same as always.

I wonder why he put me here

Surely it was to make me happy

Yet I am not.

I miss the downy comfort of his bed

He would read to me

Under the warm quilt after dark

Get sweet, sticky strawberry jam

In my fur

And press me to his heart

When he cried

Salty tears trickling down

Onto my blue bowtie

And black-button nose

Whispers of secrets

Entrusted only to me

Dreams we would share

Places we would see

Adventures and imagined worlds

Gliding through the air and

Fighting Captain Hook

But not anymore

Because Never Never Land

Can never be

I am in a cobwebby corner

Just a blur in the attic

Of his expanding world

Just a memory

Not forgotten

But hidden

From sight and mind

Maybe never to be found.

Katy Thompson

Block: 3

January 22, 2012