The Roller Coaster Begins: Book 1

By Thomas Burson

This is a collection of poetry that was designed to be read aloud. Tested in many open mics and coffee shops, the authors favorite compliment is “I don’t know if it is poetry cause I like it and I know I don’t like poetry.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Feb 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9781665757171

Thomas Burson

A little sensual, a little humor, a little cynicism for flavor. The author has hitch-hiked around America, done enough college to sound intelligent and written enough poetry to get himself in trouble. His background is in counseling, design, his attitude about life will keep you delighted and on your toes as he takes you on an emotional ride.

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Copyright © 2024 Thomas Burson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Archway Publishing

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Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6657-5716-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-5717-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024903666

Archway Publishing rev. date: 02/27/2024

CONTENTS

Preface

Fallow

Art

A beach Comber’s Lament

Backwards is easy with so much to unlearn

First dandelion Afternoon

Sanguine & Sagacious

Sandbox Pirates

Crockery, Shards, and Archaeology

Sundials

Sand In the Shoe

One Stone Turned

Should Reason Deny

Half Finished

Grave Etching

The End of Concordance

Times Of Day

In My Time of Shadows

Late Night Storms Interrupt TV

The Mistress and Her Mate

Reflections in An Antique Mirror

The Shoot Must First Break The Earth

Maybe There’s more. . .

The End of a Drunk

Moon Wine

Moon madness

Birds like eyebrows wink at me

You didn’t steal my heart I gave it to you

Nation Builders

Some days you know you are different

Sorcery in Training

She Is . . .

Catching Up

Postmortem of a Suicide

Chocolate and Tangerine

Before We Spoke Of Love

Curse Maintenance

Tweener

Counseling

Confessions of an Ancient with Suicidal Tendencies

Cause There Is Poetry

Not Too Long, But Long Enough

Adam Discovers Eden, Too

It was only yesterday . . .

First Lesson

Take the Pot Down, Please

Crewel Points

Warrior Chiefs

Self-Taught

Atlas Tries To Understand Metaphysics

Snow

Hylas

A Rake

The Hunt

Promise

The world was cast adrift

Penny Wise, Dollar Short

How To Speak Many Languages

Trees Are Thunder In The Fog

Learning to Choose

To Emily: As Only I Knew Her

Cranes & Kites

Grammar

Raising Sand Dollars

Growing Pinions

Carpenter

Another Day at 5825

My Teacher

Neighborwood

Migration of the Heart

Berries for Breakfast

Nor’easter: The Storm’s A-commin’

a stranger

A Word to the Wise

Symbiotic

Can You Hear the Ice Cry Against Spring’s Arrival?

Dementia

Bibliography

PREFACE

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I started writing at sixteen, because of a poem Message by Allen Ginsberg. I wrote every night where I went to boarding school. It was a Quaker school my family had gone to since its beginning in 1799. When it was considered co-ed because girls and boys were taught in the same building, the only time they saw each other was at evening meals and on Sundays when they sat in separate sections of the Meeting House. The exception was that after Meeting brothers and sisters and first cousins were allowed to gather at the center of the building under the watchful eye of the teacher on duty. There they would pass books for spiritual enlightenment to each other. These books were hollowed out and had notes folded up in them to members of the opposite sex. There were called K.O.B.’s which stood for Kindness of Bearer. Romances were carried on this way that proved so vibrant and strong that members of the student body later married upon matriculation. When I went there starting in 1964, they had just made it okay for students of the opposite sex to meet in classrooms after dinner without a chaperon. K.O.B.’s were still written and carried to the center building and traded after study hall. This was at 9:30 PM. It was a matter of pride to show off how many you’d received until you were a junior when such things seemed trivial. I wrote love poetry to one girl after another, sometimes several on a given evening. I probably should of been as dedicated in doing my studies, but such is youth. I found out when I returned for my fifth year Alumni Day that when a woman on the dorm received one of my K.O.B’s they read it aloud to all the other woman on dorm. If I had known that I probably would not of written another. I have since had a few woman ask me if I wanted the ones I had written returned. I would tell them all, I had kept copies. I did. I still have each of them. I don’t know why, most aren’t worth reading. We all