The Tommy Page

- By Thom Skiens -

grab the moth in the mystic

night

sun is stretched, bloated

thing

pale moon rises just in

time

- jesus christ, i heard the whisper

my heart done cracked

on the other

side

but i cease to jump though my wings are

cut

i cease to pull cuz i do not care

i cease to increase cuz i’m like thin air

i’m irrisistible

money comes, money goes

i make it to work just a minute

late

the artifact, a money machine is

the god we hail

- oh jesus christ, i heard the exlaim

animal noises from the oak floor boards

yes, a skunk crawls down there

i heard its fur rub against my

tub

the moth, it lingers in yellow

sight

a modest try with weekend

plight

i flutter forth, i flutter

free

i extend myself to a deranged bee

lift my wings

lift my flight

i’m invincible here in  mystic

night

let me glow, let me fly,

dont ya envy me

cuz i’m just a moth in the mystic

night

 - jesus christ, i heard the

whisper

(Note: this poem is surreal and i know it might strike any readers as puzzling, to say the least; it is intended to be  metaphorical, symbolic. I am the moth, of course, a hovering, flamboyant creature; one who is watched, envied, despised, considered as unconventional, outspoken, expressive, artistic, controversial (maybe). It is really about a simple subject: the day in the life of being me in my every day existence, as I “flutter” to work just a minute late, then to the club, then to my partner’s house and then in the moon and sunshine; i thrive, just as any other creature would..It is strange and yet it was written so quick and spontaneously, I am still figuring out what it means….he he….any way, please feel free to comment as I deeply appreciate this….thank you for your indulgence…he he; if you don’t like my poem, please don’t be too unkind…he he)

             - By Thom Skiens -

i was in a place

i’d never been before

the pristine halls of white and dinge

the hint of death

that lurked there, too,

was a haunting force

ghosts lingered upon the walls, the tiles that

linked ceilings with floors

and i inbetween was mere mortal

with blurry eye site i wandered

the white halls with liquid vision

while one soul, my partner,

was near that mystic frightening

unspeakable

place

he, only 33, the age of jesus

layed there like a sleeping gentle giant

i, a smaller human, hung on like a child

for xmas morning and his breaths, his heart

beat

was that of man, that of boy, that of human

kind

women in the halls with their

black hoods, kind old faces

would smile at me

in spite of my sinful existence in their world

i was but a meek member of society

and still mother mary smiled upon me

when i entered that place

he lingered for days

his huge chest, too, a terrain of determined life

or death, would it be?

i felt strange comfort inside that place

where nuns strolled the halls

upon his ending

i cried, inconsolably

i could not tolerate the terror

i stepped outside into october air

amidst my own tears, i heard another sound:

the cry of a baby from somewhere

high

i had lost my partner

but in his place

a new soul had entered the universe

i felt strange comfort

My idol, Deborah Ann Harry, is coming out with her   first solo album in fourteen years. Entitled “Necessary Evil,” Ms. Harry has put together a collection of seventeen new tracks. Like me, DH is a sensitive cancer, born July 1, 1945. On a recent Brittish talk show, Harry said (amongst other quips), “We rule the world with our high cheek bones…!”

At 62 years of age, DH still has that certain glimmer-sparkle in her eyes, which lends itself to the notion, true beauty never fades. Check out her website and listen to her newest single, “Two Times Blue,” at www.deborahharry.com       

  ”All I want is 20/20 vision, a total portrait with no omissions, all I want is a room with a view…” 

we see the past as we must see the past

we see the future as we must see the future

the pasture of time

lies opaque like soft cloud 

before

                              after

truth defined by our deepest recall:

circular in motion, time catches itself 

like a wicked or angelic 

beast by it's motioning wriggling tail

to left, to right

pasture of memory holds truth:

selective

perspective

what was painful for one was joy for the other

what was humor for one was opression for the other

how truth dissolves like sugar in water

to a sprinkling glistening place

and then fading to dull, 

then gone, simply gone

it is but a place, a thing, a vision

of what used to be

still is - in the head

the foggy field, the pasture

of yesterday

is the bright glimmer of

tommorrow

we move forth

we move back

we connect with the past

for the future catches up -

like it or not

one's recall

is another's faded memory

of what should have could have been

the past, the future

connects at a point

there is no escape from this pasture called time

guilt need not be, for it has been done

it resides in the heart, that forgiven place

the deeds we did were those that were

the deeds have drifted off like sand into a wave,

the past that was, that forever was 

is now forever, forget it was

we have survived, this that was

rewrite history

and be a hero

for progress to the past is the cure for tommorrow

the circle is drawn

the future is past

the past is future 

only tommorrow's love makes the past drift

away...

A few weeks ago, my partner, Mike, and myself went for a trek deep into the foothill forrest not too distant from where he lives in Todd Valley, California. With camera in hand, I was prepared to document the mini-adventure.

 It was a warm summer day. The winding road ahead was lovely and inviting…

The road we travelled was bordered by a cliff to one side which towered above us; and to the other side, a drastic drop downward to who knows where?! But, the view out across the wilderness valley was nothing short of breath taking…

  The summer sunshine filtered through the forrest trees, leaving us intermittent moments of shade. We were in the land of deep forrest, a place where gold miners had also trekked over 100 years previous…

Along the way, we happened upon a strange site called Deadwood. A single monument marks the place where numerous gold miners perished and were buried…

The spirits of Deadwood lurk still in that strange spot overlooking a gigantic forrest valley. Although only two monuments have been erected there, it is spooky - enchanting - to imagine this place as a bustling site where eager, enthusiastic, gold miners once dwelled…

Sometimes, it is the intimate parts of a place where the truest beauty resides. A huge forrest valley and treacherous mountainsides and within that, a smaller world where delicate leaves survive as a part of the larger tree world…

Look up, look down, look all around…Nature stands the time, while us individuals have merely passed through. If only the trees could talk, what historic tales they would divulge…

By foot, Mike and I hiked into the depths of the forrest where we found ourselves in the proximity of an old dilapitated miner’s shack, now in ruins. It’s mere existence, even in shambles, is somehow remarkable and serves as a monument to those who were determined to strike gold…

As we drove home and out of the depthful forrest, there was an almost mystic feeling, as though we had encountered more than just a place, but a spirit as well…

  Brothers: Tony & Thom…

August 31st marked the 45th birthday of my brother, Tony Skiens, who resides in Waterloo, Belgium, with his beautiful wife, Vero, and their two children, Enki and infant, Cecilia-Rose.

Growing up, Tony was the extroverted one, while I was the decidedly bashful older brother. While Tony was brash and outspoken, I was relatively quiet and soft spoken.

Look at the picture above: It was clear that I would be the gay one. My arms raised into the air, I was already on the path toward  gay-like flamboyancy, while brotherTony would become a dedicated hard working husband and father.

It seemed as though we were (are) alike in so many ways, and yet different, like all siblings. While Tony was good with electronic things, my talents were in the artistic realm. While Tony was darker with brown eyes and darker skin, I was fair complected with freckles and blue eyes. While Tony is a married heterosexual, I am a liberated prideful gay adult. While we are both, what would be described as irreverent, we both also have similar attitudes toward the subjects of nonconformism and creativity.

Through the sometimes difficult times of growing up, I would often times admire my brother’s sometimes ruthless disregard for those who would try to suppress us, mold us into being average numb skull kids. In spite of all the diifficulties, we both have achieved our idyllic life . We both look back at the difficult days with a sense of humor….for we have both conquered and surpassed the challenges that were extended toward our innocent youthful selves…

Tony is the person who makes me laugh the most…..

Happy Birthday, Tony!