Monday, November 1, 2021

Our Low-Tide Romance


We never invested in it, you and I

so it never did go any further. Miles apart now,

but no further apart than we were,

we, who never gave it a nickel’s worth of passion,

maybe an arm around the shoulders on Carson’s Beach

where you shared your jacket as we leaned up against

that tree and I could paint a picture like that,

but it still seems like there’s not enough paint to cover it

all in sepia.  Did you feel it, too? The non-feeling

and then, standing up once more, we felt the wind

in our faces, my hair blew into your teeth

finally giving up for something better –

him, her – not you, not me. 

Skirt flying straight back, molding my legs

but the wind had the only passion –

when it blew past, there was no heat exchange,

just bold breeze looking for a cheek to stroke,

but passing so quickly, it had no time

to feel the coldness of the moment,

the catch and caw of the crow over the sands

not even a phrase that would catch a passerby

and make him strain for the rest

we were far beyond anything a seashell would listen to,

harbor, and pass on next year to another on the beach,

plunging her feet in the sand until

the moist undersand cooled the pads of her feet

like the bottom of a well is always cool,

even in a dry season, the memory of water remains

and will my memory of you remain

or did it go off with that wind?


Copyright 2016 Muriel Thumm


Friday, October 15, 2021




(or What’s in a Name?)


He climbed down the bank

alongside the canal

to cut some bittersweet

with his penknife

for me


We in our sixties and dare I say

bittersweet years? Diabetes

taxing his heart

Me, devising meals for a diabetic


He braves the bank

slippery from rain

and carries as many gnarly twigs

as he can in one arm

reserving one arm for climbing

back over the railing


A brier I love for its colors,

slight disclosure of its red berry,

(The way our passion is muted

and kept under wraps)

as much as for its name –



Out of favor with gardeners

moving in and strangling

their favored plantings

bittersweet seems to find pleasure

in pleasing him pleasing me


©2019 Muriel Thumm

Tuesday, October 5, 2021

A Poem with a Hole in it



My brother at 14 sat

on the kitchen stool

stock between his knees

played with the trigger

and put a hole in the ceiling


When he was 18

and in the Army in Germany,

the house burned down

around that hole


The hole didn’t burn


It’s all I have left

of that childhood home


a hole


©2021 Muriel Thumm

Wednesday, July 28, 2021

Thursday, June 24, 2021

Saturday, June 12, 2021

Wednesday, June 2, 2021

Wednesday, February 3, 2021

Sharp Edges

She was a girl
who knew what she wanted
Had a knack for getting it, too
She was a girl you’d take fishing

Wednesday, September 23, 2020

Wednesday, July 29, 2020

Coco Chanel

I think I’ll write a love poem
to Coco Chanel
She’s with me in this pandemic
I can taste her on my lips

Tuesday, June 16, 2020


Narcissism comes
at the wrong time in life,
comes when your young body
is easy to love,

Our Low-Tide Romance

  We never invested in it, you and I so it never did go any further. Miles apart now, but no further apart than we were, we, who nev...