Thom Singleton

CONTACT:
Thom Singleton
543 Chain Drive
Appleton, WI 54915
Email: thomsingleton@gmail.com

STATEMENT & BIO:
Poetry to me is the language of the heart. For me to be at all conversant in this language, I need to keep all the usual channels of perception open - seeing, hearing, touching - but also remember to keep the hinges on the doors of that organ of empathy, the heart, well-oiled and easy to open. This opening requires honesty with myself and honesty with you the reader, bringing to light what I have kept in shadow. I hope that, in this way, I share something of what it means to be human, with all the joy and love, but also the struggle and strife of life. By being open, I hope to create safety for others to do likewise. In this time of tribalism and polarization, poetry might just be the language needed for us to come together. If I speak from my heart and you speak from your heart, we meet on common ground. For an open heart acknowledges differences, and shares only love.

For those interested in such stuff, I live in the Village of Fox Crossing, Wisconsin, with my wife of a lifetime, Patti. I hold a degree from Marquette University, but my most cherished learning comes from being a husband, a father, and a grandfather, as well as from my work with the differently abled. Free from the drudgery of employment, I get to spend time with grandkids, travel by car, bike, and canoe, enjoy life with Patti, converse with frogs in the backyard pond, and write poetry non-stop for hours and hours until I fall asleep in my chair. I’m not quite ready to be put out to pasture, although the lawn is looking like one. Thanks for your interest in my work.

Poetry

Mind

Sometimes it shines like the sun
Bringing to light the essence of things.
When the eye of the hawk and mine are one.
When the need to name one or the other is no longer.
When even the shadows are known as shadows.
Mostly, though, it’s the moon world in which I dwell.
When faint glow suggests only silhouette among the shades of grey.
When the dark fog of night obscures the way.
When I wish for the eye of the owl to see my truth,
When all is revealed again as in the light of day.

The Pond

Buoyed on the water: lily pads,
Their long stems anchored in bottom mud,
Where the frogs lay in suspended animation all winter.
Rock reflections float as well:
Fossil creatures come alive in the ripples,
Beat their flagella toward some primordial prey.

On the rocky edges - robins, cardinals, squirrels, rabbits -
All take a drink and a risk
For the resident Cooper’s hawk
Nests in the pines only a few feet away.
The wind stirs the water.
The liquid rocks move, alive.