Dancing with the colors
Each year vibrant with growth
Oranges
Reds
Yellows
Blues
A memory of a beautiful place.
Nature walks and lantern creations
Pumpkin carved candles light up the hall.
Magic capes and fairy tales
Enchanted castles and cardboard houses.
Tea and story time, handwork, circus practice, and theater.
Music, main lesson, mathematics, english, history, all the academics.
Imagination, free play, and singing songs
Advent Candles and the Rose Ceremony,
Magnificent festivals and feeling free.
So much to give and so much to take.
Full with laughter
Full with wonder
Faces curious and willing to gain knowledge
Inside this whimsical colorful place.
Curtain draped windowpanes, comforting space.
A magical kingdom, a magical school.
Where children are allowed to be themselves: body, mind, spirit, and soul.
Welcome home.

© Jo Tomso

my favorite occupation
has been that of
listening to silence

to give shapes
to music singing
with my hands

on top of the colors
that lay already there
to tiptoe in-love

slowing down
my responses
to evade darkness

into the beauty held
inside as the harmony
viable all around

How the body

of the dancer

Moves with

Grace
and
Elegance

Eyes with make-up, closed while performing.
The only audience to the dancer are
One's heart and one's soul.

I can hear them scream.
Not through their mouths or tongues,
Through their minds, filled with thoughts seeking to come to life.
The voices trapped in a void, the escape that they long for.

I can hear these in the subtlest moments.
In their words during conversations filled with insights
In the professors who teach with conviction.
In the depths of my own mind, brought out by these said people.

I see their struggle,
Their tears forming from the injustices and unfairness they see in the world,
The pain they have that are written in their essays, thesis and books that were barely touched by anyone else.
The blood that rushes out from their foreheads over the anger in their society.

Nobody wants to listen to them.
They try to wipe us out
With the words of “useless’, “underestimated” and "underneath"
They burn us with less job opportunities and ignorance

We still rise, despite all these ashes.
These scars make us stronger,
They can’t hear us. Louder we must show them.
Together, we cry.

Gemini's are known to dabble in arts of all kind; Well-cultured, well-versed and rehearsed in both rhythm and rhyme.

From music to magic and everything in between; Learning lessons as they unfold with the change of each scene.

We cannot be contained within wires nor hidden behind screens. Energy is everywhere; We choose our frequencies.

Disconnect from electricity and experience the ever-natural waves. Break harmful traditions of doubt and unobtainable change.

We are not alone.
This life has no range.

Winter tapping
hollow maple tree trunk-
a four month visitor about to move in
unload his messy clothing,
be windy about it-
bark is grayish white as coming night with snow
fragments the seasons.
The chill of frost lays a deceitful blanket
over the courtyard greens and coats a
ghostly white mist over reddish gold
maple leaves widely spaced teeth-
you can hear them clicking
like false teeth
or chattering like chipmunks
threatened in a distant burrow.
The maple tree knows the old man
approaching has showed up again,
in early November with
ice packed cheeks and brutal
puffy wind whistling with a sting.

I suppose you
are much like a staple gun;
for you can
hold me together

and yet I
could be compared to a
pair of rusty scissors;
destined to tear thee apart