When I'm feeling broken, beat up or put down,
sad, lonely and had my soul tossed around.
I'm heartened to know I look up to see,
the same sky that you've placed your dreams.
You taught me lessons I know were true,
and made me feel so very close to you.
What you wrote touched me in a high degree,
I never realized what was lacking inside of me.
You taught me to sing of love not hate,
helped me to understand a child's loving state.
And I truly believe you, when you said,
You'd rather see earth from in a child's head.
You helped me float in my own fairy tale,
though I lived among people who lived life very stale.
So thank you little miss Aksnes, I love you in a way,
I don't know how to say it but you've molded my heart like clay.
And though we haven't been here long,
You have so much wisdom within your songs.
This earth needs you its always crying,
Its just been born, but its in danger of dying.
The words you wrote has made me think,
this language I write can be more than just ink.
I listen to you, and I picture valleys,
Even if I'm walking through run down alleys.
The fun I saw you having since day one,
made me for the first time realize, emotion can be sung.
You must have fallen down from the sky,
they don't talk about the star girl, and I don't know why.
And when I feel like crying because the world's in rough shape,
I know you'll be there to help me escape.
Your home is about one million miles from mine,
I think perhaps its helps your beautiful rhymes.
You took me to lands that do not exist,
but somehow turned my world into their wish.
Because of you I reflected,
on the side of me I'd rejected.
What you mean to me just cant be said,
I'm trying real hard but before I finish I'll be dead.
The great Green Mountains,
up where the tallest evergreens grow,
upward an outward,
toward the heavens,
a perimeter of boundaries,
where white iridescent angels,
Touching the clouds,
in winds of change coming,
gathered together sheltering storms, alongside barren maples and birches,
with shriveled others aging,
bowing down to winter's bone,
and ready for Spring's solstice.
in surging solar winds,
a million miles an hour,
40 hours after leaving their sun,
raining in an ariel shower,
emphasizing their greatness,
in an eerie tranquility,
behind a diffused hazy luster,
a distant moon light,
in a beautiful Glory Shining.
Silvery satin ribbons,
and celadon green bends,
as colors wait pensive to create,
a heavenly landscape,
for their part in the prism ballet,
these arial acrobats,
yearn to touch tips on sturdy cutouts,
of tall old aging trees,
Dancing into ever-changing,
an inspiring hues,
they move above,
in mystical rhythm,
a dark and mysterious,
black smoke rises between rays,
in the opaque darkest hour,
for the creation of,
a spiritual backdrop,
in the magnificent,
The darker the sky,
the brighter the light,
for an otherworldly setting,
while they mix the palate again,
I am lost in silent reverie,
for the forces that dance there in that blackness,
imparting comforting wisdom,
and healing to your soul,
like a hauntingly familiar sound,
music to your ears.
Moving like in an immensely,
active native conga,
while flitting eiree,
ghosts of glaciers perform,
when fueled folklore beckons,
these beauties from frozen skies,
spraying snow & tossing sparks,
as their created stars,
saturate the deep,
as their tears are shed,
in big butterfly kisses,
in lovely little fine wisps,
of cirrus smudges of light refractions,
bending in rarified veils of light,
into a seamless,
A hiding crystal clear,
deep Alice blue sky,
as colors are blending,
from azure to denim,
then turning periwinkle,
into auroral archways,
dusted in a tangerine glow
in transitioning brushstrokes,
gently cover impressionistic sketches,
evolving into luminism,
on an endless open canvas.
As I paint the words,
where I sit there quietly,
respectfully awaiting answers,
as clouds and moonlight smear,
into watercolor scenery,
an intimate engagement occurs,
the passion of nature,
these synchronized sky swimmers ,
As a stormy sun is forcing,
red light dancers,
colliding and becoming excited,
these powerful ominous portents,
becoming the framework.
Around a fantastic fluorescent show,
the cast wearing blushing pink,
and wild viola purples,
tinged in chartreuse green,
basking in beauty,
where hope lies,
in these colors I've never seen,
transcending skies of tomorrow,
into an age old masterpiece,
waiting patiently for this,
with an eager & beautiful,
Where the North winds,
send a brilliant light show,
of atomic wonders,
in watery pirouettes,
of shaped effects,
& teardrops sacrificed,
swirl in spirits of harmony,
I am transfixed,
an astonishing feat,
of brilliant pigments,
the mysterious lightness,
my drifters heart wanders,
melded into atmospheric colors,
we can only wish to see in this lifetime.
Where life seeds glide,
on the giving winds,
and Eagles and hawks can,
applaud this much beauty way up there.
a heavenly firmament,
where all the sacred souls come to die,
where all the very, very, wise end up,
where they all spend their eternal lives,
young and old alike,
eventually they all retire here,
bringing us hope or warnings,
a chance at redemption,
striking hot iron in glowing,
a gifted chance to share with us,
along with all the parished,
souls and spirits,
from native garb,
mocassin covered feet,
change into favorite animals,
stomping on the colorful floor,
a great bear,
a beluga whale,
a soaring raptor,
not wanting for anything,
walking in Native American circles,
to the sounds of long silent drums,
morphing & shape shifting,
where rain shadows dance,
in ancient skies,
celestial bodies are illuminated,
reflecting the fire circles,
from where distant oceans shore,
take me there...ancestors
take me there once more,
As night slowly declines,
as daylight seeps through cracks,
bleeding into tomorrow,
to fly again to share what they must,
they pray and worship their God,
and they trust..
And Aurora Borealis is her name.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
(I watched my video again in astonishment.)
I hope you all are well n happy. I'm OK....
The road that ends below lies deep, lies still.
No moon to light the snow. The sky is clear.
Transfixed, heads back and arm in arm, eyes wide!
The Holiest of Holy Nights is here—
So spill the lights of Heaven into sight—
Illumined, rising, falling, shifting trace.
Upon the starry sweep of Christmas night,
In ribbon-folds of light and dark it sways
Above the shepherd pine and hemlock choir.
There— This night! The sky! The lights!
The stars! The fire!
Above! Across! Dear God—
Where the nights are numb, and the ground frosted,
Where the ocean lies still and quietly.
Upon that abyss, there it riposted,
A reflection of refracted beauty.
A blush of colors painting the sky,
A wave that rippled of untold stories.
As if the Earth let out a gentle sigh,
In its longing wake to show its glory.
In this velvety night, we lie and watch,
And flush our thoughts and soak it in.
An experience that cannot be bought,
To wash over us and begin again.
That night we shared in loving memory.
That night we were in perfect harmony.
i was told that she moved like the wind,
and her eyes carried whispers from the ocean that
her hands breathed like the leaves but
it wasn't till i saw her in the lights,
dancing as the music swirled around
speaking like she could chase away sorrows and
singing because the world depended on her words, that
her voice reminded me of the home where i belong.
in baler where the sun shines and the waves visit
is where freedom bathes under the blue skies
in the seaside realm of surfing
simple hotels line the shore
where you can run to the beach fronts
after settling in little white rooms,
and in the blue water
wait tanned, youthful surfing instructors--
local boys of the province who've grown up
with the salt water as their playground.
get on your surfboard and
join the waters,
"mag-timing ka sa alon,"—
"wait for the waves", the instructors say
and lie down on your stomach on the surfboard,
and when you do get the waves you ride them fearlessly,
you are lifted, invincible,
by the hands of the philippine sea.
and if you don't surf,
the smooth sands are there,
calling you to lie around
under the seaside sun.
and when night falls
and the waves are reckless,
you can sit on the sand
with a bonfire and some drinks—
watch the stars
with the sound of the tides as your music
and do not fear;
for in the morning
the waves will come rushing
back to the shores of Balers
to give anyone freedom
as they always do.
Shrieks still lingered....
Most of the customers were now hiding -- all over -- peppered throughout the bank. Some were only partially hidden, taking cover behind objects smaller than themselves. Those out in the open, lie-in-wait - tensed, like armadillos.
Something bloody had happened here.
This placed was stained with a fresh coat.
He stood over her (the guard from earlier, that is). The lights flickered on & off, as if power to the whole metropolis was about to cease;
& then it did...
The bank went black, as did all of the other surrounding buildings. The guard vanished in the lack of light, but he was still there; he was still close by.
If she was conscious, she would have heard him breathing & panting -she would have heard the dull commotion, which had coincided with his breath. She would have heard the muffled boxing, which ignited around her lying-self.
He felt as if his muscles were going to tear. His triceps & thighs shook uncontrollably. He had nothing left to sweat out; he had saved nothing - not an ounce - for the aftermath of these quakes; for the aftermath of the match, which had felt like an interminable marathon.
He had nothing left to sweat out,
but rain still poured outside, beating on the building like a ruthless drummer. An ensemble of sirens then wailed, as well. Their sounds traveled in all directions; however, some grew closer -- louder -- but it was far too late...
Not one shadow could be seen. Nothing could be seen,
except for when silent-lightning cracked, flashing through the tall, barred windows of the bank.
No one could be heard. Nothing could be heard;
the shrieks no longer lingered. Following the flood of light, however,
rolled in -- the sound --
…& then two eyes emerged with this new noise.
"Hell-fire" eyes. Green flames, kissed
with a bit of blue. Glowing redemption, perhaps,
~~ burnt through the blackened bank ~~
Something had crawled & stood back up;
something then peered, inward.
Growing into herself, like heated copper -
metallic parts of herself formed larger pieces,
better suitable for bending.
Her morale swam far, with the torso of a swimmer.
Her spirit ran wild & strong, but efficient like a machine
with the legs of a sprinter.
Her mind bent reality, as a force twisted her back to life,
like a champion gymnast redeeming herself from a fall.
Her soul, redefined;
her essence, re-raised.
& time was bought
by the guard
who dropped --
to the floor --
within his grave,
which he, himself,
had sincerely made.
He chose to make it -
Her eyes ...God,
her eyes... glowed,
so fucking brightly....
Two giant pools
of some kind of green,
Her eyes pierced - quietly
-- surprisingly -- but with a degree of fury,
which could match the loudest of roars.
Her eyes -- like two crosshairs --
lined up with those doors….
...the doors to the office -
at the top of those steps…
which then flew
open, as the man in blue
He moved like a ghost, descending those steps -
blipping his way over, till he was face-to-face with those pools...
If he was a ghost, she then stared at him as if he was already dead.
“ENOUGH!!! Enough of this!” he screamed. Madder than all-hell, he turned devilish red.
He sounded like an unhappy god, but those eyes only continued to peer back at him ...as if he was already dead.
She deeply inhaled & then snorted much like a bull, like a beast,
but his unusual blue-suit hung untouched, unstained, from his body, as her exhale spattered upon the glass -- from the other side -- on the other side, quite unexpectedly.
For she stood in darkness -- heated -- as fluid copper,
flaming green & blue... somehow, now -
outside of the bank.
An artisan pole vaulter -- with
the torso of a swimmer,
the legs of a sprinter, &
the contortions of a champion gymnast --
over the undesirable path, which this man in blue
had laid out for her. ...Like a machine, she had leaped
out of his crypt -- out of that icy vault -- up out of unconsciousness,
out of the bank.
Her spirit was wild,
& she ...ah, finally ...a true
The man in blue’s eyes widened, as he held his gaze.
He -- at long last -- failed to hold is composure; he was blindsided, enraged.
....Or perhaps she was the one who held his gaze -
who widened his eyes -- made them tear --
who filled him with rage.
(Her own rage....).
His innards burnt as hot as her eyes. She was recycling the remaining heat from the hurricane squalling about outside -feeding fire to the man pin-striped in blue. Regardless of who held whom, they locked eyes -- like eagles locking talons -- in the darkness.
In the darkness, her brightness - began to burn-away at blue.
The air occupying the metropolis settled, as it finished cooling.
She had continued channeling this energy till the man in blue suffocated from the pressure & burnt away
- taking down the entire bank in this vehement blaze,
...by her unanticipated glory.
If he was a ghost, then she was a phantom -
If he was a ghost, then he had faded...
If he was the fated, then she was the fate-r,
then she was his maker.
....A Valkyrie of horror,
who embodied life & death,
stained in rage, as well as love....
Her eyes glowed so brightly --
two pools of...
“Fuuccckkkk,“ one of the astronauts murmured,
tearing up, as the team continued bracing themselves for impact; the velocity was incredible.
The shuttle then collided into a sea, where they plunged deeply -- now, a submarine --
immersed in a speckled shroud of stars.
They had only wanted to return home....
They had only sought for a haven...
...a haven they could call "home."
They did not know if they had arrived,
or how far they had flown, but still
something about them lingered -- remained --
regardless of location -
hope for a forgotten garden,
All of my love.
Bless the sky when winter comes
and twilight sings a song of ice,
cold and pale
as its ghastly grip of death.
Embers dress the aurora on such
A pale ghost dances around an oak,
around the Pantheon.
It's a ghost of my own, an illusion.
Memories seep away like forgotten dreams;
lost, like a raven in the night.
I bow to the Pantheon, to nature.