Speaking of broken hearts
and mended fenced in mem'ries  
I am painting skies
of tangerine, saffron
& an illuminated lilac hue
against the starkly contrasted crisp cornflower blue, stretching canvas that is
along with all the
other blindingly beautiful colors of a twilight sky

And those dripping cotton candy stratospheric clouds
Ice crystals freezing into supercooled
water droplets
Streaking the sky in cirrus whispers
..I hear them whisper, "hello"...

Blinding beauty
through unadulterated sunlight
I am fleeced like a lamb
watching in awe,
..in wonder
then stomping sounds
of coming thunder,

Finding depth and height
out  in the stratosphere
Blinded by the
After Light
or afterglow
affected by the amount of haze
I'm in a daze
...as I am reaching

High above the fading light
of a brilliant early fall sunset
I take a big breath
of that sumptuous air
and twirl my skirted legs
my painted toes
where I know
I am back
to solid ground

Appreciating the last time
I say sleep well
to you  my dear
summertimes sweet mem'ries
and the fun we had this year.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

Be wary of men who say your eyes are those of
morning poppy blossoms because they only
want to eat pizza with you, take you to bed,
have you diaper their babies, scour the sink,
paint the bathroom, wash their socks
                               and
when they are old and brains knitted
with dementia, you will walk them
to the toilet and lead them
to ****. This is mostly
truth.

****,
alluring
Petting,
purring
your eyes
your smile ....
been
awhile
sundressed
caressed
turquoise
dreams
silent
screams
sweet
perfume
dreaming
looms
dance 'round...
  lovely
sounds
come in  close
need a dose...
don't
take eyes
or try
to pry
my hands
off  
of you

my boy
blue
loving
true
sigh
I try...
said I
wouldn't,
couldn't
shouldn't
do it ...
blew it
I did it
again
not JUST
friends
getting
  drink
by  
kitchen sink
on the brink
drunken
.... sunken
loving you
  tonight
feeling right
your gentle
hands
**** man

as we move
in a groove
wanna fly....
no goodbyes
touching skin...
moving in
red lipstick
did the trick
your here

so queer
I look...
a crook
theif in the night
a delight
the empty
waiting paper
perhaps
I thought
a caper
beckoning
my wanting
haunting
skin
as we begin
lean into kiss...
can't miss

a fulfilled wish
puckered fish
waiting lips
& fingertips....
seducing,
reducing
breaking
shaking
inhibitions
down
drown...
                  i
                   ­ n
                      g
writing,
fighting
burning,
learning
I am stuck
thunderstruck
frightning
lightning
so exciting
a giant puddle of ink...
you think
you can
make me
take me..
then
forsake me?
leave me
bearing
after sharing
seductive
words
still unheard
my point of inspiration
doubting
in frustration
bleeding...
needing
just
another

...... poem...
and a beautiful burden you are.


Cherie Nolan © 2016 *smile

Oh...how I long to go home
where the crickets sing me
and the sweetgrass in Praries
smells freshly cut
barns weather on
and I feel the sun upon my skin
and autumn crisp apple air...
leaves me drunken
crystalline formations dance on the windows in a deeply frozen nest
and long burning logs rage
as patterned snowflakes dance outside
a fire of comfortable blanketed walls burns as
spring birds call me back

where faded country music plays
a sad and aesthetically pleasing tune
the smells of generations cooking
I am invited in ...
to dream
dancing on Daddy's boots
in the living room

I dream of a love-strong home
where you can be high and deep
tough and sinewy like the thread
holding us together
weaved by my Native American Grandmother

So sweet and energizing
a place of refuge from waning storms
Where I can be
the person
that I promised myself I could be

as I cook a gourmet meal
from fresh and simple ingredients
I use my senses to taste in my mind
then with my mouth
creating masterpieces
with a magical gift , handed down
of composition
sipping a glass of perfectly chosen wine
and palate cleansing fresh sorbet
a calm, appreciative natural high

Oh, how I adore the tender
domestic bliss
feeding roots
cherishing moments
lavishly on tight purse strings
making MAGIC in hearts
and in my kitchen
poetic recipes for life...
bread from necessity
inked in a passed down book called
....HOME.