my thoughts aren't always sublime
my grammar could be right or wrong
trapping my mind; forming a block
where the words might be hard to find
a notebook in my pocket; a pen in my hand
always seeing everything so inspiring
sometimes others can't seem to comprehend
leaving wet ink to dry on my finger tips
dreaming, thinking, jotting down the thoughts
that's conquering my mind trying to escape my lips
being who I am I make writing an everyday task
for there seems to always be something on my mind
to write or not to write is the question to ask

Hope
is a vile,
deceitful creature.
Slowly
   and
deliberately
instilling baseless confidence,
it knowingly assures
   victory
where there is none
to be had.
Abandon hope
to those
   less weary
and prepare yourself
for the inevitable
   worst.

she's not mad at him
she place all blame on herself
they both agreed; only friends with benefits
she can't change the way he feels about her
so why does she put herself directly
in the line of fire

even if it may sooth the urge
for just a little while
maybe she'll add an extra
splash of red or pink
to her lips enticing him
to pucker up

she doesn't want to be alone yet she knows
he is just her imaginary substitute
a fake smile, holding back her tears,
and walking away into her cave of loneliness
will the lights of love ever come on for her
or will she be sitting in the dark forever?

her heart it already knew
she cant hide her tears
once again she's on her own
alone there she swings
all alone there she cries

her heart it already knew
she's hurting from her core
alone carrying this burden
with stress in her heart
again there she swing alone

her heart it already knew
no one's there to comfort her
the only thing for her to do
is swing; swing away the pain
swing just to keep herself sane

her heart it already knew
the swing was not the true
reasons why she sits to cry
this is a special place to think
a place to swing away her worries

here heart it already knew
this was a world of her own
to swing; swing away the pain
here her swinging helps to erase
the stress causing her heart strain

broke her heart did he
there was no time to think
was it her fault thought she
a glass of ***** was her drink
was it the glass that he forebid
or the slip of her tongue and sadden face
for told a huge lie is what she did
her heart in her ears poundin at a fast pace
tears ran down her cheeks from her eyes
she dare not look at him any more
for it was him that she despize
that's what she was drinking for

I love you onion
I'll tell you why
in part because
you make me sigh,
you are everything to me
the song my Mother sang...
a whimsical, sad
and poignant little tale
I hear you crooning
& the radio tuning
my Mother knew me better
than I'd like to think,
singing ...
Lonely 'Lil petunia in an onion patch
a bittersweet memory
of all the saddest words
that I have ever heard
the saddest is the story
told me by a bird
tears fall from a pungent smell
when I cannot forgive,
say you'll never tell
and in tears of laughter  
when I'm tickled
seeing the inchworm
in the shape of a finger
a moment comes,
  I stay
and linger
climbing like a spider
singing me a verse
Spent about an hour
chatting with a flower
and here's the tale he told
as you're peeling layers,
& hearing prayers
revealing honesty
and depth of flavor
intoxicating waifs
I sniff and savor
kept safe
by a sturdy skin
cooking you
I start, begin
chopped fresh
and finely diced
or maybe
even thinly sliced
for summertime
franks, not the
Ballpark kind
these I doubt
you'll ever find
homemade baked beans
that you adorn and grace
a smiling sweet,
lil' onion face
everything made
from scratch
gleaning my
lil' onion patch
in toasted rolls,
whole grain mustard
potato salad...
best I can recall
my Mother
took the time to make
in everything
she cooked and baked
you're in all my memories
though you're in so much more
I've never shared with you
this love I have before
Onions are adaptation at its finest
fresh, sauteed with butter
translucent sweetness
Elevating anything you touch
they cry, and laugh
and give so much
dried, grated..slightly dated...
even hated, chopped up..
or roasted, grilled...
so very skilled
any way you slice it
even if you dice it
differently delightful
and delicious
smart for recipes,
even onion haters
appreciate the graters
sometimes your in  disguise
a lovely found
& welcome surprise
must be
I have something
in my eyes
as the flower
continues to sing
a joyful gift
my onion brings
familiar sounds
songs I sing
petunia continues
who put me in this bed
I'll bet his face is red
I call him down
with every teardrop that I shed
  then she said
if only I had him here
I would take him by his ear
and make him share my misery
I'm cooking homemade
onion chips,
rewound on old-time family clips
recall the fresh-squeezed lemonade
while we're sittin' in
the cooling shade
a memory of you replayed
so very glad you came & stayed
  sippin' slow brewed iced tea
my lil' onion friend and me.

Cherie Nolan© 2016

a false clay mask
covers clenched faces
hoping the edges wont break
held together by the cracks
of the bitten lips
a single drop of pain
reignite the agony
for silent it wont remain
behind the quiet yet heavy
mind full of deep confusion
black clouds of frustration
overlaps the screams of the
crying heart