Michael W Noland: Favorites

Mar 2013 Michael W Noland

Mike Hauser

These days it seems everybody's doing it
Not a place you can't go that it can't be seen
From the highest of highs, to the lowest of lows
North, South, East, West, all points in between

Everyone I see must be enjoying it
Otherwise it wouldn't be done
As much as everyone is doing it
You know that it's gotta be fun

Isn't that what it's all about anyways
That while you do it you have a good time
Go ahead and do what you want with yours
I'll do what I want with mine

Yes, these days it seems everybody's " doing it

Mar 2013 Michael W Noland

sucky breakup

Mar 2013 Michael W Noland

Mia

sucky breakup

I feel really stupid
For loving you without reservations.
I feel duped somehow.
For believing you were the one.
Every girl dreams of meeting him,
I thought i was lucky.
I never expected to end up broken
Beating myself up over the years wasted.
Greys and pastels by your side
Making you happy.
There must be something messed up with me
Why couldn't i be content with bits and pieces?
Instead i wanted all of it
Unending forever together.
Joke's on me,
It really is over.

Mar 2013 Michael W Noland

"The Letter"

Mar 2013 Michael W Noland

Mike Hauser

"The Letter"

This could be a true story
Before I'm through you'll feel that way
I sit on a bench beneath the shade
In the park eating lunch most everyday

It's been going on two weeks now
That I've watched that girl walk by
Normally a plain girl like her
Would never have caught my eye

But there was something about her
That for days I could not grasp
The look of anticipation that she had
Didn't match the hesitation in her step

You see there's this P.O. Box in the park
On the far upper east side
After visiting she would leave each day
With disappointment as her guide

Without really knowing her
I can't be sure of what it is she's looking for
Perhaps a letter from a lover
Or a husband off to war

But this day it was different
As she reached her hand inside
Pulling out that for which she had waited
What now seems like all her life

With a look of total elation
She jumped up and down awhile
The joy beyond contagious
I could not help but break into a smile

No longer in her step, the hesitation
She tore at the envelope with anticipation
On the bench next to me she sat
At the turn of her life's transformation

The first tear it dropped and found its mark
Upon the pages as she read
A world oblivious to the pain inside
As the birds chirped overhead

Disappointment came back to guide her
So much had changed since it last held her hand
This time life it held no purpose
As she strolled away, the living dead

She left behind the tear stained note
Dare I even try
To gaze into the only clue
Of this now tragic life

As I reached out for the letter
A breeze blew in from the South
And took with it that longing clue
To what this tragedy was all about

Nowadays I sit here on this lonely bench
I never saw that girl again
But my mind often goes back and wonders
About the letter and what it held within

Mar 2013 Michael W Noland

Bad News

Mar 2013 Michael W Noland

Patricia Drake

Bad News

I drank the news
That night
Burned my palate

Sped through my veins
Like a malicious spirit
Volatile conscience
I evaporated
I raised my glass
That night
Asked for another round
Of darkness
To fill me up
Like an endless night
Into which I could run
I vanished

I lit it up
That night
Set my world ablaze
And jumped
Into the flames
So, like a phoenix
I might rise again
From the ashes

Mar 2013 Michael W Noland

Circles

Mar 2013 Michael W Noland

Patricia Drake

Circles

I draw tiny circles
In the air
Tiny circles to support my world
To prevent it from crumbling
Under pressure

I write little letters
In my mind
Little letters to prove
To convince me of my sanity
To keep me sane

I talk to long gone images
Beautiful images
From the past
Now disappeared
I talk to them
Beg them to come back

Author's note: This is one of my oldest poems. Originally, it was written in Danish when I was 17!

Mar 2013 Michael W Noland

Dark Patches

Mar 2013 Michael W Noland

Patricia Drake

Dark Patches

I discovered it
On a Sunday morning
During my normal morning routines.
It was still small and insignificant then. Dark like a small cave,
an entrance into my skin
But too small
For anything to enter.

A week passed
In quiet oblivion
There didn't seem to be
Anything to talk about,
And I almost forgot it was there.

Then on Sunday,
The mirror caught it
Again
I had not tried to look
But the mirror made me,
And there it was

It had grown.
Still looked like a cave
Now fit for a snake
Or a small rodent
But it was not hollow
There was no cavity.

I felt like
I had to tell someone
Only
I didn't know how
So
I covered the hole
And tried to forget it.

Forgetting proved hard.
Every time I passed the mirror
It reminded me of
Our secret
And one night
My husband surprised us.
He suddenly stood there
In the doorway
Watching me
Explore the darkness
Which had spread
And now resembled
A dark country on my back.

We didn't talk about it,
But my husband made an appointment
For me to see a specialist
In dark patches.
He knew
I would just go and hide
Inside it
If he told me
To do it myself.

So I went
To see the specialist.
Feeling rather nervous,
I let her inspect
My dark side.
The dark patch
Was now so big
I was half black
Half white
And I would flip
Like a coin
Showing either side
At random.

She wanted to operate.
I should be split in halves
And the dark half
Should be put away
Somewhere safe.

I left the room
Feeling liberated
And inspired.
A thousand words suddenly swarmed
My unrestrained mind
And demanded venting.
So I bought a notebook
On my way home
And I started writing
As soon as I got a moment
To spare.

During my Sunday routine
I suddenly looked in the mirror
And it occurred to me
That on my right shoulder
There was a patch
Of white
The size of a small
Rodent's nesting hole.

Mar 2013 Michael W Noland

That was nice.

Mar 2013 Michael W Noland

Laura

That was nice.

Waitressing at work today
a guy came in
**** looking, tough guy
kind of like he never grew up

but he had the cutest
shy smile
when i miscounted his change
and left me a generous tip.

I like stuff like that.
I like people like him.

I hope he liked me too.

Mar 2013 Michael W Noland

01

Mar 2013 Michael W Noland

Laura

01

I woke up this morning.
At 1:00 P.M.
Feeling half rejuvenated, half guilty.
I walked to the bathroom and
looked out my favorite window.
Outside on this January afternoon,
it looked bleak and rainy.
Dark, and very still.
It made me feel something that was difficult to decipher.
I had a flashback to a day
I must have been about ten years old.
I went to the movies
WIth my sister and dad.
Finding Nemo, I believe.
On a day much like today.
And I don’t know why exactly,
but this is a very, very fond memory of mine.
And next thing I know,
on this Sunday morning,
after just waking up,
hardly having started my day,
I am feeling very nostalgic for my childhood.

I bet if I knew you,
I mean really, really knew you,
I would know that you know exactly how I feel.

Mar 2013 Michael W Noland

These are where we disappear

Mar 2013 Michael W Noland

Lacus Crystalthorn

These are where we disappear

Crumpled bedsheet.
Solitary pillow.
Brown blanket.
Empty bottles.
Unwashed clothes.
Vacant bed.
The light on the window.
The lighter on the sill.
Disorganized desk.
Weary picture frame.
Capured memory.
Your secret door.
Guitar on the wall.
Take-home souveniers.
Half-opened closet.
Broken shell.
Treasured letters.
Apprehensive footfalls.
Envious looking glass.
Scattered reflections.
Strange languages.
Disoriented voices.
Dissolving names.
Falling promises.
Disappearing bodies.
Reunited hearts.
Interminable glances.
Sheer infinity.

**Because your room is a world where everything,
even pain,
is beautiful.