The world can be so cruel
on a poet's heart so frail
Sometimes it gets soaked
by the winds that come in Gale
Inspiration can come and go
it's bleeding out like time
Not everyone understands the words
especially if they don't rhyme

My heart is only protected by my Poet's Paper chest
bleeding ink
The words I'm writing down
they don't always make much sense
I keep scribbling

I really want to share
to feel that someone cares
that they understand my poetic plight
my words on winged flight
my tongue I cannot bite
My Gypsy Heart
my fight...
what I might hope...
..... is right

I write that which I seek
knowledge and wisdom deep
secrets that we keep
they crash upon this chest

like the oceans waves that pull me down and under
In clouds where Gods stand
and throw me out their Thunder
My Paper Heart asunder
I grab the lightning bolt

so I know these words they might ReSound
and be quite more profound
in the collective pages of our history

Like art
like all great art
sometimes not appreciated
till after we're gone
And even if someone doesn't know my words
I'm still singing you my song

I hope I do not offend
I don't try to pretend
My Paper Heart defends
by speaking what I am learning

I do not claim to know the answers
I just put some words on paper
and save it in this chest
covered by a vest
I feel I am so blessed
It might be just a guess
these words in ink put down

Soaked in the loving ground

like a time capsule to be opened
one day... if these words don't mean something today
then maybe they will tomorrow
Writing them brings me joy on the pages that I borrow
on my poets paper chest
my words of all my sorrow...and love.



Cherie Nolan © 2016

My heart is like the broken glass
               there lying on the floor
        It shattered a few thousand times
           behind quick slamming doors

                 The ****** shards
                   that lay unbroken
       are all of that's left of love unspoken
          To you I give this simple token
               a piece of me in ****** ink

      This piece of glass I entrust to thee
        This little glass it holds the key
       Beachy glass washed from a sea
         from my waiting ...wanting tears

              I've tried to love though
                       it's been vain
                   My heart is fragile...
                       single paned
          I'll try to love...again with you
          liquid sand from praying pew

        I know my heart's a fragile mess
          my love for you I must confess
         the edges sharp my hands caress
             to make us whole again

          An hourglass I'll shape in time
         and strip away the ****** grime
       My heart is here to love once more
     A green glass piece lost on your Shores

        I am here...if you decide to try
   rebuild this heart from tears it cries
        I wonder in its silence sighs
             In you I feel at home

      you know I'll hold your heart safe too
        curing resin my hands will glue
        repairs rebuilding love anew
      a fracture fixed by love that's true

       build a bond that won't be broken
                  a smooth soft heart
                       your loving token.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

Stars gather
In a sky nocturnal
Observing the deeds of  
We creatures infernal
Might it be…
We’re the ones on display
For the universe to discuss
Perhaps it is the stars
That are watching us

Last night I heard the ocean
Serenade the moon
A song sung on lips of salty waves
Accompanied by the breath of
Soprano winds
A song of cerulean nights
And silver clouds
That crescendos with every
Crash of endless tides
And sounds like the cleansing
Of the Earth

I don’t know how to start this.  When I was 11 my family all piled into our old blue minivan and drove down to florida.  I remember the beach.  The waves.  Around lunch the waves got so high they’d touch the window of my bedroom back home.  They crashed almost relentlessly.  Hitting you harder and harder until all you tasted was salt.  Today was like the breath you got between waves before being shoved back under the water.  I really don’t know how to ******* start this.  When I was 4 my dad was on a business trip.  This was before my mom got ‘better’, you see. It was when she was still ‘sick.’  My baby sister was still that, just a baby.  1 I think? 2? A bottle of wine later and she’s passed out on the floor. I’m not good at writing, I’m sorry if this is choppy.  I didn’t know what to feed her, my sister.  She cried for 3 hours.  I don’t think I slept.  5 hours ago my mother cried in a doctors office as a lady whose name I can’t remember told her that my childhood was probably the cause of my issue.  It is 2 in the morning and I can still hear my mother crying from her bedroom.  I told her I have only been feeling this way for a year or so.  I have been feeling this way since I had to explain to my 2 year old sister why mummy wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon.  I have been feeling this way since a boy in third grade called my mother a ‘drunk’ on the playground I have been feeling this way since 4th grade when my mother couldn't come to the mother/daughter dance because she had AA I have been feeling this way since the first time the girl who lives next door brought up my mother and how she ‘was awful’ and how she ‘wouldn’t blame me if I hated her.’  I’ve been feeling this way since I heard my mother say that exact ******* thing 5 hours ago.  “I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me.”  Well that’s where you’re in luck, mother dearest.  Because that’s the thing about my little ‘problem.’  It’s not you who I’ll blame, it’ll be me.  Every night.  Every morning.  Every waking hour.  I’m so sorry.  I’m so ******* sorry.

It's a new level of age
To forget that the weather changes day to day
And as she looks out behind curtains much older than I am she comments on the rain
"Like blood,
Splattering sidewalks
Drenching us in sorrows
Sylvia
My Sylvia
High noon and her heart was in a novel of faraway lands
I miss her more than life
I miss her more than I miss the sun"
But clouds always pass
And the ****** scene patios dry up under the lights
Removing any evidence that we'd been soaked in gods wrath
And I can remember her asking me about God
Clear as the day that breaks after a storm
She leaned in close
Breath hot from sherry and eyes a little wild for a woman of over a thousand full moons
"What do you think of God?"
I was struck
Never once had her lips spoke of anything holier than thou
She told me that God was a woman
Stormy hair and ocean eyes
"And I know she's waiting for me
Sprinkled in the mist
Hidden in lunar beams
I speak to her sometimes
But never does she coax me closer into the dark corner of this room
But when she does I'll be ready
Thin skinned from age
Ready for flight."
But she hasn't come yet
And you sit in that chair looking out that same window as the conifer dances in the breeze
And at night you cry yourself to sleep
Cursing that God who took your baby from you
"If she is a mother-
Why does she bring me this grief?
I want to hold my Sylvia
I love my Sylvia."