She lives in me
a genetic relic
fearsome goddess
strands of vengeance
gifted from the Erinyes
after all these years
trying to disown her
maybe it’s time
to wear her
on the outside
as armor

your voice reaches me
how it soothes my spent mind
caresses and convinces me
we are joined for all time

we own the ocean's distance
it is you that I can see
are you only in my thoughts
an elusive fantasy?

yet here on this shoreline
we absorb, we feel
this island of dreams
where our love becomes real

daybreak approaches
the Sun beckons me
as your voice like a ghost
washes over the Sea

but I shall return
in the stillness of night
to rekindle our dream
to recapture our light

Let the river flow wash away the pain
Let the fire burn it all in ash
Let the torrents pass, let the river flow, let the river flow

I long to see you in the bloom of winter
where trees are withered and flowers float
in the noose of the nuke
inside the news of the hooks

I want to see you in the rays of the sun
where the leaves shine on a summer mood
in the music of the duke
within mews of the fountains

Let the river flow wash away the pain
Let the fire burn it all in ash
Let the torrents pass, let the river flow, let the river flow

I see the rain washing the excrements
where tar and wire were bouncing
in the moving fires
within the encircling tires

I touch the blood on the palm of your hand
engrossed with the pain of trials
in the unresolved pastures
within the chaotic azures

Let the river flow wash away the pain
Let the fire burn it all in ash
Let the torrents pass, let the river flow, let the river flow

i will never know the black mother’s ache,
but i imagine that if the phrase “adding insult to injury” had a feeling,
that would be it.

i will never know the black mother’s ache,
but i imagine that it sounds like “hands up, don’t shoot,” like “i can’t breathe,”
like blood hitting a pavement that seems as though it was built
to catch those droplets.

i will never know the black mother’s ache,
but i imagine that it tastes like skittles and arizona tea,
four years old but still carrying the fresh sting of a wound just opened.
i imagine that it tastes 
like history repeating itself,
like seeing your son or daughter recycled each week
on every news report, on every tv station.
each time it is a different body, 
but it is always the same hand pulling the trigger,
the same black blood being spilled,
the same cries left unheard;
we shout “black lives matter”
and yet, still,
they cut them too short.

i will never know the black mother’s ache,
but i imagine that it looks like a web of lies too thick to cut through — 
every strand another weapon that he did or did not have,
another order that he did or did not follow,
another sin that he did or did not commit;
the only black they care about
is the color of the ink they use
to draw your angel-headed boy
a set of horns.
i imagine that it looks like evidence hidden,
like sparknotes-type skim-throughs labeled “thorough investigations,”
like another unindicted officer walking freely atop the cries of those 
who charged into a battle they knew they would, but hoped they would not, lose.
a battle they have fought too many times before.
i imagine that it looks
like an empty chair at the dinner table,
like cold-blooded ****** disguised as justice
with the help of a blue hat and a badge.

i will never know the black mother’s ache,
but if you listen closely enough,
you can hear it
in every cautious goodbye she says to her children whenever they leave the house,
or in the silence that those goodbyes used to fill.

can you hear it?
you will have to push past the shouts
of the big bold letters that they want you to believe.

somewhere,
somewhere in there,
a black mother’s heart is crying.
it is a gentle, hushed cry 
that the world does not want to hear.

but the tears are still just as wet.

(a.m.)

In a world of fear and crime today,
well it's hard to see the good,
amongst a guarded people now,
who once together stood,
we focus on just what we can't,
instead of what we should,
say who can help our people out,
if anybody could?

I tell you this in shame for all,
that people here are dying,
adults and infants die alike,
in endless tears I'm crying.
while another child dies today,
from lies that we are buying,

I see the world as it should be,
where we all share our food,
instead we have a county now,
where commonplace is rude,
where elected is a president,
who's mouth is spewing crude,

A divided people always fall,
it will lead us to a death,
I will say we rise as one,
until my dying breath,

My poet heart,
can't take much more,
of a people lost in blindness,
as levied waters at our toes,
to stop it only kindness,

Wake up,
won't you,
selfish those,
with a frozen blinkless stare,

I hope if you were starving,
well I hope someone would share,
in every other bite they eat,
& everything they bare,

If alone and out there hungry
it's hard for some to beg,
with so many apathetic,
to a Humpty Dumpty egg,

They talk an talk in platitudes,
of goodness they don't mean,
stupidity a common voice,
like I have never seen,
where friends are disappearing here,
and the grass no longer green,

Not because their stupid,
though in ignorance,
is bliss,
while painful is awareness,
it is endless,
that abyss,

In a world of broken people,
& few who see the truth,
where ones who share are not believed,
or lost to us in youth,

We search to be enlightened,
or say something,
like the same,
while putting idle hands beneath us,
as our heads hang down in shame,
or we aim a bony finger,
point to someone else in blame,

We are too slow to awaken,
so we must wake up right now,
we must end in our division,
come together here somehow,
& I will keep on asking,
till my death in this I vow,
when I see a God & if he comes,
to him I'll surely bow,

Though here's the saddest story,
of a sweet and blessed child,
from his mother's womb he came,
all humble, meek and mild,
then crucified by greedy hands,
so lost in envy wild,

A baby dies in freezing temps,
a homeless camp his stable,
his barefoot Mother thinks he breathes,
to care for him,
unable,

Some say that she is crazy,
and they think it's even fact,
otherwise well why in hell,
would any woman act,
as if she's nuts or evil,
or with the devil made a pact,

As if her baby was a gift,
immaculate conception,
she says he is child of a God,
a unique an rare exception,
all she hears is yeah sure right,
and utter clear rejection,

Most don't care about her story here,
shooaway,
my listening ears,
they bury heads in comfy blankets,
to drown out the constant fears,
desensitized,
from worldly plight,
in what can draw their tears?

We are told that capitalism,
is the way up to the top,
money rooted all our evil,
to share would help it stop,

An ad hominem argument,
to argue truth of God,
& I'm sure if he exists at all,
he'd find it more than odd,

If he sent a child here to see,
if kindness here exists,
if 9 days old is all he had,
to raise an angry fist,

I couldn't say I'd blame him,
seems that no one gave a ****,
for a little dying baby,
just a sacrificial lamb,

If people who believe that Jesus,
he died for us our sin,
if they and every person,
treated strangers as their kin,
there wouldn't be a battle,
that together we can't win,
realize not to judge,
on say someone else's sin,

No mouth would ever hunger,
our strength as one would grow,
to a loving giving God,
in our kindness we would show,
doing what is right ,
is something we should know,

The money hungry people,
a machine who's way is lost,
who throws away the extras,
regardless of the cost,

Animals are moving on,
while Winters without snow,
smoggy skies to block the sun,
a hazy smelly glow,
the government says look away,
then puts on another show,
they can take another bow,
while hitting a new low,

I ask above an answer,
why WE do this to OUR people,
while my country is my church,
& my sky above,
the stepple,

It's not about religion now,
or right,
or wrong,
or hate,
there's only one way in to there,
behind the pearly gates,
our journey architected,
by our hands,
our only fate,

I implore you,
share in all you have,
before it's all too late.


Cherie Nolan © 2016

A protest song inspired by sjr1000

Frig & Frack dance a dance
To see who is astute
They run an oil rag up a pole
To see who will salute

Nobody seems to see it
They just watch TV
Corporate's just overjoyed!
They can dance for *FREE!

They just quash the media
Build gas-guzzling trucks
People purchase in their millions
So Frig & Frack make BUCKS!

Nobody seems to wonder
Why water tastes so funny
Why their kids have cancer
Why... Big Oil's makin' MONEY!


Yeah... nobody seems to care a fig
Most people aren't that hyper
Now Corporate can laugh and jig...

...and we all Pay the Piper!


SoulSurvivor
(C) 1/16/2017