.

*Music written to
the sound of the rain,
patters of notes upon
slick windowpanes
mesmerizing a day
of reminiscence,
when two hearts
danced between
the steady drizzle

Drenched in the key
of lost moments
playing over and over
in the saturated symphonies
of my mind’s
harmonic sadness
un-tuned melodies echo
through puddles collected
within a cappella fingers

towering gently overflowing with heightened awareness
subtle hints of blade’s keen glittering chiseled edges
untamed rugged surface powerfully averts gale’s acrid tempest
vigor pulsating that doth persuade the cloud’s reflections
if i shall not again embrace a meager glimpse; a demure echo
of thine towering mounts my soul shall ever suffer

my spirit soars with e'er one glance of thine majestic presence
replete with reminiscence seasons stir and beg thine tender mercies
to house the changing leaves at dusk of autumn’s auburn portraits
and give birth to crystal snow cascading peripherally in winter
which melding into spring then begs thy bluffs to cover
in soft amethyst of columbine blossoming first light of summer

‘tis not paramount to scale high aloft thine peaks in escalation
for small sheer glances stamp forever with imperial impressions
and ‘tho i’ve traveled ‘round and savored nature’s varied essence
none can compare thine evergreens laced in aspens nuance
my breath is gone and shan’t return ‘til in thy shadow casting
i stand and look upon thine hallowed face the rocky mountains

©2016 janetaylor

in the midst of an emerald slumbering forest
laced with pungent scents of jaded wood
a burgundy blushed tail
of a chestnut hued fox
scurries as copper sunbeams part the day

a hospital lumes starkly nearby
its aura exudes hints of melancholy
commingled with faint impressions
of halcyon futures
not yet lived

at neighboring dartmouth
a student sprinting to class
drops his crimson colored backpack
the prospect of cancer
far from his budding consciousness

my beloved sits patiently
pondering pensively
his last chemo treatment
elusion of death
not far from his mind

i feign to fend off future catastrophes
watching letters scramble across my screen
earnestly writing
in a desperate attempt
to be with him forevermore

an aquamarine hummingbird drenched in tranquility
senses the inverse
its amber tipped wings stand seemingly stationary
while it steals a quick glance through the window
curious at chemical infusions meant to heal

my beloved walks out
of the austere building
with rose colored glasses i feel
that we’ll whirl on the tips of gilded stardust
dancing with another chance to fly


©2016janetaylor

Spread out on the bathroom floor
Sick and tired of all the beautiful excuses he makes
The sugar-coated ones,
Sugar rush of tears and time wasted thinking of him
She, finds comfort in her cigarettes,
She's beautiful, she's wonderful
And of course she doesn't see it,
When the tears have carved darkness under her eyes.
She can barely sleep,
Looking for something in the dark
but in the dark we barely see anything
and there's no answer to our questions
And you know what?
She deserves all of the love someone can give
And I'd hold her close if she cries
My heart breaks in a million little pieces for her
But he, he loves her
And every time she smiles,
the world gets a little better
but every time she cries the angels above break their wings a little

*and that's a beautiful, tragic , love
and she deserves all of the love in the world

My poetry...
is like a rushing flood...that I..
just cannot stop
I don't know where it's coming from so I don't think I'm going to ask it to
Because it's like this...
turbulent and wonderful
....endless... spinning top.

It just pours out...
just like the hardest rain
And...sometimes...
it can be...
quite...
painful.. even...
Like I must have hit a vein ...
or something...
and.... it must have...
been a very deep one.

I must have raised it ..
from it's tulluric bed
And that vein... you know...
well,
it seems... like it's...
DEMANDING to be bled.

And..I think...
I'll try to take a sip....
to have a little drink of that water
and...
I think it will have a lot to teach me
this thing.

So..if I can take a moment
to even catch a breath of air...
While waiting for the next big wave
that is..
Then I will...
So I can share...this thing...
that is ever flowing..
from somewhere...unknown
.. right here, right now..
with you.

Whatever this thing is...
that is flooding from my lips
And not so much from my aging fingertips...
as I struggle to write this fast enough
because this deluge would soak the paper anyway...
and I think
the ink would just run.

I've been thinking about so many things
.. that I have not thought about in years
including many ...
real and... long but not quite forgotten
fears ..
but it's alright
because everyone and everything is beautiful... in the just...
the right light..too..
and well...I've tapped into things...
that I just didn't even realize were there...
or even...
possible.

It's a very beautiful thing
when you write a certain poem
Like an enchanting and haunting sound
I even hear it now...
and ... I am sounding...measuring the waters depth...
and dowsing ....if I need to.

This thing,
my poetry...your poetry... Our Poetry.

And..it kind of rings, in echoes through your mind
and you know...
that it's going to touch other people somehow
just something that you feel
from deep within.

That place...I'm talkin' 'bout..well it's
much deeper
than the surface
of our skin...
I just can't tell you- exactly...
where it is of course...
but I think if you look,
maybe check it like a pulse
maybe...then,
I believe
that you will find it too, keep looking...
don't give up.

And well..this unknown vein
it is beckoning
.... to bleed first...
and then the water comes
....then...finally the words...
I am literally gushing this here...
It demands this thing...
it's like...I think...
it must be heard.

Seems I can't....quite
get every word down
on my first attempt...
maybe the next time around
but it's...not... upset with me at all,
and ..I think it says try again
.... my Cherie.

So to me...it's like a song
and when it is written...
and it is finally  perfect
and you hear it....
for the very first time
It's like music to your ears
literally... and figuratively
And....
it doesn't have to rhyme...
you'll know it...
when your done.

Maybe because you hear that
lyrical sound in your head
it just keeps on coming....
like it's risen from the dead...from a place
some...
deep and earthly bed
And right now...
I'm just repeating what it said.

You know....it keeps me up at night
till the poem is just right..
..and..
sometimes I just can't sleep
and yes I even weep....
and when I do...eventually rest...
then I see it in my dreams,
this thing
so I don't get any time alone
these days
and well..
the company ...
is really pretty good.

That sound...it just doesn't stop coming
I can hear that sound...
everywhere...
like my Native American ancestors are drumming..
it calls me home.

You hear it in the other poetry
and so your poetry
is a Continuing Story
of their poetry and yours
is to their stories,
and you hear it in every other song
and in all conversations with people and things
A sound ..like the mellow, dark sound of a violin
Or maybe like the distant flapping my Guardian Angels wings...
It has my attention
and I am listening...
contentedly.

It halts my mind...and will not let me just pass by....
without..
at least..
saying hello.

This thing...this gift of poetry
is a blessing not a curse
I've known a lot of other things that
... could be...have been and are
a lot...
worse
So..for me
at least right now
it doesn't have to be well rehearsed
and you can always come back to visit it,
to see if it needs anything...
you know...like an old and lovely...very special...
and familiar friend.

And if someone thinks my poem
is...say...stunning,
then I am truly in awe -
of something that I don't even know where it came from
could touch somebody so deeply...
from a sound that just keeps on weeping my tears .... of beauty and truth,
I am grateful.

These things...this dialogue...
it could even be...
quite profound
So...I think....
that I'll just keep listening
to that distant sound,
That drum, the wings, all things ...
the violin strings...
So I can...and because I must
trust ...and ..
share...
this all
with you
right here
right now...
.....always....
& forever.

And perhaps, we can
together....
leave a legacy
to my family
To your family
and to all others,
and to future Generations of a like-minded people
For the positive growth of all humankind
Poetry in everything
can...
remind us.

This gift...might hopefully inspire others
in some way
to perhaps do certain things differently each day...
of our lives...
or to write poetry even...
to pay it forward
or just to heal...this poetry
this ...to me...is how we express
our...feelings.

  There are so many things to learn from poetry and songs
and conversations
like this one I'm having with myself
right here
right now too..

I wouldn't want to live life
any other way now...
because I've discovered
my
"Poetic License"...
to disclose ...
my thoughts ..
my poetic experience
to you.  

May peace be with everyone.-
All rights reserved * 2016 © Cherie Nolan

Sitting here Sunday morning
Just watching it rain
Rolling down my cheeks
A river of pain

Thoughts of things
I've done in the past
And of relationships
That did not last

Thinking of loved ones
Who have sadly died
Trying to remember
Every tear I cried

Hearing the call of the morning dove
Makes me feel so blue
Bringing me back to a time
When I didn't have you

You rescued me from a life
That was cold and lonely
From then until the end of time
I'll be your one and only