What is your reality really?
Is it the clarity of familiar things,
A toast to the success of monetary
Accomplishments that weigh
Just as much as the opinions
Put into them?
   What makes a rich man so rich?
Possession or the value one or all
Put into said possession?
   Is a billion dollars more valuable to
One person than the love one has
For their child? Or is it possible that
We have been taught to value money
As survival in a chasing of the tail?
   I was was told that is just the world
We live in, that that's just the way
Things are, yet the very fundamental
Being of humanity is to change,
The struggle for it and the ability
To do so.
    Yet here we are, chasing tails
So to speak, and the very concept
Of " living a better life" has become
The mantra for the struggle.
   The struggle is within ourselves,
The fact that we are living as a species
On a doomed path, regardless of belief
Or faith, that the end is inevitable,
That we must live a life together
Yet the very success one has
Is set up to be solitary,
It has no bearing on thy neighbor
Because one gathers success towards
Themselves and their circles.
  Is this a preaching?
No, it is the truth we live in,
That we see, that we cannot change.
Why can't we change our selves,
Our greed, our hunger, our animalistic
Nature that has only become sophisticated
In brutality and not shed like history?
   Because we need struggle.
The truth is the suffering in which
We live everyday is delivered by ourselves.
   We have accepted the experience,
That " higher" learning is the route,
And we chase tails.
   What is real then?
Well, that is your perception,
That which your heart tells you is real,
Your reality as a poet takes you
Outside of yourself,
   That lets you see the sad truth of our
Species, and yes, our doomed nature.
   Live die repeat.
Is this a sad rant of a depressed insomniac
With too much time on bis hands?
Yes.
Does it make it any less true?
No....
Why state this if I'm not doing anything
About it.
If you have read this in its entirety
Then I have.
Wake up,
Your world is what you make it,
Not how you take it,
Live free of circles.

So I hear,
just today,
in fact,

I'm not certain exactly when it was said,
a reliable source,
NPR,

So, I hear that great wall,
the BIG & beautiful one
on our Southern border,
the one HE wanted to build?

The one he raged about,
& of course,
while it was always preposterous,

Anyway he says,

It can maybe be a fence,
instead.

Oh my ****.

Huh, interesting,

Well, that's not wishy washy,
No,
At all...
solid guy, he is,
& along with all the other rapidly,
changing things,
that he was so very,
passionate about,

And given,
the absolute myriad of obstacles,
from forcing Mexico to pay,
(haha- good one)
yeah,
making Mexico pay,
sure,

By the way,
do you want to work for his immigration?

Cuz' he's gonna need a bunch of new
recruits,
if so,

Not to mention,
workers to survey & complete,
that ridiculous project,
the complex geological complications,
in an interesting terrain,
humph,
indeed,
& the endless wordly implications,
that and so MANY other problems
we face,
far worse,
& BIGGER ones too,

Seriously,
check it out,
it would literally take,
FOREVER to build,
true narcissism,
exists,
apparently,

Though,
he might have single-handedly stopped illegal immigration by being elected.

Mission accomplished?

Do you wanna come live in the U.S. now?

Hahaha,
So stupid,
not REALLY funny,
still good to laugh,

This?

This is who we elected?
were we ALL high,
on propaganda?

God help us in times of war.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

Solemn silence singing
joyful dirge in parade
for bemused muse.

She captures autumn
in a jar
reads the moon's straying
through leaf and branch

Always in love
with love
and always reeling
from the loss

What wave tossed this refugee
ashore?
What alignment
of stars and planets
of uncountable galaxies
brought this woman
to this world and not another?

A simple truth will tell.
The moon at high tide
hides beneath her skirts.
A slight disturbance
in the silken fabric
of space and time
and all is lost
all is born.

I hold my hands out
palms up
in prayer and thanks
every day
to mark the blessing
to place a peg
in the whole.

Given to all
denied to none
and mysterious to most

Life pours out of
a hole in the sea
leaves nothing
and everything
to chance.

This blessed world.

arranged all in rows
tamed
well life is not like that
it comes with dissonances
and travails
and the blessed part is,
surprisingly,
is the best things are always
bittersweet.
I can rhyme,
I can sing,
I know cadence and hymnals and
all the various structures
you wanna stuff life into
it don't work that way,
if you do say pose a prose or poem
or problem in one way
there are ten million at least
gonna not see it.
life is not a box all
geometric symmetrically
straight lined  x equals y
nor are lives
life stinks a lot
I guess
what I am proposing
is why make it seem
like anything
but what it is
a struggle
U struggle I struggle
to make sense of  it all and it's too big
too vast
too complicated
I  like flowers
Buttercups among my favorites
but sometimes I hate them too
because i like dandelions
and the man is trying to grow only
flowers