what have you done?
giving voice to silence,
wings to unspoken thoughts,
face to emotions deeply masked;
solid darkness now made bright
where unuttered words take flight
making them no longer alone.

A spider crawling down my wall
Met me crawling up

                                 By Phil Roberts

ask a stranger if they’ve wanted to die,
and if they answer no, they’re lying,
the inevitability of death has many
turning blind eyes to dying
or the thought of such circumstance
is a circus dance on a tightrope
with living in sights ahead
and death below,
it has people trying to balance in place,
rather than walking forward,
and a visually manifested
tunnel vision view on life
is hard to come by
unless you’ve come to terms
that when you die
there’s going to be a bit of happiness,
the tamed lions you know
are bound to turn on you,
and the trapeze is bound to fray
like the limbless man
who will eventually
wobble away,
and the only thing left
is a ring of fire and
the crowd is gone,
and falling off the rope is
almost inevitable.

I do not feign for your affection,
as I sit grateful, where I,
await direction,
beneath the incandescent moon
nor see your face, to touch,
your heart is what I truly swoon,
you filled me up & I am free,
I sent it via a red balloon,
I'm at home
today alone,
where I await the night,
& the coming
of the morning light,
your blinding flash,
it comes & takes my sight
& I submit without a fight,
adrift again, in skies I change,
this time I am, a soaring kite,
I hope you hear my poets plight,
when taking my last winged flight,
D
     o
        w
           n
              I,
               F
                 A
                   L
                     L
Another vice, yes,
I didn't think twice
Lover it was very nice,
I wrote it on a grain of rice,

Singing Hallelujah Hallelujah Hallelujah

I'm ash & I am  burning
I crash as I am learning
My heart beats on,
I'm wanting yearning,
my souls best friend
I hope I'm earning,

my mind is turning,

Morning comes & that's okay,
doesn't mean you have to stay
or matter what she has to say,
just please my baby, never stray,
a bed of passion I wait, I lay,

I hope you just never go away
for I would surely die,
in this poetic deluge,
drowning her,
you flooding my sky,
don't say goodbye
or make me cry,
there is no life without love,
beneath your shining sun.

Cherie Nolan© 2016

I respect therapists
like I respect anthropologists,
they dig and encounter an ampersand,
they can always inform beforehand
and foreshadow results,
but they found my bones
below 6 feet
and can’t form an answer,
they knew where to search
they found the ticking finger
pointing at lazy fissures,
and buried blisters
but dripping shovels
keep raising a faded flag
that says
“they’re nothing here keep moving”

I finally realized that
when I grip a rose
the thorns are in my hands,
and the pedals don't wither on their own,
I promise breathing soil and
give pale pavement,
few grow through the cracks
but don’t survive too long,
some call it urbanizing,
but I prefer perpetual,
they feel heartbeats in the soil
and I’ve buried myself
in continuities,
and a stagnant earth
gives birth to a dormant death,
some call it wilting,
but I prefer realization,
no one compliments
the garbage in a
wind coughed garden
but everyone steps over
a cement rose,
I’m still here
so the dirt is still beating
and I promise to keep
the trash off the sidewalk

When I was about five years old
I uses to think of the village elders as being cool ,calm and collective
They always seem to have plenty of money in their pockets,
Flamboyant trends for every occasion,

It was a pleasure to watch them tossed back bottles of beers along with the small glasses of ***,
however, with each sip came the unruly laughs,
the big arguments, and then came the fists fight,
that prolong into the wee hours of the night

What does a young five year old child like I really knew
Behind those laughters and celebrations were hidden secrets:
of abuse, depression and the Government arbitrary despotism
The older folks would often say to us younger ones

“Children this is grown folks business”
Stop being so blasted inquisitive”

When I became a teenager
I saw all that coolness, calmness and collectiveness
Became a huge bargain, burden and stressfulness

Suddenly, for me the men and women at the *** Shop
and the Barber shop were gossiping about Politics, war
famine, women, *** and babies’ Mama Drama

Today, I can look back and laugh at all those stories that I overheard
However, the Chinese brush delay,
now that is still  a puzzle