These boots,
Black and dusty,
Cracked leather, like
The face that smokes
Forty cigarettes a day.
A ripped soul,
From a previous life.
Looks, that cut me,
Under my ankle;
But I will wear you
Anyway, and
I will let you
Wear me out,
Regardless

Jamie F. Nugent

December Darling,
I didn't feel so could then,
Love, when I had you.

-Jamie F. Nugent

How she was dying for a smoke,
And how she was dying from smoke.
It was perfectly pleasing
To pretend in the past,
When she was blessed
With youth and youth's charm.
When she was once a wild flower,
Strong, with wanderlust,
Blood red petals,
Far from Death.
Until her streams ran dry,
Causing thirst within all of us,
A thirst for life,
Her life, if not, our own lives,
In which, she was a constant North Star
Or maybe, for some,
A thirst to end the pain,
Her pain, Unimaginable,
A thirst for silence,
Our deafening speechlessness,
A thirst for oblivion.
Sinking into the Deep Sleep,
She leaves behind, her pain, her worry,
But never our love.
Always
Our
Love.

-Jamie F. Nugent

I thought I heard you cry,
From the other side of this crowded room.
Though I could not see you through the crowd,
The sound is more clear and present
Then any other in this frowzy room,
Louder than the half-dozen doltish conversations,
Louder then the raindrops crashing on the window pane
Louder than the wind, as it howls outside threateningly ,
Louder than my own thoughts in my erratic head,
They scream "I did this", and yell " this is my fault".
Your would-be tears make me doubt myself
And question my very nature.

-Jamie F. Nugent

Your mascara runs,
Along with us in this rain,
And happiness runs.

Raindrops on your face,
And all along top lip,
Running down your smile.

My rainy day girl,
Love does not drip it cascades,
'Till we're drenched, unquenched.

-Jamie F. Nugent

I never could play the violin very well,
Unlike banjo, bass or guitar,
Violins require that delicate touch
And precise bow.

It is easy to pluck a banjo
And make it talk.
It is easy to slap a bass
And make it walk.
It is easy to hit and strike a guitar
And make it weep.

And it inconceivably simple
To make a violin stretch,
Just drag the bow,
Be it horsehair or the wood
Across four unbroken sliver strings,
Like a knife.

Making sounds that birth cringe and shiver,
Sickly shaking notes that winge and quiver.

-Jamie F. Nugent

All of my love - held on-top of a pin,
I can barley fit your love in this room,
Makes me want to cast away all my sin,
A love like this is rare as a red moon,
I can't remember how your lips did taste,
That taste fades away with the memory,
But your love shall never be put to waste,
It is all that I have left; can't you see?
Does your little heart have in it a dent,
Or do you lock it away in your chest?
I gave you up like sweet things during Lent,
My will, so strong and so undone, obsessed,
We'll suffocate under love and love's weight,
We'll infiltrate thunder and meet our fate.


-Jamie F. Nugent