I could use some hugs,
and I could use some love,
a friend to call an ally
who just laces up a glove,

Don't worry 'bout it friend,
cuz I have got your six,
I'll rescue you tonight,
& get ya out of any fix,

I gladly guard your corner,
an I'll beat down any foe,
I show you what a friend is,
when I'm done you oughta know,

You know that I am loyal,
my homie,
I got you,
I'm the truest friend,
that they will ever hafta rue,

Just try to get right past me,
I'm already wearing armor,
or if a lovely foe,
I will be the sweetest charmer,

I know you're pretty tough,
like nails or so they say,
just like dear old Dad,
yeah you're like him in that way,

I will be your friend,
no matter come what may,

Just know you're not alone,
in the darkness of the day.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

Up ahead past frozen trees,
lies a timeless crystal valley,
while some still stand unfrozen here,
in rows of wooden alley,

I step in past behemoth guards,
who protect a prism palace,
as cleanest waters pure and clear,
rush down on earthly ballast,
a chance to sip of sacred wine,
inside a holy chalice,

Roots run deepest in this spot,
away from light,
below,
while tallest branches touch the sky,
all blanketed insnow,
as orchestra's of crystal chimes,
prepare another show,

When one should gaze upon it,
this ancient wooded sight,
as steam is rising steadily,
as daylight moves to night,
night draws down it's curtain,
as stars now shine a lovely light,

Your breath is taken with it,
& frozen there in time,
as daylight changes scenery,
angelic voices chime,
when telling of the beauty here,
I'd say this place sublime,

A wooded lucent heaven,
it's hard to put in words,
I close my eyes to dream again,
and listen to the birds,
and for every other lovely sound,
I hope my ears have heard,

My breath & I,
just cannot linger,
in beauty's frozen place,
where every branch is laden white,
on gaurded trees of ancient grace,
where all adorned with icicles,
& brilliant snowy patterned lace,

The atmosphere is full of vapor,
as the dew point has been hit,
condensing incandescent tears,
low flying clouds now sit,
so near the ground in steamy fog,
translucently still lit,

It captivates my every sense,
as frozen gates unlock,
I do my best to look away,
though all I do is gawk,
I peer inside to check the time,
...if any on the clock,

Sadly here,
not time for me,
inside this sleepy glen,
where birds & death,
they wait assured,
a thorny crown,
in safest den,
boreal a chickadee,
the livest a tiny wren,

Perhaps to come another day,
I stay inside past frozen gates,
I cannot know the how and when,
my thread of life is cut by Fates,
the three Keres I see in there,
it seems I can't manipulate,

I do not know the way to here,
amidst the wafting fog,
when all again will seem anew,
in Spring & newborn frog,
where lovely woodland creatures,
come out from mossy log,

I so wish I could stay here too,
where now the only sound,
is one of snowflakes softly falling,
upon this hallowed ground,
I do not know where I am going,
or where I'm finally bound,

Though I will try again in Spring,
to see my way back here,
I came here with a fear of death,
but left inside that fear,
as little Winter fairies whisper,
of hope into my ear,

I am grateful for today,
with new hope for tomorrow,
I'm walking out of here tonight,
relieved of all my earthly sorrow,
I walk ahead,
now unconcerned,
if no more time...
at all to borrow.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

It shakes. Lives are lost. Cultural history is all in rubbles.

It shakes. There's nowhere to run.

It shakes. Leaves our minds and bodies shaking in fear.

Hope this passes soon.

Pray for Nepal.

Small town sounds
Unlocked doors
Not that many cars.
Main Street grocery store
Nickel candy bars.
Church Street,
“Sunday shoes”,
Parents stood outside and smoked,
Kids caught with cigarettes
Would have allowances revoked.
Corn Growers
Push mowers
Friday football games.
Everybody, Everywhere,
Knew everybody’s name.
Summer shouts
Paper routes
Cub Scouts once a week
Boys and girls in sixth grade
Dancing cheek to cheek.
No shirts
Blue jeans
Walking through the beans
Witches, ghosts and scary things
Every Halloween
Greased pigs
Little League
Swimming lessons in the lake
Talking back to teachers
Was a BIG mistake!
Teachers had hard paddles that
They were not afraid to use
Parents told them,
“Go ahead.”
And they did not refuse.
Bicycles everywhere
Pocket knives
Truth or Dare
Water balloons,
Kids Cartoons
Fishing in the creek
Not it
Gravel pit
Games of Hide and Seek
Bible School
Golden Rule
Jesus Loved Me This I Know
Several generations
Watching children grow.
Laying on a blanket
Watching shooting stars
Teachers went two towns away
When they went to bars.
Home grown tomatoes
Juicy burgers nice and thick
Eating home-made ice cream
Until all of us were sick.
Nine o’clock bedtimes
The nights were very still
I still hear the small town sounds
I guess I always will.
PwL 5/5/15

They walked into the crowded room;
Spotlight hot; it made them sweat,
The crowd was cautious, curious,
Yet they had no regret.
For they were open, honest,
Wore their feelings on their sleeve,
And while the world was watching,
Professed what they believe.

We are equal. We are worthy,
Of your tolerance and love,
There is but One should judge us,
They are in Heaven, up above.
Should a God that loves us equally,
Be considered gender queer?
Can future generations
Be rid of prejudice and fear?

We only ask you give us,
A chance, an equal shot.
You will find that we will give you
Everything we’ve got.
We will make a difference in this world,
We will find our place among the rest
Some strive for mediocrity,
We will strive to be the best!
Phil Lindsey 1/9/17

Is there a poem in a sidewalk?
Paths of cratered concrete, cracked
By morning frost and midnight freeze,
Wimpy weeds grow through the fissures.
Children fall and skin their knees.

Is there a poem in a sidewalk?
Canvas for a budding Rembrandt,
Using colored chalk as paint,
Drawing flow’rs, and stick-man family,
Curbing not her young restraint.

Is there a poem in a sidewalk?
Adults dare not let loose the leash,
As they exercise their dogs, and ease their own stress,
Must carry bags and tiny shovels,
To clear the concrete of the mess.

Is there a poem in a sidewalk?
Scooters, skateboards, wagons, bikes,
Off the path, then on again
While yielding the right-of-way
To lovers walking hand in hand.

Is there a poem in a sidewalk?
Collecting children at the corner,
A guard, with yellow vest and sign,
Moses parts the sea of traffic,
Cautiously keeps kids in line.

Through front yards, across drive-ways,
Toward bus stops, stores and schools,
Gathering mown grass, autumn leaves, and winter snow.
There are poems in small town sidewalks,
Imagination on the go.
Phil Lindsey 1/11/17

Garage: A keeper and protector of things past and present. A time capsule for future generations.

Rows of expired license plates, tacked to the wall as a memorial to cars long since traded in.

Matching bicycles, hanging on hooks from the ceiling, together
have less total miles than last year’s Boston Marathon runner-up.

The obligatory 4 x 8 sheet of pegboard, with brackets for tools bought just to fill up the space. Only a few, borrowed by neighbors years ago, are missing.

A lawn mower, and a half-full, red gas can, tucked neatly in the corner.

Brown five-gallon plastic buckets, filled with rock salt, oil dry, golf *****, and the remnants of a spilled bag of bird seed.

Garbage cans, resting up for the weekly trip to the end of the drive. One is for recycling.

A snow shovel, a *****, and a ***, guard the front corner in back of the garbage cans. The garden was at the first house.

A plastic Wal-Mart storage cabinet, locked shut by spider webs and two old spare tires stacked in front of it.

On the bottom shelf, should anyone care to look, are a number of one-gallon paint cans, left by the previous owner, twelve years ago. The brushes, rigor mortis having set in to the bristles, are hanging on the 4 x 8 sheet of pegboard.

Martin:
Stuff on the walls
Stuff on the floor
Hanging from rafters
No room for more

Kim:
Children's playthings long forgotten
Planks of wood almost rotten
Not a car in sight nor much light
It's a dank dark memory dungeon!

Thomas P. Owens, Sr.:
The old Dodge Dart there
long in need of a ******
back and forth to the A&P;
once a week by my Granny

It was a windy, wintery day in spring;
I had on my summer clothes.
Then it started snowing and
My nose, and toes, soon froze.
Why did I not wear a warm, wool coat,
With a scarf, and hat, and such?
I can only say, that on that day,
I wasn’t thinking all that much.
I guess I thought that I was cool,
But what I was, was very cold,
And if my Mom had been around that day,
She’d have said, “Son you’re too old,
To be running ‘round in a short sleeve shirt
On a windy, wintery day.
Son, you’re dressed
Like it is summer, and it isn’t even May.”

But my brain was filled with other things,
Like what to say on my first date,
And how not to get there early,
But make sure I wasn’t late,
How I thought the shirt would
Match my eyes, make me look kinda buff,
And how much cologne I needed,
Was that too much, or not enough?
How to act if her Mom and Dad were there?
Or if we were alone together?,
With all these thoughts inside my head,
I thought naught about the weather.
Still snowing when I went around
A curve a little fast,
I tried in vain to hit the brakes,
But I guess I hit the gas.

The car was stuck, and I was
Late, still had eight blocks to go,
I tried running on the sidewalks,
But now they were covered in snow.
I slipped, then tripped, and landed
In a snowdrift four foot deep,
This can’t be real I reasoned,
I’m in a nightmare. I’m asleep.
But it wasn’t a dream, I was wide awake.
I was shivering; it felt like frostbite.
Surely my dream girl was worth it,
We could still have a wonderful night!
Finally, I climbed the steps to her door,
Rang the bell, and it opened wide.
Her father said, “Son, can I help you?”
You must be freezing, c’mon step inside.”

“YesSssir, I’m hhhhere, to pppickup your daughter,
Cccan you sssee if shshshe’s ready to go?
Thththankyou for letting me in
Sssorry ‘bbbbout all the snow."

“Son, she’s not here, he shook his head slowly,
I’m afraid it would be a long wait.
Not sure when she’s coming home,
She must have forgot she had a date.”

Phil Lindsey 1/12/17

The bitter taste of losing you
   I'd rather lose everyone else
I miss you every day
   Think of you every day
Please come back to me
   Please come home

Ahh, shady lady says she’s shy
And insecure
As it were,
I say sure,
Sure, she’s a bit demure,
But that’s only part
Of  her
Allure,
I too am shy and raconteur.
Ahh, I always worry
Cuz faces are blurry
I never remember the names;
I hide behind a graffiti covered wall
Standing tall
Feeling small
I guess I’m just part of the games
People play
All day, they
Deep freeze you,
Mess with you, then
Bless You when
You sneeze,
Ahh, get down on your knees
Please, and
Beg for mercy
Beg for pain,
Scarecrow needs a brain,
I’m begging cuz I got nothing to gain
Ahh, let me explain,
Nothing to gain, nothing to lose
Wouldn’t refuse,
A new pair of shoes
Mine are old,
Have a hole in the toe
The laces are broke
And tied in a knot,
What you got,
In your store,
You can give to the poor?
Or for a switch,
You can give to the rich,
Ahh, relax,
They pay the tax,
But, I ain’t no Robin Hood, or
William Tell, whose
Overture to the pits of Hell,
Didn’t sell,
Until he licensed it to the Lone Ranger,
Hi ** Silver, ask a stranger
If it takes a silver bullet,
To **** the wicked witch,
*****,
Lies underneath the house,
Curling toes and ruby slippers,
Dreaming of all the zippers
She unzipped, then walked away,
Ahh, it’s a brand new day.
So if the IRS calls
Tell ‘em I’m dead
Or went to bed
I’ll sleep it off till noon,
Now you got the name of this tune
I’m howlin’ at the moon!
I’m crazy as a loon,
See you soon.
See you soon,
See ya,
Soon,
I’m leavin’ in a hot air balloon,
Ahh, there’s no place like home.
Or Rome,
If you get the chance
To dance,
With the Pope,
Or if you want to see the lions
In the Coliseum,
You can see’em,
Having lunch,
Captain Crunch,
The Tin Man needs a heart,
Tear me up,
Tear me apart,
Ahh, you were all there,
You, and You, and You,
For certain,
You were all behind the curtain,
Ahh, MGM,
And the lion roars,
The End
Phil Lindsey 1/13/17