Nicole Ormerod: Favorites

Jan 2014 Nicole Ormerod

JDK

Hey girl, don't get me wrong
I just think that we could be friends
It'd be nice to have a confidant again
Instead of telling strangers all of my sins
I'm ready for a new life
Just waiting to begin

I know you may find me a bit intense
Or maybe you think that I make no sense
And I'm not sure what I like about you
Your humor
Your wit
Your innocence?

Be that what it may
And me being what I am
I still want to be your friend
Do you think we can?

Check Yes or No in one of the boxes below

Jan 2014 Nicole Ormerod

My Own Yellow Brick Road

Jan 2014 Nicole Ormerod

Ian Cairns

My Own Yellow Brick Road

I have these scars on my elbows
They're from a long time ago
And I never really appreciated their protrusion until now
Pretending to prefer unblemished skin
But when I was 10 and still believed in Superman
I had a tendency to ride my bike with stuntman speed
Forgetting about the frivolous concerns that consumed me
Hoping my kryptonite never crept up from underneath sidewalk bumps
Flipping my ambition over handlebars
Leaving the pieces of my reflections painted crimson along the asphalt
Scattered like hand-picked petals of an ill-advised ascetic
I am me, I am not, I am me, I am not
So I always wore my helmet as a precautionary measure
It contained my thoughts from running straight through my skull
And becoming neighbors with the pavement
But I never wore my elbow pads
They collected dust beside the waste bin
Replacing security for sincerity
I improved my flexibility while losing some skin
And that was a trade off I was willing to make at the time
I finally felt alive
I was invincible on my bicycle
The sidewalk my only bully
The summer breeze my only friend
And at the time I never realized what it meant to be vulnerable
But those bike rides were the closest I would get
I was fixated on fitting in around my classmates
Accumulating fake friends by
Ripping insincerities out of my esophagus
And stapling them to my forehead
I stole my own identity
Morphing my puzzle piece and jamming it into the jigsaw
Claiming to be the missing link everyone was searching for
But what am I searching for?

I was lost on my own yellow brick road
I had two left feet and no right way to go
I stopped dead in my tracks
Hoping the soles of my feet would soak in the golden stones while
Singing Dorothy's hymn like spoken sin
I just want to fit in
I just want to fit in
I just want to fit in
Wondering if that was loud enough for Oz to hear me
I didn't have any magic slippers
And this situation was twisting towards witchcraft
I'm not even sure Oz can help me
You see these requests were a tall order for a tiny man
Who wore masks just like me
Oz and I were anonymous
Oz and I were synonymous
Using smoke and mirror tactics to terrorize the innocent
When in reality we were only playing tricks on ourselves
Hiding behind perfectly sculpted ****** expressions
And make-believe manuscripts
Doing basic impressions of manufactured mannequins
Out in the real world
I really needed to speak with the Scarecrow
The Tinman, the Lion, and Dorothy too
And investigate their stresses with relentless pursuit

The Scarecrow would tell me
Wisdom is wasteful for those
Without a strong appetite for improvement
But sometimes common sense can lead
The most sensible person astray
The Tinman would tell me
Compassion is constructed for
Tender hands to hold
But sometimes empathy can leave
The most charitable person betrayed
The Lion would tell me
Courage can be critical in
Times of distress
But sometimes vulnerability can make
The most sensitive person brave
And Dorothy would tell me
Home is paradise
Wrapped in picket fences
But sometimes a terrifying trip can bring
The most wary person escape
And suddenly it would occur to me
That strengths are just solid scars
We have confidence to display on our sleeves
And perfection can only permeate the souls willing to recognize
That faults shine golden too
So from here on out I'm placing my masks alongside my elbow pads
Both collecting dust beside the waste bin
Replacing security for sincerity
Finally embracing the scars on my skin
Now that is a trade off I'm willing to make
Because I want to feel alive again

Jan 2014 Nicole Ormerod

Crying in the Chapel

Jan 2014 Nicole Ormerod

Katarina Elaine

Crying in the Chapel

dear grandfather,

you left the television on
you left your flannel where you always put it
a bottle of your favorite soda still in the fridge
you also left your records here
but when i played them this time
the sound didn't hit me right
the crackling wasn't how i remembered it
as soon as the needle hit
the room grew colder
and a lot bigger

dear grandfather,

grandma doesn't sound the same anymore
she can only fake a smile
her humming has morphed into a sigh
the house is too quiet
i tried to play another record but
grandma said that some things should be left where they lay
i don't know what she's going to do with them
or your couch
or your flannel
or your soda
or the looming shadows in the corner of the family room where we used to gather

dear grandfather,

i'm quickly starting to settle into the fact that you're gone
forever

dear grandfather,

your records are still there
i haven't been able to gather the strength to play them
or even entertain the fact that they'll sound the same

dear grandpa,

this couch is too big
your flannel is growing thin
the soda is flat
the house is still cold

dear grandpa,

today i played some Elvis
and i swear that the crackling of the record synchronized with the cracking of my heart
and every bittersweet harmony coaxed the tears from my eyes

dear papa,
i swear i heard you humming along

Jan 2014 Nicole Ormerod

Anxiety

Jan 2014 Nicole Ormerod

Carrie

Anxiety

I sat alone another day.
The world was moving all around me,
but it seemed as if my life was in a standstill.
The doctors say its anxiety.
Everyone thinks anxiety means nervousness or fear,
but it is deeper than that.
Anxiety holds you prisoner.
You can't leave your house.

Ding
****
Ding
****

The doorbell rings but I can't answer.
There is too much fear inside.
You can't answer the phone.

Ring
Ring
Ring

"Telephone for you!" my family yells. I
tell them to say that I will call back, but I won't.
You can't eat.

Chomp
Bite
Chew

No, not me. The anxiety
even controls that. All the pain rushes back up with
every little thing I eat.
You can't go out.

Step
Step
Step

Everyone walking around me, but I can't move, the
apprehension paralyses me.
Everyone says, "Be brave. You can do it. You'll make it out of this."
But sometimes I wonder if I will.
I try to combat it all, but if I attempt to do anything,
it all starts over again.

Thump
Thump
Thump

My heart beats faster and faster.
I can feel it in my chest.

Beads of sweat
Racing
Falling
Running down my forehead.
All the thoughts swarm in my brain.
The fear picks up.
It is unbearable.
I'm so frightened, but I don't know what of.
The paranoia sweeps over my body like a giant wave.
Every day I have to fight what seems to be a losing battle.
But then . . . I look outside.
I see the colours.
I see the life.
I see spirit.
I know I can do this.
Hope.
Fight.
Win.

Jan 2014 Nicole Ormerod

the kind of girl who will

Jan 2014 Nicole Ormerod

allison joy

the kind of girl who will

1.)   make him coffee everyday and know exactly how he likes it

2.)   have a playlist of songs solely that relate to him (listen to it everyday)

3.)   know things about him that he doesn’t even know himself

4.)   pretend to sleep while he’s over (actually fall asleep)

5.)   lie about liking him

6.)   give anyone a chance (i mean him)

7.)   cry herself to sleep because she realized he wasn't the one

8.)   not realize every poem shes written lately has been about him

9.)   play the memories over and over in her mind

10.) never let him know how she feels because that would only complicate things

11.) give him advice, even if its not what she wants to say to him, but it’s for the best

12.) kiss his scars (she knows where he’s been)

13.) regret every word she never said (theres alot)

14.) always wish for him at 11:11

15.) always fall asleep faster when he’s by her side

16.) sing every song in the car off key with him

17.) kiss him and mean it (tells him she doesn’t)

18.) want him so bad it hurts and be content with being just friends (so she says)

19.) spend her nights lying awake retracing her lips because there once was a time he had kissed them

20.) let him call her and tell her that they’re better off staying friends (she’ll agree, hang up and cry herself to sleep)

21.) act like nothing has happened the next time she see’s him (maybe hug him a little longer than usual)

22.) close her eyes and take a deep breath (tell herself she’s okay)

23.) google the symptoms of a broken heart and realize her diagnosis is him

24.) know they’ll never be anything more but  stilll hope

25.) be by his side no matter what

(a.f.)

Jan 2014 Nicole Ormerod

y'all smoke cause you enjoy it I smoke to forget

Jan 2014 Nicole Ormerod

Ben

y'all smoke cause you enjoy it I smoke to forget

my vices are devices to make myself stop
thinking of every which way life can go wrong
not to get ****** up funny it seems but to
try and live a happier life a better mind yet
at the rate I'm going it won't matter that I
don't remember my Saturday nights because
I'll be done by Sunday and my fears will be
put to bed

Dec 2013 Nicole Ormerod

We are all the same when ripped apart

Dec 2013 Nicole Ormerod

Jamie Horridge

We are all the same when ripped apart

We are all the same when ripped apart
Just skin and bones and a pumping heart
So what makes you so special?

We all have our share of problems
And we've all got our dreams
Sometimes we're not sure how to solve them
Sometimes it comes so easily

If you took a look at me
What would come to mind?
Do you think that you could see
The demons that swim my spine?

Of course you couldn't
And if you could, you wouldn't try
And that is just the problem
With the world and I

We see what's on the outside
A book, a house, a letter
We don't care about the inside
Until we know it's better

We are all the same when ripped apart
Just skin and bones and a pumping heart
So what makes you so special?

Dec 2013 Nicole Ormerod

I suppose we do have a chance.

Dec 2013 Nicole Ormerod

Steven Martin

I suppose we do have a chance.

A glorious fruit
        Hanging casually on a branch

Split from the navel to the jaws
        Blood red insides exposed to the open air

Extended Hexagons packed in tight
        Layered with skin around skin around skin

Separate little cubicles
Filled with chemicals
That change lives

And sometimes
       The lives of birds

(They pecked into my pomegranate)

Ants and growth and decay and filth
         Swarm the ****** wound with unbelievable skill
                          And understanding

I choose to not let this one go back to the earth quite yet
         Some would say I’m a hippie like that

Quickly carried to the operating room
        (The kitchen)
Slammed on the operating table
        (The cutting board)
First incision made
        (Broke in half)

Guts
         Spill
                  Everywhere

But deep inside
        Surrounded by the ants and growth and decay
                 And filth

The most glorious Rubies
Packed with care and understanding

Nature never ceases to amaze
       Its capability to produce such pure
                Uncontaminated raw potential
                        In an environment of such decay

I suppose we do have a chance.

Dec 2013 Nicole Ormerod

Mirror

Dec 2013 Nicole Ormerod

Harmony Englert

Mirror

For the longest time I avoided looking into the mirror
Terrified of my reflection.
Scared of the monster i had tried so hard to conceal.
Year after year, I barely gave more than a passing glance
Until that fateful day.
Curiosity overcame fear.
What i saw blew my mind.
My monster was nothing more than a girl.
Laugh lines, worry lines, and imperfections marred her face.
Freckles scattered across her cheeks.
Messy head of curls framed her features.
It was her eyes that caught my attention.
Such a dark brown her pupils got lost in them.
But her eyes told the most wondrous story.
It was a tale of fear.
Fear of the unknown
Fear of never being loved
Fear of never measuring up.
It was a tale of happiness.
Happy to be alive.
Happy to have a home and a family intact.
Happy to know she always had a place in this world.
It was a tale of anger.
Anger over being held back.
Anger over being lied to.
Anger about falling in love just to have her heart broken.
It was a tale love.
Love from family and friends.
Love from softball, her true love.
Love from the fact she was alive and well.
But most importantly it was a tale of life.
The ups and the downs
The smiles and tears
Friendships and betrayals
They all play a role in shaping a person.
This girl in the mirror may have been young but she had lived and continues to live. Her smiles conquer her tears. She learned to dance in the rain without the umbrella.
My monster in the mirror was nothing more than a relfection of the person i am.

Never be afraid of your reflection

Dec 2013 Nicole Ormerod

Concrete Corpses (Cycle of the City v2)

Dec 2013 Nicole Ormerod

Raymond Johnson

Concrete Corpses (Cycle of the City v2)

Skyscrapers jut towards the heavens
middle fingers to Mother Nature
or sun-bleached white ribs of some poor beast
who tangoed with a toyota
and lost.

The stench that wafts through the streets could easily strip paint
but the locals don't seem to mind.
They march through their mundane Mondays
like maggots in goose-step.
The cacophony of their carrion communion is grisly and deafening.

Garish billboards burn
obscene advertisements onto assaulted retinas.
Street salesmen descend upon naive tourists
like vultures after fresh meat.

Policemen **** and pillage
what they were sworn to protect and serve,
and the Mayor's fungal tendrils
reach deep into the criminal underbelly of his city.

The voracious human hunger for wealth
knows no boundaries.
The grey-on-grey urban tragedy that is this concrete corpse
is always changing. Growing. Advancing.
however, it is not without waste.

Abandoned asphalt arteries stretch as far as the eye can see.
Somewhere, in a derelict parking lot, a flower is blooming.

We may spit in the face of Mother Nature
with every tree we cut and river we dam,
but soon she will be the one laughing
over our shattered
concrete
corpses.

This is a revision of a previous poem I wrote, Cycle of the City, that ended up going in a completely different direction. I'm pretty satisfied with the result.