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 Nov 2016 Ronald J Chapman
there's a song in your heart
and only you can sing it
wander where you may
your song will follow
it will seem too heavy at times
but for sure it will still be your song
it will still be your heart.
you kissed me and all i could think was i can’t believe the universe finally brought me back into your arms, your face shifted into a phrase and your eyes morphed into LED lights displaying the words “i’m in love with you” over and over like a conveyer belt of my introspection
you asked “why do you keep looking at me like that?” and i replied with an enigmatic giggle,
i remember thinking to myself “how could i not?”
lying next to you the only thoughts transmitted through the waves in my brain were lines of poems written with words i didn’t even know i knew, words that fully illustrated the beautiful way your head caressed the pillow and your eyelashes tickled my cheeks, the way the moment felt like an everlasting, indestructible photograph
i couldn’t believe it, i still can’t fathom i was lucky enough to float down from the clouds i laid on, hoping for a second chance, an escape from the perpetual wishing and wanting to stand on the ground next to you
i’m looking at you, and although i could never gather these thoughts with enough durability to communicate them to you whole-heartedly, and without them shattering from my lips, fracturing each letter, and smashing the essence
these pages will remember how i felt about you forever
7 o'clock
a light summertime dream
just before dark
unfolding it's scheme

painted in sandals
clovered kissed toes
lovely green shamrocks
are standing in prose

a fierce looking cat
Amber eyes
silver fur
bunting her leg
and giving a purrrr

getting back home
nearly hour gone by
look to the tree
playing ball in the sky

it looks like the moon
nearly 3 quarter size
outlined in countries
is neatly disguised

it's actually a ball
playing with leaves
That thing called the moon
has some tricks up its sleeves

she saw it glide down
and bounce off of a cloud
tipping it's hat
and bowing to town

See you tomorrow
her group of new friends
this just the beginning
we're far from the end

No need for luck
with her beau in the sky
a 3 quartered boy
with love in his eyes

she bows to the moon
as her Gypsy skirt flows
silver cat walking
wherever she goes
shamrock tipped pom poms
will twinkle her toes

Another summer time walk
with his dearest of Maidens
her toes and her eyes
are moon dipped and ladden

Goodnight Moon.

Cherie Nolan© 2016
Went for a walk this is what I saw.












(C) 6/16/2016
I didn't have a good day today.
The transportation to my graduation
got fouled up. I was unable to go.
My family weren't able to go either.

Life is dealing me a bad hand right now.
But I'm not going to let it get me down.
I'm going to talk to some folks.
I'm going to try to get on the site tonight too. It will help me get my mind off my troubles.

I know all this is transitory.
A radio perches on a mahogany end-table,
singing like a mechanical bird:
bellowing fuzzy jazz, reaching my ear.

Its sides are rounded
like the curves of a classic car.
The antenna is *****
like the arm of an eager child
I've had swinging in-between
phantom-bytes and sonic slush:
my mind: inexcusable and mush.

A deck of cards shrugs it's shoulders
before it climbs on top of the radio;
it's rigid joints straightening and angling.
It tucks the tab back into it's head,
concluding before singing along to
'Somewhere beyond the sea.'

The voice of the deck rattled and squeaked,
like a caged mouse doing a capella.
Shot spit of it's mouth,
like a translucent spaghetti noodle. Bloop.

- I stormed outside, inaudible to all,
unmoved by few, chosen by none -

Today I sat across from a girl --
across the room, not across a table
or across the universe --
Her hair dangled like a carrot's wig,
a carrot's impersonation of a blonde girl.

Of course, her skin was closer to orange than pale --
but I like that stuff. I want it rubbed off on me,
physically, spiritually, mentally, emotionally.
Old-oxidized-green-coins invaded her eyes
and settled in the center of eggshell-white buffer.

Pants were as denim as a brush of shale
or the picture-pose of a flannel-clad beard,
holding a pick-ax and a dusty journal.
A journal of my thoughts, timeless
in their irrelevancy, until discovered
and claimed by someone else,
someone with a beard, a daughter, a smile;
See: Things I will never have.

What could I mean to this person?
How could I be desirable to her?
What am I but an alien,
coasting a galactic sea,
unable to relate to what I see?

- And what was your prize,
in this life? To be loved?
Or to be conquered? -

The deck of cards disappeared.
And I, I without consequence,
rummage through dust blanketed boxes,
hoping to cut my hand on something
I have mistaken as dull.

I have been told that my mother inhabits this box,
somewhere, sometime, somewhere, sometime.
A framed image, a polka dot cloth, a forever
unprecedented by a sunny-day funeral,
where I am the tail of the dying snake
that is my family: last to perish, last to wait:
a corrosive ingestion of unadulterated isolation.

My beige fingers wrap meat and bone,
but also a cheap-golden frame of my mother and us.
Our glasses are all too big, but we were all too poor.
My mother is wearing her wedding ring,
but I don't know why.

So young and vulnerable,
held by a freckled, strawberry blonde.
I don't even know her, any more.

The deck of cards reappears.

- But I've been alone for too long.
Even the winds have stopped whispering.
I have become a witness to my own death. -
 Mar 2016 Ronald J Chapman
Ana S
Hmm... Funny how depression rots your sole.
Funny how your young but you feel old.
It has its arms around me.
It's the only one who really can see.
Into my mind digging deep.
Talking to me, soothing me to sleep.
Reminding me of lines that used to be on my arms.
Reminding me of all the people who did harm.
Made me feel unloved.
Made me feel unwanted.
I needed you.
What did you do?
Walked out on me like everyone else.
Yeah the one girl said a chance was worth taking.
But why take chances when I'm the end you are breaking.
Well the last girl left me for dead.
Atleast said the voices in my head.
A little crazy?
I'd say a lot.
I can make it all go away with a single shot.
A bullet through my brain.
I guess dying in lititure relieves some of the pain.
I still cry every night.
Stopped cutting because someone said it wasn't right.
My wrists still bleed.
Only more internally.
It's only a blood I can see.
Nobody else really cared.
So here I am crying again scared.
Scared of tomarow.
Falling back into the sorrow.
My best friend slash obsession.
My friend named depression.
There you go...
Till you can’t walk
Till you are sore,
Yet still smiling
from the thrilling experience,
Till you are sweating pleasure
from every pore.
Till your breath murmurs
my first name with every inhale
Till my voice is the only sound
your ears need to hear.

i would
rest my head on your breast
and listen
Enjoy the sweet tunes composed by
every noted word you harmonize

Tales of your life stories before they became entwined with mine
Narratives about your dreams
About who breaks your glassy heart
And what tickles your eye-ducts
into opening a flood of tears.

an inner world of wishes
she deserves beautiful things,
The Nubian Queen,
Sunflower Child.

~ New-Black-SoUl #NBS
inspired and dedicated to my muse - a banquet of beauty, a model of black excellence and a colourful character and a bubbly spirit. God bless her soul.
(c) 2016. Phila Dyasi. All Rights Reserved. Intellectual property of author.
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