There isn't much left.
That's the way it is sometimes.
You plan and plan
for the day
when there won't be any,
and yet you're still surprised
when there isn't much left
in the end.

My days are not like seven fat cows
or seven skinny ones.
My days are like veal.
They're slaughtered young,
and at night I feast upon them.

Some nights I can sleep contentedly afterwards..
And others,
I lay awake unable to dream at all.

Guilt keeps me awake.
I've become a kosher butcher of time!
Often my own.

That's the way it is sometimes.
There isn't much left.
So I plan and plan
trying to postpone the day
when there won't be any.

Seven years ago, I knew you.

Present day, now I don't.

Gaps in time.

Never retrievable, unbelievable

nearly how much passes by.  


But here we are, so transfixed again.

Seven years later, and yet,

it doesn't seem to matter.

Feelings rise back like the sun rises in the east.

Simple, yet meaningful chatter.


We met in our youth,

whimsically and pure.

Two young souls, we lust;

in a splendidly serendipitous summer.


We met again without intention,

without mention of something greater: fate.

Memories of you wash over me, your name resurfaces.

Hypnotized by the pull, you reach out for me.


We truly met in adulthood,

filled with newfound awareness.

Two souls, we fell in love;

laughing about silly arbitrary things

like swiss miss hot chocolate,

bonobos, salad dressing and coated spinach. (I want whip)

Sharing stories of our crazy college days;

Together, getting caught with our clothes off,

to watching love birds in a courting ritual.

Recalling conversations - "what about a mastodon?"

through intense concentration.

Walking along the unsalted deep blue,

I wish we could have stood there forever,

side by side, hand in hand...


We couldn't of course, not pragmatic;

the bitter cold became problematic.

Gusts of frustrating winds, a hail of bullets.

Misty eyes and whirlwind romance.


I reached back too far, arched and overextended.

Agreements altered and amended.

Haunting words of imperfection,

and collection of unretrievable memories.


We met in our youth,

whimsically and pure.

Two souls, we lust;

Seven years, I'll see you later.

Come hither my noble child,
Look at this riddle
Where crocs eat grass and sheep go wild.
Come come! Let’s play and fiddle.
Have a look at this lion roar
With tooth and teeth that of boar!
Pride over pride, over his pride
Hog over-hogged, alas he died!
And there are still some more
Who want some more!
More some, more some;
Three-some, Four-some.
Thither see that one!
Still as a stool.
Earlier green in envy
Now dead-red in the pool.

Ozzy or my uncle Ozzie
some say his name was misspelled and wrote down as Osiah I don't think it was an accident at all

Osiah means the expression of number 7
He was the Seventh Son
Of a 7th generation
Born with a veil of skin over his face
this is a caul, a veil...his glistening hood

He was born almost all Native American
He was able to play seven instruments without ever being taught
Violin, Fiddle, harmonica, *****, guitar, banjo & the mandolin.

There are a lot of mystical qualities associated with 7
The seven deadly sins
Seven days in a week
Seven colors of a rainbow
Seven notes in the diatonic scale
7 circles to form the symbol of the seed of life
The opposite sides of a dice always equal 7
The Seven Dwarfs
In Japan there are seven lucky gods
There are seven continents
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
We are able to identify seven objects immediately without needing to count them
Hindu wedding celebrate 7 walk around the fire 7 times
While the priest says his Mantra and then they take seven steps and say vows
together 7 times
The Big Dipper has seven stars
Seven dials in London is an intersection
Of 7 streets with a sundial in its Center
7 is the smallest number that gives you 1
there are Seven Wonders of the Ancient World

I am sorry that you were so misunderstood Osiah
I don't believe that you were lazy
you just saw everything in a different way and it all was a little too much for you
your heart was weak and you left so young
You were a kind and uncomplicated soul
I so wish I had known you better I was just a girl
You looked so much like my Father
so Native American ...our history

He spent much of his time alone with his instruments
Many might have seen his life is sad but I don't think it was he won a lot of fiddle and violin contests
though none of those instruments exist anymore or his trophies
gone with his caul
and the clippings of his first hair

A lot of things I don't understand about numbers I see certain ones all the time
7 is not my number but I remember to keep looking they're here for a reason
I guess I will just keep looking
watching
learning
hoping
praying
I have a call too.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

Enter the vessel of 7 souls
7 Names crafted in ash
Rolling off sacred tongues
Dead languages given new life

The name of birth
Holds tightly to its catalyst
Strained in attempts to control
The ravenous hunger within

Abyss, forged in the darkness
From the whispers in my ear
The madness of childhood
Concieved in lingering shadow

Fiendish, the evolution
Insanity fueled nightmare
Manifestation of suffering
The true self of the mad king

Demise, father's reflection
Usher to the believers
Tricked by the twisted tongue
Murderer of dreams and innocence

Pantheon, the culmination of experience
Succeeding former capacaities
Far reaching to the fringes
Double-edged sword of progress

Obsidian, the lost one
Drifting into the empty spaces
The black hole of emotions
Always consuming ceaselessly

Legion, flagship of infinity
The millions within the singularity
Transcend the medium and grow
Violently, invade my madness

7 souls
At war
At peace
Slithering in my mind.

i cannot die.
not yet, at least.
not when i'm capable of so much more love,
when i have so much to give before i end up above.

you once told me,
that seven was your favorite number.
lucky number seven.
but what could be so lucky about death?
i read that before one dies,
seven minutes of brain activity remains
and in their head, a snapshot of their life replays.

all i can hope is to be
just in one second of that story
to be part of your entrance into heaven and glory
to be the final lullaby lulling you to sleep
to be in the last breath you exhaled deep

i remember
the day of your funeral.
being embraced
in your mother's arms,
and that if there was ever a time
to be
forgiven,
to stay
strong,
it was now.
that a look of comfort,
and not saying anything
is all i could do.
and that the way we held each other,
maybe no one could tell who was comforting who.

i remember,
shaking your father's hand
like i still had to give him
respect,
for coming up with you, for making one half of you
BEING HELD IN HIS ARMS THE WAY HE USED TO DO WITH YOU

no one knows
about the times i almost became a father
how close we were
to ******* it all up.
how your father would **** me if i made you a father
how if we went to "Maury,"
i would be the only one in history to jump up in celebration,
as he says,
"you are the father!"

i'm just
happy
i experienced everything with
you.

people tell me recently that i speak like their father
and after having shook the hand of one of the greatest fathers i ever met,
i know that i will be ready to be a father.
that with or without you, i will never forget you.

i'm just
sad.
i can't get on one knee and propose to you,
time how long it would take for you to say "I do."
i won't know if it'll take seven seconds or less,
just know i gave you my
best.

i'm just
i'm just really missing you.
the lessons you gave me at seventeen,
will last until i'm seventy.

for last, i hope
i hope
that my last seven minutes of life,
will be spent listening to the sound of your voice,
bleeding slow in me as a gentle knife.