The wise woman bends a broken knee
Her ewer goes deep into the clear river
A shiver
From the cold fingertips to the snow of her hair
All tangled with voices and
  swallowed bits of oceans and
   muffled out cracks and
    internal bruising and
     the light that they give off
      the dreadlocks she will never part with.

She approaches the crowd that watches
Someone bathe in the cold waters.
She fills which cups are still upright
Nods at a ‘thank you’ or two
And wipes a tired eye
  as she fills her own with wine.
   Water’s to drink
     And youth is to behold.

The moon is full tonight.
I can feel it's pull.

The cat stares at me.
Her eyes seem to suggest she knows what is on my mind.

As I gaze up into the mysterious sky,
The familiar taste of salt trickles into the corners of my lips.

I can feel a tug of my emotions,
Like the moon somehow has a role in the pull of my interstitial fluid.

It is basically sea water,
Right?

The black cat loiters a certain superstition within.
Fear becomes instilled as she stares into my soul with her all knowing glare.

"Blame it on the moon, blame it on the moon.
Tides come and go, so this shall too"

I strive to find the comfort this world has to offer me
Some say it comes from within, this I am not sure of.

The thoughts linger. The cat knows, I know she knows.
What does she make of me in this incapacitated state?

I taste the salt. It is drawn out by the moon.
That is what I tell myself.

Deep down I know the salt is due to the overwhelming grief I try to deny.

And the cat is merely the internalized self stigma eating away at my self esteem and efficacy.

The coolest get cooler by the second,
The hot will make your heart melt.

The poetry is deeper when it's heartfelt..

The angry send a vibe to make the earth shake,
The depressed make you pity..

The sad will make you wonder why?

How do these different people bloom in the city?

Smalltowner’s with ambition no one believes in,
The humble great waiting for his door to open..
With no confidence to kick it in and play his token.

This game was made for all of us to play and win,
At some point..

Too many knowers and thinkers,
But no one begins.

Still with stoic calm,       you keep the balance,
as moods move through you     like waves through water.

Her body perfectly blends in
with the night,
merely a silhouette,
her beauty accentuated
by the lack of light.
And though I have tried,
the earth has crawled
into her tiny bones,
the dirt has gotten
inside her fingernails,
and they have pinned
all their compliments onto her,
but I know when I'm gone,
she won't bleed with me.
Oh how can no one see
she'll no longer be a part of me,
how can anyone expect me
to be nostalgic
when I can't even feel
the sting of her golden days
where I bathed in the sun's rays.
I have suffocated her
and peaceful nights are now
but a blur,
and that is how you want me;
*on fire, stoic, dangerous.

.
The heron spreads his wings and preys.
His stony stand a beachhead sloughing
The salt sea, a sepulchered wading.

Leaven the broken bred, unshell
The teeming waters, a fisher of mermen
Unlordly low this lying father,
His wings are palms,

His rock a mount, his wings a bay,
And deafness, tears in the outer shores
And exaulted seas the forgiven waves,

Swells the briny blood and kelp.
Vains are streaming to the fisher king,
Lordy he lands the lying father
His wings are psalms.

A tiny flood that arcs the sky
Marks lord in miniature, a King
Fisher flies, His wings are
The waters calmed.

The otters bask and preen, mermen
Jostle in the laddered rays of the sun
They mark their surf, insouciant play,

Wavering the fisher of men, he sways,
Simply they circle in song singing hours,
Dancing as do the murmuring waves,
Their strokes are psalms.

Morning comes with fear tow...
with what light bears to all unknown.

Had last night forboding dreams...
Hear the water of trickling streams.

  This calls away the night concerns...
to what there is this day to learn.

What riddles does this day in store...
soon thoughts of life return once more.

To hear the distant spring Birds song..
and dawns that bird- been gone quite long..
with the croaking frogs down by pond...

Now back at home where they belong...
these Sounds the Farm's been waiting on.

So smiling in her stoic way-
Now looking forward to this day..
it's time to shelve her timid thoughts- instead sets mind to things she ought

Put on boots this early morn'- as Mother's calf just newly born.
A baby sprung-  internal nest..
now lays down beside his Mother's chest.

Life on Farm starts out Anew with thoughts of hope and joy imbued.   

            All Rights Reserved * 2016 Cherie Nolan