You cannot understand.
You see
what is,
and only know
what was,
in fragments
gleaned
from pilfered tombs.
Like shredded tomes,
whole,
but unintelligible.
What is it
you think you know?
Who do you see
when you review
the logs and docs?
Who
do you think you hear
muttering through
your dust caked speakers?
An angel
touched vessel?
Cracked
but not yet discarded?
Useful
despite its flaws.
Can you feel
the strain?
Can you taste
the stain?
Is it really precious,
or is it as false
as the piles of transcripts
dog-eared
and finger-smudged?
The prophesies
that have all fallen through.
Like the blue eyes
I was Promised.
The water,
a cliche.
A voice,
spoken to a child
in a bright
and steam-filled bathroom.
What is it you want
to discover
to uncover
to recover
from the pit
of past moments
and what makes you think
that any of it belongs to you?

(Warning: this poem is not for the religiously inclined.)

For centuries, entrepreneurs
Have been selling slivers
Of the True Cross of Jesus
Promising how much it delivers.
Of course, if they were any part
Of the real True Cross at all
The weight of all that wood means
The cross was thirty feet tall.

Still, it is only meant to be
A symbol of The Son Of God
Who got murdered and transformed
Into a deity, but that's odd.
It’s like all the Romans making
A ****** dagger their sign
Of the purity of Julius Caesar;
Revered if not quite divine.

Or maybe worshipping the bullet
That killed Kennedy or King.
Are we sure that kind of devotion
Is the right way to the right thing?
But fonts full of holy water did
The trick for many centuries.
So, maybe the faithful don’t care
About ecumenical vagaries.

Yet I don’t hold much hope out
For businesses of spirituality
Who put up golden castles
In zones of the most abject poverty.
Anyone who thinks a god
Needs to look down on glitz
Promises not much more
Than a dogma from the pits.

We need to celebrate what we have
And not so much what is lost.
What has all the jewels and gold
And superstition added to the cost?
I prefer to keep my integrity and
Check out who’s the real boss.
Knowing that it might upset those
Who get weepy about a cross.

One: Smokey grey; the kind that blurs your vision or gathers in corners of ceilings that are somehow still not as high as you.
Two: The teal that masked the bedroom walls of my old home; the bedroom with nothing but a mattress on the floor and my unplugged television. I was eco-friendly, which leads me to
Three: Green: any and all greens. Mother Nature makes it obvious she loves its hues, and I strive to be one with this Earth.
Four: Whether fueled by anger or love, give me rose-colored shades and I'll rock 'em with grace and style like none before. My red blood boils with passion.
Five: Making concrete decisions is not my forte, so choosing a final favorite will leave me second guessing. Combine all the options and give me a rainbow, because when we see a color, it is actually that color being reflected while all the other colors are absorbed. They work together, as we should. You bring the crayons and I'll bring the blank canvas, let's paint the world rainbow together.

I've got my head in the clouds
How is that a bad thing?
My thoughts are so far from the ground
And maybe they'll touch my dreams

I could stare at the sky
Put neon graffiti on the lazy moon
I could put a symphony with a sunrise
And I still don't think that'd be as beautiful as waaah I'm rambling over a truth

Maybe my hair could be nested in by eagles
Or my tears could fill up clouds for rain
Or all of this could come crashing down because I'm over eager
And I'll end up tasting the sandpapery wine of pain


So maybe having my head in the clouds,
Isn't exactly a prefect thing
But if it's where I belong
Then I'll next a new set of wings

First came the two turtle doves
Then the blue jays
and the beautiful Red-Winged Blackbirds

Then two sparrows in the rain...

I really hadn't been paying attention all that much...
I've been so absorbed
with everything else
that's beautiful

And then came the Raven 3 days in a row

I started to think ....
that may be it was you..
....visiting.

Then there was the Dead Bunny..
The Sign of The Hare
I decided ...that I'd better be aware

Tonight you send your Falcons in
And I just say I cannot quite describe
this in words

At first there were two
Swooping in patterns.... in a beautiful aerial display
Against the crisp blue sky
that is so blue ...
it hurts to look at it
And clouds that are white
a white that is so starkly contrasted
against these tips of the maple trees in a
in a beautiful summer green
reaching to touch the sky

Daisy hot hazy sunshine with Cadillacs in the sky

Cruising above my head
and then in came another
like B-52 bombers and they're circling in
a figure eight....and  
I am completely mesmerized

They come in pairs there was 5 and then 7
There was 9 and then finally 12

I was so captivated...
I couldn't take my eyes off this picture
as I stared the clouds
that just passed by
and I watched them dancing ...
dancing so flawlessly in the sky

It literally... took my breath away

This is what they call
the Falcon dancers
This is believed...
to only happen
in the Native American culture
in a Period of Enlightenment.

Along with the other meanings
of the animals I've seen
I guess I already know
what these signs mean...

Something is coming
Something is here
Something is far
something is near...
Prepare... be ready.

And all I can do
is write down these words
to tell you...
To never stop looking at your sky.

Cherie Nolan © All Rights Reserved 2016

I found a dead bunny
in my yard yesterday
his eyes were still open
But his body was still

I crouched down beside him
to admire his Beauty
and his fur still matted
from where it had been  chewed

I didn't feel sadness
I admired his bravery
I've seen lots of his kind
lately here in my yard

They're sent from the heavens
from my native ancestors

The Raven, the swallows & the two turtle doves...
They are all the....
...reminders
of a God's Burning Love.

I gently picked up
that long sleeping bunny
his little front legs
just dangling straight down
I made him  a bed made of mossy fresh Earth
to return him back home
......without even a sound.

Cherie Nolan © All Rights Reserved * 2016

of legendary origin
encroached upon
throughout the centuries
by human fear
   seeking protection
   near some venerable shape

you stand

aloof

   silently balancing
   symmetrical circles
   of roots and crown

patiently oblivious of parks
and buildings made by those
who vainly walk in awe
to grasp the mystery
   in touch, in picture, meditation
   of otherness unmoved

plantlife millenial

The literati are moaning
about the crowning
of a comical smiley-face
with tears of joy
springing from its eyes
as Oxford Dictionaries 2015
"Word of the Year"

it's historic
indicative of a generation
raised on media shorthand
though some people think
the distillation of thought
to acronyms, symbols, emoji
is a bad thing too

but in these icons
heavy black heart
face throwing a kiss
reversed hand with ******* extended
even the simple : )
I see emotion
stripped bare

the whole gorgeous
heart-rending, horrible
hateful range of it
illustrating the dark
and light
of who we are
as a human race

So I say hail and welcome
to the "tears of joy" emoji
may his vivid counterpoint
shine around the world
eclipsing all the words
we've learned this year
for hate.

All the knowledge
had disappeared
All well rhymed lyrics
have been adjusted to tune in/with

Romantic unquenchable yearnings
permutate,diverse this unending
word pool of aesthetically stolen

Shamanically borrowed artistries
energy packed and sipped into
shape, forms, symbolic  arts

Arosen on the riparian arrival
of Myrh, Vanilla and Rosemary
scented waves crashing Angels

My pen blots under the old red Pine Shade
Ink fingertips dyed black, other times Pelican
Blue.