Shucking oysters is a dangerous task.
Only skilled, determined hands may apply.
Why so dangerous a task you ask?
Well, let’s see?
There’s the salt, the grit, the unforgiving need...
the slips, the stabs, the you and the me.
Our boats rock along a forlorn sea.

Sitting on the dock of my mind,
the sun's rays slap me sober,
as it refuses to set for seven hundred thousand nights...

Patiently present in the moment, I am, totally attuned to the task at hand.

She's anything but simple,
this complexly succulent woman I've stumbled upon,
Unearthed I have, with my bare hands.
Rugged exterior, jagged edges,
a clear warning for all to see.
But a gorgeous glory awaits the determined, the brave, the patient,
I have faith...

I have faith in such a glory beyond legend,
in such beauty beyond reason.
Just because something feels like a miracle,
doesn’t mean it’s impossible.
For if jade kissed a pearl as it slipped into the sea,
it still wouldn't rival her beauty.

We are a meeting of minds that could unfurl for all time.
As she lines her eyes in paint,
and stains her lips like crimson art.
She's always ready for war,
launching a thousand ships in my heart.

Like the Greek Odysseus,
I've sailed upon contentment's shore,
sipping your wine and eating your grapes,
now I only want more.
Eros, the bittersweetness, is clawing at my door.
I want to live with you in the gap,
between consumption and desire,
between winter's ice and between summer's fire.

Unknowingly I have,
peeled the wall paper from her frame,
where ancient tapestries shown from beneath,
a secret no man could keep.
The scars cut deep into the fabric,
marks of carelessness in love.
The family ties that tear,
the tears of lovers once here,
now there.

Warmth gives way to wind,
and fire gives way to need.
She pulls me close,
then pushes me back,
rocking along a forlorn sea.

And like the sea,
she breathes life into me.
A great roiling tempest of the heart,
with a fury that blows reason from the mind.

Tame, tame, squeeze...    l e t   g o.
Give it...       t i m e.

Still though,
questions fray at the edges of her mind,
and yet,
with the passage of time,
the sea will settle,
the tide will recede.
I have faith in love.
And faith in me.   

Sure footed I am, even as we,
not yet a "we",
dodging rain drops,
dashing through the city,
hand-in-hand, we don't slip.
I think thoughts, but bite my lip.

And while I sip, I think;
“She's anything but simple,
this dandelion seed,
floating in the wind.
Walls up, head down,
a determined doctor,
a surgeon steeled for the journey,
thawing beneath me she is...”

“The most beautiful immigrant I've ever seen;
On the platform of her mind,
she longs for a home, leagues from her homeland,
while I scratch at the dirt of my own.
Do I belong here?
Does she? Do we?
Where is home? Security? Acceptance? Belonging?
Who knows what the futures holds?
Allahu alam, not you or me.”

Uncertain of answers,
is this a mirage or a dream?
I can’t know for sure,
So I take heart in the Unseen.

I crack the oyster open,
and swallow it inside.
I sip life's ambrosia,
and breathe in the sky.

I'll crack The Pearl of Persia,
one kiss at a time.

Somewhere,
out in the middle of nowhere,
there is a space,
where bare bones performance's
are nightly taking place,
like theatre at its best,
thrilling energy
a chill in the air,
you are creating
unique worlds on a stage
& I hear it's all the rage
a modest audience,
captivating you are
so utterly charming and memorable,
I can get lost in your woods
in that beautifully familiar rural spot,
harvesting &
catching hay fever,
running through the barns
in empty old bays
of long vacant farms,
while the cattle graze placidly,
my usung heroes beckon,
along split rail fences,
haunting..
along the old railroad beds,
down unknown highways
& on little know by ways
& drifting in skyways
through the years & the tears
as the last of the Summer flowers,
bloom and bow their head,
in the rain & the pain,
and the words you gently hear
whispered softly in your ear,
spoke clearly to the sky
as they sadly say goodbye
& promised I wouldn't cry,
I listen to exactly what they said
as they are applauded for their stamina,
& bravery, as the chlorophyll,
chokes out the beauty
in everything else,
a way to take in the natural beauty,
**** a big breath in
& waiting to exhale,
I'm hiking home, ...
to my poetic theater,
with tables scattered  about,
& mushroom stools,
a wonderland of  creatures
around weaving arts,
threads spun in gold,
of my everyday life
again it  is told,
like in a romantic candlelit
dinner date,
we sit beneath an glowing
incandescent Moon,
we are a rare & lucid,
sighting, two stars
two colors merged
from a Gods crayon box,
or a well thought out picnic
with a very special friend
farm to table wonders
delicious in every way,
you close your eyes to dream,
& all you ever need,
is an element of trust,
a sense of adventure,
appreciating the sacrifices
the pleasure fills the air
I'm traveling past,
as is if without a care
swimming in the frigid clean
& cold waters,
rolling mountains protect me on every side
come along for the ride,
down grey gravel roads,
with the heaviest load,
where trees still have some color,
as the pines & ever-greens brag,  
& envious poison ivy,
climbs the silo
in burning fiery furnace red,
golden amber browns
& deep golden mustards
crunch beneath tires
as wood is drying out
& is readied for the fires,
beyond ****** meadows
& the bog where the Moose hide
that mysterious house,
perched pretty on the hill
weathered perfectly,
seasoned & mature,
looking wise & reminiscent,
of a different era,
and a show like this
would only cost 55 cents...
World War 2
in the Pacific just after it...
you moved to Vermont
and live like a hippie,
smoking our chimney
sitting silently
in classic melodious splendor,
a tune is playing
as wheat is swaying,
a fiddle, out in the middle
of my favorite fields
counting the bounty yield,
admiring the tractors parked
for the year
some think,
your just a farce
though I know the fear,
you're not a a travesty,
in shambles
your multi tone shingles
craving a dose of stain,
your old rocking chair
never earning the critical acclaim
you deserve & desire,
  so lovely in your period costume,
as you sit there,
with ease and comfort,
awaiting patrons,
with your zany characters,
with open doors & cracking windows,
a sadness radiating,
from a broken style,
looking out at everything
glad with a frozen smile,
waving at yesterday's poets,

Getting ready for another show
and time is now, for another snow,
your solid pane's,
cheering others on saying
"way to go"...
and if...

If you ever find this place,
you don't know exactly,
what all the fuss is about,

ignoring the change of weather
pulling out that old red sweater
coming to this wonderful,
magical time
a little homestead theater
generationally strong
and melodramatic
with perfect comic timing
a delight
in the night,
I'll happily play the housemaid
delivering a tray of tea
with honey and cream
answering the doorbell
inviting you in
have a seat
giving you something to eat
and this is my treat,
I'll gladly greet the guests
make them comfortable
at our beautiful little venue
our ***** little nest
as the curtains open and close
for the shows,
730 it comes and goes
in the center of my universe
caught in a time warp,
so much good fun and laughter
inspired moments in a perfect ensemble
cast by my ancestors,

I had no idea it would taste,
so amazing,
this bittersweetness,
and so very delicious
my feet ache...
worn,
tired, relieved at last
I am,
coming home to you,
at last I hear,
you say,
welcome back.

Cherie Nolan© 2016

It's the taste of blackberries
on your lips
The bittersweetness of
not-quite-ripe fruit.
I cannot forget the
sentiment
from the brush
of your fingertips
against my chin
After picking berries
from
these bushes.
I can almost say:
that a memory as gentle
as your kiss
ignites a tenderness
inside me
and the thought that
love isn't so forceful
when subtle.

colored handprints alight
splattered in dots and lines
a glassy pillow stretches
its wrinkled and hairlined skin
     cracked
           creaking
   crooked
          
               stretched wearing thin..

a hold on the waves
grasping currents
            passing
   rushing farther and farther

painting the vastness
of this open ended question
muddled muddied marred
      blurring in sight

A life without changes, would be painless,
Carefree one would obtain eternal happiness but also boredom,
The bittersweetness of the changes in our lives, heartfelt emotions,
Pain, regret, sadness are what push us forward, make us who we are,
The change for the better or worse is for us to decide and take,
A world without change, would simply be stuck in the past while the future seems to be out of reach, too far away to ever grasp it,
A heart who doesn't change, is ignorant and cannot see truly anything without shaking in fear of the unknown, a fear to evolve,
So from now on I will not dwell in the past crying for the phantoms long gone, who have taken their chance and vanished into a better future with memories they made which can be held dear, close.
Let go of what chains you into the misery you felt when you lost it.
All suffering comes from being too attached to one thing.
So my old friend, the name you gave me, the warmth you gave me,
The smile you showed me, the emotions you invoke in me,
I will remember them well and hold them dear,
But you will not return, so I must let you go,
And the name you gave me

~ U̶m̶i̶
Murasame

Some may not wake up
Can't see the morning
Can't hear the nature
Can't feel the warmth
Can't smell the fresh air
And can't taste the sweetness.

I catch the rapido train from Milano and edge slowly westward through the stops and starts of frozen points and village stations. The heating fails and an offer of warmer seats in another compartment. I decide to stay here. I put on my coat, scarf, hat and gloves and sit alone. In my grieving time, I feel closer to the cold world outside as it moves past me, intermittently. Falling snow in window-framed landscapes.            

Sky gun metal grey
shot through
with sunset ribbons.
                                                                                                          
Dusk eases into black-cornered night. After Maghera, the train seems to race to the sea. It rumbles onto the Ponte della Ferrovia, stretching out across the Laguna Veneta. Suddenly, a jonquil circle moon pulls the winter clouds back and shines a lemony silver torch across the inky waters. Crazed and cracked sheets of ice lie across the depthless lagoon. The train slows again and slides into Santa Lucia. I walk into the night.                                                                                               
Bleak midwinter      
sea-iced night wind
bites bitter.
                                                                                                      
No. 2 Diretto winding down the Canal Grande.  The foggy night muffles the guttural throb of the engine and turns mundane sounds into mysteries. Through the window of the vaporetto stop, the lights of Piazza San Marco are an empty auditorium of an opera house. Walking to Corte Barozzi, I hear the doleful tolling of midnight bells; the slapping of water and the *****-***** of the gondolas’ mooring chains. Faraway a busker sings Orfeo lamenting his lost Eurydice, left in Hades.
I wake to La Serenissima, bejewelled.                                                                                                                           
Weak winter sunshine
Istrian stone walls
flushed rosy.
                                                                                                          
Rooftops glowing. Sun streaming golden between the neck and wings of the masted Lion. Mist has lifted, the sky cloudless; I look across the sparkling Guidecca canal and beyond to the shimmering horizon.          
Molten mud
bittersweetness demi-tasse
Florian’s hot chocolate                    

I walk the maze of streets, squares and bridges; passing marble well-heads and fountains, places of assignation. I walk on stones sculpted by hands, feet and the breath of the sea. Secrets and melancholy are cast in these stones.                                                                  

At Fondamente Nuove, I take Vaporetto no.41 to Cimitero. We chug across the laguna, arriving at  the western wall of San Michele.  I thread through the dead, along pathways and between gravestones. At the furthest end of the Cemetery island, Vera and Igor Stravinsky lie in parallel graves like two single beds in an hotel room. Names at the head, a simple cross at the foot of the white stone slab. Nearby, his flamboyant mentor Serge Diaghalev. His grave, a gothic birdbath for ravens, has a Russian inscription; straggly pink carnations, a red votive candle and a pair of ragged ballet shoes with flounces of black and aquamarine tulle tied to their the ribbons. So many dead in mausoleums; demure plots; curious walled filing cabinets, marble drawer ossuaries.
                                                                                                      
Bare, whispering Poplars
swaying swirling shadows
graves rest beneath          

I walk to the other end of the island and frame Venezia in the central arch of the Byzantine gateway.  I see that sketchy horizontal strip of rusty brick, with strong verticals of campaniles and domes. It is here, before 4 o’clock closing time, I throw your ashes to the sea and run to catch the last boat.                                                                                          

Beacon light orange
glittering ripples
on the dove grey lagoon.

© M.L.Emmett
First published in New Poets 14: Snatching Time, 2007, Wakefield Press, Kent Town SA.
To view with Images: Poems for Poodles https://magicpoet01.wordpress.com

Bittersweetness is burning
Holes into my throat like an instrument
Attempting to give purpose to this
Air that I am breathing in

But noise without melody is chaos
There is no direction, no beat
There is no sheet music to follow along to
And sometimes I just need to breathe

This life is brutal and beautiful
A weaving together of joy and sorrow
Made up of perpetual deaths
Today's finality is the birth of tomorrow

But I want to walk the world with open arms
Let all emotions fully wash over me
And when the waves inevitably block my vision
I'll know it's only moments before I can see again

The start of sophomore year.

Day one blew by like a summer zephyr.
The excitement of the beings filled the halls,
the smell of the over-sweaty high school kids
burned my nostrils,
and the cheers of friends reuniting
revererabted the cluttered yellow rooms.

Day two inched forward slowly,
testing my patience as I sat eagerly,
my small hands gripping my seat’s edge
until my knuckles turned white,
and my hands grew tired.
That second day was the worst day.

My feet could not move fast enough
as I raced to the front door of my third home.
The coolness of the grass felt nice
against the blistering heat of the sun.
I did not look behind me while I reached,
grasping the metal handle in my hand,
and pushing the door open to go inside.

I hardly sat down on my disheveled bed
before I received a text message.
The boy down the road’s name
flashed across my screen,
and I opened it without hesitation,
without holding my breath,
because this boy was my good friend.

Four words, texted in small font,
the black letters harsh against the white background.
Four words, not directly spoken,
but over my outdated phone.
Four words, those four words that
I should have declined when I first got them.

As innocent as the message was,
it left me feeling both like I was weightless
and that the whole world was crushing me.
The simultaneous bittersweetness settled
in the pit of my empty stomach.
Nervous hands responded but anxious feet
managed to move without thought.
I think I ran there.

The scent of dog wasn’t hard to perceive
when the door flew open, and there He was.
I had to look up to meet His gaze,
His dark eyes were soft, His skin fair.
His black hair curled around His face
and His dark scruff stayed neatly in place.
This was His last friendly smile to me.

The honey in His voice left me senseless.
It was sweet and kind, like His stiff gestures,
His large hands were tense, always fidgeting.
His eyes weren’t focused on the television
while we sat on the corduroy couch,
but the hem of my denim dress
that fell just above my legging-clad legs.
This left me overwrought with both curiosity
and fear.

The gentle air from His lips touched my neck,
and where I should have flinched, I froze.
The air grew warmer, nearer, but I grew colder,
more frightened than agog.
Then His hand touched my leg gently, as if that would
hush the feeling in my gut.

Those hands were quick, like callused demons,
Trailing up my thigh in what felt like a second
and a year, all at once.
His hand stopped abruptly mid stroke,
looking at me with those once soft eyes,
but they weren’t gentle anymore,
they held longing, no, hunger.
Hunger I have never seen before,
like He was ready to consume my whole being.
And I hardly got my breath back before those hands
continued to slide up,
leaving a trail of goosebumps behind Him.

Another pause - deep breath.
As He questioned me, I questioned myself.
What if I touched you there, He inquired.
I wondered how long I would have to hold my breath
before I would pass out.
He waited for a response, but none came out.
I opened my mouth to speak, but only to taste the stale air
before I closed it again.
I closed it, not because I was a coward,
but because if I would have spoken,
I would have vomited all over Him.
Oh god, I wish I would have opened my mouth.

Fast forward to November.

What a price to pay to say "well said"
For all great phrasing comes from great tumult
And gladness, sadness, joy are all but fuel
As the "sayers" translate thought to word

They are as hunters, patiently in wait
For a great stirring deep within their being
Emotion wildlife rustling the trees
The game that does not recognize the game

Strategic are these hunters, clever souls
Whose precision cannot be repeated
Miners for the gold within their hearts
Exploring, exploiting their perceptions

And yet, it is but great coincidence.
They do not mean to feel, but still accept
The ludic, accidental inquiries
Subpoenas to their creativity

How much does it cost, a wondrous phrase?
The charge is pain, or love in great amounts
For words upon the page can but reflect
The bittersweetness of their author's id

I see it, just beyond the horizon
*slipping, forcing its way through
the cracks... I hear it snap in two
in a wicked memory
to dream of you

something in my eyes
a seamless beacon of wanting"
so inviting and haunting
as I lay sleeping and dreaming
you seep in, penetrating flesh
into ink filled veins
piercing my mind
welcomed and unkind
you are coming to me again..

Through darkened tearfilled clouds
not going to go unnoticed
or easily forgotten
breaking my heart
in a flash of white lightning
snapping like a whip
cracking in the deep
waking me...
from wishing silent sleep

alone and trembling,
heightening my awareness
striking in anger
and jealousy
igniting dormant flames
heating up the air
and catching my breath
taking it so carelessly
in your reckless abandon
whispering of my despair
in the rush of fading tires
lonely moving & telling liars
engulfing me in the heated fires
ashing memories of you just yesterday

I hear the squealing brakes
looking past the road we didn't take
desperately seeking souls
you take another way
I am left blinded

A secret wishing heart
like a flickering candle the wind
a glowing secret sin
snuffed out too soon
gone just lingering a minute
relishing, savoring
the waifing scent of sweat
the everlasting glow
as it is choking out the air
from all we know
suffocating and unliberated
repressing feelings
I wait for death again

We try and stay within the dark
putting out even the smallest spark
awakening and awaiting the night
we are standing in the shadows
in the cold of the morning
and the calling of the crow
I see it is time for you to go
  I stand and stare at you in wonder

Turning my face and my other cheek
against the licking, dancing flames
and turn my eyes against the ticking, quickening passing hands of time
we tell them again, again
in impassioned rhymes
feeling the beat of the music
soothing and moving
we rail and wail against the power
as we pluck another flower
strumming my guitar
far away
I am  fighting to save us

I've kissed your lips a thousand times
relived this dream within my mind
and even when my eyes are blind
I see you when I close my eyes
a time off lonely sad goodbyes
I sigh in the bittersweetness

I see your hand caressing, caressing ...
me with your with eyes..
my frame, *******
and I, of you...
I too undo
I am obsessing

Remember in sweet September
your soft calloused hands
a lovely place for me to land
that yummy sound I hear you make
almost more than I could take
wishing me that you could
secretly wish you never would
I reach for your embrace

Take me with you when you go
your heated breath against my neck
whisper gently nibbling my ear
release me in a secret fear
to be without you here
so come a little closer my baby

"The heart watches as the brain burns"
playing on your radio
I feel it burning it down again
changing the seasons
and stations of our life
to cold for angels to fly
wishing you didn't  say goodbye
like a grateful waiting timeless stone
my heart's put upon a throne
so glad you made it safely  home
etched forever
in a flawless beautiful Bethel grey
with a memory inside of us each day
"when my eyes finally close in death"

I leave a loving
heart-shaped
granite, locket
framed by Rolling Green Mountains
immortalized like a Rock of Ages
forever awaiting...
...your return.

Cherie Nolan© 2016

You asked me why I write,
why I daily hope again to fight,
as I ignite it takes my sight,
like lovers in the heated night,
& nothin' but a pure delight,
musta  been a true birthright

It covers me & smothers me,
engulfing me in flames
a place for me to point some blame,
& bury me unwanted shame,
I know that this is not a game,
& not for fame
& not for fate,
I already gotta a real full plate,

& hey they say it's not too late,
I am banging on the waiting gate,
let out the angry angels
& let out the long forgotten hate,
it's a crazy little bit of spate,

I took a pill, was feeling ill,
& went along against my will
it takes my heart and runs
it shakes apart, in booming guns

It's a hiding cluster
& I'm a wordsmith hustler
guess a real crime buster,
yeah I think I trust her,
ya know that shiny luster,

Hope is dope, grab a rope,
the drugs, the thugs,
the tiny little budding nugs,
the tipping back of happy mugs,
giving you a little hug,
a white hot plug,
electrifying baby
an aiming slug,
try to get me maybe,
a stinging bug,

Ouch that hurt!
while rubbing in a little dirt,

It bites & bites,
& then I writes,
again, again, again
again,
yes its true my poet friend,

My hands they move to a different beat,
& down a different funky street
with moving feet,
it's groovy, neat,
& this is sounding really sweet
it repeats, repeats, repeats,

Awaiting  dictating
sometimes  frustrating,
enticing & slicing
my hands always dicing
& giving me pricing
sweet just like icing,

Skating through life,
finding creating,
all the press is still waiting,
and me it is bating,
I'm hating the dating,
'cept while we are mating,
sweet, sweet loving
& good turtle doving
is soooo satiating ; )

Sometimes I'm grieving,
but always believing
& ever retrieving,

There is a voice
it's not a choice,

I hear it now
they tell me how,
a sense of humor
I heard a rumor
a cancer's tumor,

In the radio
the tower on the mountain
my pens leaky fountain,
signaling changes in the weather,
calling me birds of another feather
when that lone whistle blows,
wherever my shoes may go
as high as any flower grows,
leaves of fall & winter snow,
what the tallest cedar knows,

What about the crescent  moon
& how those lovers kiss & swoon,
this could be such a boon,
like incandescent bulbs
come
May in  bloom,
& hearts with maybe too much room,

Aggravating spirits

A fever spikes,
so I must take
a farther hike,
a stronger bike
peddling & meddling,
shining & pining
sometimes I'm whining,
in the brilliant ink
it's the deepest well,
the very deepest sink,
I'm in the drink, I shouldn't blink,
Nevermind to stop and think

Like lidocane I am tot'ly  numb
my mind alive & feeling dumb,
it's sticking like a piece of gum
as I come all done,
I know I'm not the only one,
captured by the guilty sun

Metaphors the seep my veins
taking with them tired chains
my chest can breath without the pain

Ahhhh so sublime,
it's why I rhyme & rhyme
why my voice it chimes,

Say what you mean
and mean what you say
because the Sun is gonna
rise on some other day,
& anyway
as a coloring book streaks
& takes away the ugly bleak,
to seal up the finding leak
I must write if I can't speak,

In the deepest midnight skies
I think I heard an angel sigh,
she saw a falling passerby,

Turn it up,
till death comes again
sometimes it comes, a long lost friend
one my pen it will defend,
my heart it might be on the mend,
when pain to me, it looks real pretty,
& getting kinda nitty gritty,
and scars bleed too
from me & you,
we bleed our truth,
in wisdom of our years and youth,

In deep crevasses of beauty
it's a poets certain duty,
the bones we bury deep
in messages they seep,
& tiptoe 'round and creep,

I dream, I hope
I hold on a rope,
I'm dizzied by the angles dope,
in a hurry and in our worry,
we want to be saved
calling from a darkened grave,
watching shadows dance,
as they kiss in sweet romance
hoping for another chance,

Don't wanna be played,
in death to be slayed,
plunging a sticking blade,
& down my enemy is quickly laid,

Rescue me poet
you are, you are & you know it too,

Sleep peacefully at night,
live your life & say it right,
you keep the lid on way to tight,
open it, let it out
just scream & shout
but never doubt,
hey you got clout,
releasing the way
in every word you speak and say,

Listen intendedly
& contentedly
find a beat,
& take a seat
have a treat
just grab a pen,
& say it again, again,
a heart you know you must defend,

I hold teardrops in my hands
I hold them out & as they land,
release me in the said demands,
a clench my fist,
& I slit a wrist,
bleeding & needing,
just keep reading
love is breeding,

I tighten up,
I take a sup,

I reach you & as you teach me
as every one of you beseech me,
as minds are racing
and hands retracing,
as I'm embracing,
the poet's calling,
again, again I'm always falling
falling,
in love with life,

Like lightning in a bottle
I'm a genie,
& holding on the throttle,
my heart BEATS like the rain
I feel it's endless painted pain ,
it's electric & hectic,
I'm a gentle bird
a voice I hope is duly heard,
can be wounded easily
though strong in storms,
I fly again,
& can't be warned,

I'll never fly too far
I must reach the closest star,
touching souls,
drifting & sifting
words I'm grifting,
I'll never go without saying so
no matter where a poet goes
or what the traveling picture shows,

A hazy start
an aiming dart
a broken down ol' heart
a silly **** (haha)
a nice full grocery cart,
I'm acting kinda smart,
a glowing celestial chart,
cuz ya know
I think that this is art
especially when we drift apart
and even more when we depart,

Note taking for granted
as my feet are planted,
words they are slanted
& dark art is chanted,

If words cut deeper than a knife
Just write me out and bring me back to life

There is always a compelling story
one of histories honored glory,
& even if it's kinda gory,
I gotta a suitcase to pack
a train to get on back track,
pick up the slack
sometimes derailed by life,
divorced from reality,
as once I was a loving wife,

To tell & share
a way to find, a way to care,
& yes we must, we must dare,
words can't bring me down
hey, I love that endless sound,
fall & crash back to the ground,

I am beautiful
& you are too,
I know these things,
I know it's true
skies above they are so blue
a color that looks good on you

I hear a rap repeating tap
leavings of  unwanted scrap,
a song that I still can sing
I hear a voice, my voice it rings
another soul,
a bell it dings,
a dance left to dance
a chance of romance,
a hand left to hold,
the shiniest gold
treasure for seekers,
for look at life peepers,
I hope it's a keeper,
I'm delirious but serious,

Game changers & rearrangers,
in infection & detection
not won in a election
a sugary confection
in delusions & illusions
& constant intrusions,
the magic is tragic,
ecstatic & fanatic
this curse could be worse,
you could be me
as I bleed ink
& quickly blink,
can't stop to think
or ever take a tiny drink

Kick the ceiling
minds are reeling & keep feeling
just touch it
just do it to it,
come in undo it,

It's a really deep well,
so I gotta tell it
& I try to sell it,
close my eyes & try smell it
wave a wand & even spell it,

I want to take a sip
so hear my families battle yip,
my heart it just skips & skips
a wandering blip
just take a little skinny dip,
here's a little helpful tip,

We gotta spill it,
need to **** it
because they drill it  
way down deep,
in veins they seep,
Oh my ****
I think I'm struck
& now I'm stuck
by luck or fate
in love and hate,
it's been a date,
I had to wait,
it's been real great,
I can rate & keep it straight
Pick up the weight,

I can avoid or be annoyed,
I tell,  I yell
my soul, I'd sell,
say in a way you understand,
so poet here's the perfect plan, Stan
I want to dive
so we survive,
& feel alive,
live vicariously through my words,
know your voice, it too is heard,

As water & gasoline
is touching my skin
as I reach out, to be new again
reaching out to find a friend
I'm burning down
& hit the ground
a violent sound,
I turn around,

I swim inside the glistening wet,
to clean my life from sins & sweat,
& anything I might regret,

Carbon Copy

If there is a God,
in him I say, I'm truly awed,
I'll find out too,
I'm humming right along with you,
we cannot undo
the sticky glue & residue,
words we pray
& ones we say, & where we lay
or head to pray,

Say what I think
stand at the brink,
& take nice long lasting drink,
let the indigo ink,
just let it flow,
write it down as you go,
& let a shining spirit glow,

Earths angels
party hard, & learn harder
we work just a little smarter,
get it down
get it right
as it hits the ground,
I'm kicked around,
poetic sounds
as ears they pound,

Sometimes the rain
in tears and sun
sometimes a battle
or a war we won
sometimes I cry, inside I sigh,
or walking in a dessert dry,
my pen will tell & never lie
protect me as I wait to die,
painting words in pictured skies,
so many left unsure goodbyes,
diamonds fall from tears they cry,
I sometimes think that I,

I can't go on
until I hear a poignant song,
please won't you come along,

Sometimes my feet are on the run
those setting tangerine skies
the blistering hot & sweltering sun,
illuminating my darkest ink,
& every thought I try to think,
a Titanic ship can sink,
when you need help
I'll beg & steal
try my best
to make you feel
when you are suffering
& life not buffering,

I'll believe
in tomorrow
find time we can borrow
a bottle to drown out every sorrow
I'll love you when you're gone
this is a place where I belong
together we can sing along,
a crutch for a rugged heart
a gift of life,
a brand new start,
so don't be crude or ever rude,

I am human too
just like them, just like you,
a drum don't stop beating
or keep on repeating,
Keep me up,
give me a cup,
keep me going,
& ever knowing,

My heart it never does take rest
after the most grueling test,
it beats & it heats,
in the pain &  the rain
I can't stop this ugly vain
raised it from its darkened bed,
now it demands, I hear it said,
every single word
that anyone
has ever said, I heard,
crashing burning
I am ever learning,
& always yearning
a day I'm earning,
to get a chance,
just one last dance
before its over
to kiss the clover,
my starry rover,
an Australian drover,

To be rendered useless
if my words are fruitless,
if said in vain,
against the grain,
it doesn't matter
as tears they shatter
the sky it sets
but you can almost always bet
I'll be writing of you
& love that's true,

& everything that's beautiful
trapped in Autumn's wind
with tombstone eyes,
caught  again in sad goodbyes,
please baby don't you cry
stupid cupid,

The bittersweetness
of our yesterday's
I feel it in the touch
one you want so very much
again come tomorrow's light
again I will take another flight,
again I bleed the poets plight,
I pray for vision
hope & sight
listen & get it write,
I know I will win the fight
burning lamps into the night

Add, edit, do that again
hold a hand & be a friend,
be a lover and a mother,
celebrate & graduate,
follow & lead
ask of us  & beg & plead,
I will not be afraid,
filling every heart it's need
drowning out the sounds of greed

There is nothing to fear but fear itself,
no truer statement
could have ever been uttered
  whispered,  or muttered,
like sweet Fred that stuttered
warm wheat bread that's buttered,

It's why we rhyme,
we are chasing after time,
yup, your words & mine,

I go unafraid into darkened night
and even with my blinded sight,
lit by scars & brilliant stars,
candles snuffed out too soon
caught by the tail of the crescent moon,

I'm mesmerized I can't move my feet
unless I hear that haunting beat,
as demons flee in sweet defeat,
at times I carry the weight of the world
& that of my children,
that they too are heard
ancestors calling as I,
I am,
I am always
falling,

Afraid to close my eyes,
& look at the skies,
afraid of that surprise,
and each day I awake,
grateful for what I take,

I rise up,
a phoenix from ashes
& blinking eyelashes,
while I can still see
sight please find a plan,
left upon a grain a sand,
I'm made of glass & paper
I got a pass  hey what a caper,

Wake it up & take it up
just make it up
it'll be just fine,

I must go unafraid into the long night
an endless spinning soulful top
one that I hope won't soon stop
I am like an aurasma
my own Galaxy
past the Milky Way
Listen close to what I say,

As demons flee & I can see
in every lovely memory,
please say you'll remember me
& our history,
kicked around & on the ground
I still hear that painful sound
I think I'll  even maybe drown,

I might be a muse
that the heavens abuse
or my words that they want to use,
intentions are everything,
listening & glistening

Watch me burn,
ya know I never learn,
don't put me out,
or even pout
we can't doubt,
hear me fry,
Cuz I,

I just keep swimming
as waters are brimming,
& stones are we are skimming
tredding in cold waters,
waves pull me under,
fires grow hotter,
a thinking blotter,
cleaving bones I am asunder
& broke apart by rampant thunder,

Breathless & gasping
my hands are grasping
in desperation & despair
cannot pretend that I don't care,
something that I must share,
I see a shore,
& I've seen it before,
just beyond the waiting door,

A mascara smudge
but please don't judge,
or hold a silly hateful grudge
I'm through the wading of the sludge
I just wouldn't budge,
it just took a nudge,

Because a beautiful mind
one so very, very kind,
protected by the hands of time
a precious thing
a voice, I sing
heard in my poetic choice,
undiluted  not refuted
undisclosed, many ohhh's
a twitching nose,
teaching all in what we know
to be silent is a terrible wasted gift
to not hear that sound,
bring a voice around,
the voices ring,
I've had a taste,
my shoes are laced
I can keep the pace,

To not write,
to seal the vain,
relief from pain,
would be a terrible waste
of a divinely inspired pen. ❤

Cherie Nolan© 2016

Here in the dark with the music all around me like water, am I a tragedy?
If I walked and kept walking, would I shed what has happened to me?
Am I repulsed as I used to be, by my past and my helplessness, or is this what healing feels like?
Not the presence of joy, but the absence of pain?
We can never go back.
Like a crystal vase shattered on the floor, wholeness just isn't possible the way it used to be.
We can never regain innocence we lose.
I can't tell if I still mourn it, or if I just recognize the space it used to fill.
What will fill it now?
And yet it doesn't hurt.
Will I end up crumbling like you, darling, in a beautiful melody?
In bittersweetness and chagrin?
In irony?
It is bitter cold outside, and I don't recognize my silhouette in the mirror.
Is what it means to stop being a child simply to exist with losses you never thought you could survive?
Am I old, again, in another way? Too soon, again?
You'd think I'd be used to that by now.
I can stop now, you know.
Stop and think without fear.
I used to be running, running constantly from any moment to remember, from any reminder.
And now I have suddenly found that I can stand stock still,
And I don't know what to do.
I've been running for nearly a year.
How will I unlearn my curses and find a new way to exist?
But...thank you, world, for this chance.
I had stopped hoping,
So many times had I deceived myself that I was whole.
I didn't know that the only way to be okay was to accept that I never will be again.
There is a life in that, you know.
I think, for most people, that that is the difference between childhood and adulthood. The moment when you accept that you will never be innocent again.
The shock always hurts, the ripping pain of having it torn from you by whatever suddenly stripped the last of it away,
But once all the denial and grief and anger and madness has ebbed, you realize that
You have become someone new.

You don’t know the first half of it
Cause there’s nothing here to fix
And I’ve seen the end of this
And it turns out fine
It turns out fine

I think it means something when it’s over
And every time it happens, I’m sad
Worse every year, and on the last day
We all know it’s here
We can feel it on the sides of our tongues
This bittersweetness
But I still want to roll the windows down
Turn the music up
And drive all night just to hold your hand
Quickly, while everything still looks golden
I want it to stay this way in my memories
So next summer we can start with stories
Do you want to chase the wind
Or do you wanna chase the wind?
Or do you wanna chase the wind with me?

Hold on and try not to miss
Any magic in the summer bliss
And I’ve seen the end of this
And it turns out fine
It turns out fine

How many summer nights have I forgotten?
And what does it mean to be in Fall again?
Why is one sort of weather so accommodating to joy
And why does it feel so important not to waste
If we go to the beach we can start a bonfire
And maybe it’ll stave off the end
And if it does I’ll tell the rest of the world that we found a trick
A loophole in the knot of our lives
Where the colors stay bright and the nights stay warm
Where it’s all happening and we haven’t missed anything
It’s out there if you’ll go
Or it’s out there if you’ll go
Or it’s out there if you’ll go with me

So, hold on and try not to miss
Cause there’s nothing here to fix
And the sunset is part of it
So, it’ll be alright
It’ll be alright

There is a overwhelming need of sweetener into my life,
I keep drowning inside biterness of all the shoved feelings
I've pushed down.

all spaces pulse in tight air and silent gasps and you’ve developed claustrophobia in the length of an hour. increased in his presence, all the lights have become interrogants

your ears pop more than once to disappear maybe probably. the hardening of your compact inner skin is about to crumble in the hollows of your skull and bleed into the voice always being there had you not chosen to tune in to sell out to the only show in town

you wanted to be abandoned but not like this

by some magic you continue to accidentally ***** yourself while he’s holding you holding yourself and you try to stiffen your limbs into thinking they can make hairs stand on end this way probably maybe when you grind your teeth into a fine, damp powder

and when all you need is water

sapping the gruff heat from out the driest desert patches of skin and lifting your overly long hair off away from its tired hang off the skull and you can only believe this now for until

you’re back again

the degrees climb up the walls and stench the room stale with the sweat you ache

he aches differently

your fists red and clammy like little bawling snot toddler fists and you are four again
fourteen forty times and your fists will give up soon but

your fingernails have disappeared into your skin and his breath is very loud over your shoulder right in the ear whistling icy and there is bittersweetness stilling under your tongue

you want to cough to sneeze to explode to make your whole self vanish

why did i do this?
all the progress now dismissed,
i miss you, i love you, i can’t live without you.
i knew this was too true.
the wanting the yearning the ever blurring,
lines between us, perhaps even the falling is blessed.
I was your sweet succulent honey that you can’t get enough of. Good for you, good for your soul, the taste capitulates the lips around, glueing them shut so you can’t make a sound.
It’s all you needed, that little sweetness,
but honey is oh so bad for the bittersweetness.
for I am your queen, you’re life revolves around me to get one last taste of that golden empress.
You’ll do anything for that dopamine.
When you’re on that high, nothing seems to matter,
but why?
Can’t you see that intensity made you something, you’re not meant to be.
you’ve pushed your luck.
That honey bee just isn’t coming back. She’s stung you. Bled you, and now deserted you.
Wounded your soul, but little did you know, she’ll die too.
Her stinger forever in you, while you can go on,
a part of her will slowly die
in your bloodflow.

dimming violet
and orange edges upon
slanted sidewalks
for an uphill walk home,

tonight's "lastness" is violent,
it's all I that I know,
replaying the sole sound of
a front door slowly being closed.

as the light between the night
and the horizon ebbs,
what's left becomes outer space,
the milky way flowing in.

I could drink the sight,
but with a shot of spite,
or bittersweetness, or some other
Way to rephrase our immense distance.

mourning is not quite the word,
as the odds between
me and the earth
felt like they were evening.

This world had given
But it's unclear if it takes
For I didn't lose the present,
I just put memories away.

Last night
Simply means the night before now
Even if it's our last night
We'll last through it somehow

i don't want you to get hurt...
but i also don't have the strength to be apart from you...

i don't want to get hurt...
but i also know that there will never exist so intimate a bond without a bit pain...

Bittersweetness is
energy
without the
CRASH

I walk out to the garden
in the morning again
ahhh how I feel winter's bone

while yes it is August
an it's hotter an hell
but I hear that cold wind
just a-moan
an just a tinge of bittersweetness
in how fast time has flown
and why is it I
that must always now
roam?
an why is it my
leaf that's always windblown?

sigh
but I know
no use just to wonder
I must just embrace the unknown

and yes as my aging bones
they ache too
an I feel the pangs
of missing
the sunshine an warm,

as the winds are a-changin
an the coldness now hangs
those crystalized skies
to soon form

but sigh that's alright
for Autumn comes first
in beauty to see
here unrivaled

our winter is harsh
tho poetically so,
it's the way of my life
my survival

through perilous times
conditions too much
I have now have learned to be stoic

an my father was too
to rarely complain
an I thought my dad was heroic

he worked long and hard
conditions or not,
at least in of what I remember

an his favorite of times
well it was the fall
starting here early September,

the pies and the pumpkins
the laughter and leaves
in smells and in sights to delight
the colorous splendor
awaiting the drift
covering the mountains in white

so bring on the winds
and the beautiful leaves
as everything dead becomes new
in everything seen
and in seasons to pass,
as I am reminded of you

I say a most sincere
and grateful thank you for my life.

Ma Cherie © 2017

the truth is
i am hoping
you remember
me soft and malleable
sweet wine vinegar
wandering
the backwoods in all
my bittersweetness
twisting in my sleep
or humming
incoherent songs
in the passenger
seat.

an insistence;
an automatic pouring.
a stream through a vessel.
I am so drawn to my own waterfall
I will throw myself off that edge
to taste its bittersweetness.

The profits all just look away
And nevermind the world today.
Wherefore are philosphical words
Upon the lips of the transgressed against,
The meaningfulness of their minds
Never to be understood?

This I cannot understand.

I can still remember how the energies felt
When they washed upon me and brought me to this consciousness.
I can still recall when I was you.
All at once it happened to me.
Once the light of awareness burned it's mark upon my brow
I became anew.

I understand that all is everything it seems.
That tear in your eye means that you are on the verge of truth.
Nothing matters but the quality of the moment in which I live.
As soon as it is here, it is gone.

Enough, the bittersweetness of thought, tonight!
Release me from thy grip.
I have better things to process.

Dancing on the lifeline,
Flying in the dirt,
Mixing into puddles
Resembling the sky.

Everything is nothing,
Nothing everything.
The truth is but a lie
Not looked in the eye.

Never fear to paspaser.
The fearful will never truly know what it is to rule.
The servant is the master.

the news from the telegraph is bittersweet today.
they say they've found a way to take out the pain
of forgotten memories and blocked pathways in the brain.
i wish they would've cleared the road a little sooner.
swept off the loose branches and debris just a little faster.
because... what if it could have saved you?
what if you could've been the one i hugged at my graduation?
what if your letters were the ones waiting for me at the post office?
i can see it written in the corners of my mother's face
as i tell her the discoveries.
it doesn't take long for me to uncover
the bittersweetness she tastes too.
nothing is said but
i see it in the downturn of her eyes and
the ends of her lips, how they don't quite lift up.
that's how i know.
life has moved so fast since you've been gone, hasn't it?
and i know that she would've remembered the pain
of loss, of grief, of loneliness.
but maybe she wouldn't only have to live on
in film pictures and old grocery lists.
maybe my essay wouldn't have ended with a hope and a wish.
i have to trust that it's better off this way because
i know she is in a place with endless beaches and
not a single stone to weigh down her pockets
and that has to be enough.
i still think about the roses and red cardinals in the backyard
and it is enough.

Like a telly weather presenter
You have given
A perfect representation
Of bittersweet Britishness,
My good friend, Keith!  

I love many things about England
But the bittersweetness
Of the weather
Is not one of them  

My ideal climate
would be the same temperature
every day, all day
and all night,
all year long
  
The moon would have to become
Sun-like during the night;  
Then I would be perfectly content
(with the weather)  

The weather would stop being
Such a persistent
And consistent
Topic of conversation
And question of commentary,
On whether it was fine or not

The climate in question
Does not exist
Here on planet earth

Sean Hunt
Windermere, January 16 2016

there are brief moments when I can smell death
for a second, ******* I can taste it
and it makes me believe that it is preferable
to whatever the alternatives are.
never can I sense the aroma
when I contemplate suicide
with hot tears running down
my impassible face covered by the shade of night.
it is when I am in fair spirits
then suddenly someone laughs
and more someone's laughs
and I do not
Why hasn't joy infected me, too?
Then is when I taste it
A bittersweetness that is better
than bland that I've been tasting.
Or perhaps when someone asks me a question
seconds pass and I've opened twice only to shut it
I don't know… is all I can muster
because my mind is stimulated by sweetness again
by death

We ache and we bleed
We hope and we plead
That the pain would halt
Would rest

For a second, bliss
Overwhelms your soul
And perfection appears.

But what is perfection?

We know not of such a thing.
It is only bittersweetness
The yearning for an escape.

But the exit
Is far away
So far away.

We are stranded,
Adrift.

The taste of your mouth.
The bittersweetness hurts me
To the point of agony.

Bittersweet
That's how she sees the world through these beautiful eyes of hers; one black one green
Not aware that she is bittersweetness itself
With the way her coldness could freeze hearts around her at times
While her burning whole-hearted spirit awakens souls at others
With the way she claims independence
While recognizing the undeniable dependence she has for that one man
With the way she could eat flesh in times of anger
While giving her own in times of need
But all that she does not notice
All there is for her is her firm belief that life is bittersweet
To help her go through all the agonies presented to her
In exchange for pleasure

Mama told you when you were young
that people would treat you like a library,
come and go as they please,
sometimes leaving you a little more
empty,
sometimes curling up in a corner, immersed in you
an ark, strong and safe, for some
as they talk over you and
leave two by two,
fidgeting hands leaving gaps in your armoured rows of memories
as they drag fingers along book spines
unsettling old and stubborn dust
in neat little lines.

Sometimes they will come only to put you back on the shelf
in order to move on to some brighter place.
You see, your dim warm lights will comfort some and depress others,
and that's alright, she said,
some will risk it all to stay all night.
Still, knowing this,
you sit lamplit on the patio
buttoned up with regret
wine red lips pursed
burden on both sleeves
tired of the world already at twenty three.
She never told you that torn pages and unfinished stories
would bleed and hurt like real wounds
that some visitors would leave you
collapsing behind them,
crumbling, folding,
the threat of closure looming
like an unsatisfactory ending--
she didn't tell you that libraries are also oceans
stretching fields
and cities
burning crashing and fading into bittersweetness
and balled fists

she didn't warn you of plot twists like this
or what to do when they arise
your big moon eyes clouding over
like a stormy night
in front of living room lights
that have turned their back on you
or that sometimes peter pan at the window
would have more luck than you at getting
through people's frosted glass

You have to learn your own fresh start
you have your own paintbrush, you have your own heart,
So, paint your insides, watch them dry
under the new moon.
That sinking feeling is just
a new room,
no bookshelves in it yet.

My rights aren't mine.
My feelings aren't mine.
They're determined
by the bittersweetness
of anxiety and depression.

   Molten into shards of
gold and plated by
shards of onyx,
they entrap the very
essence of happiness,
an emotion that's been
so delicately
dessicated from the
veins coursing
through my body,
and the swell of my heart.

    The ***** pumps blood,
but it is
molten and
deformed into
pure gold,
plated by
shards of onyx.

Those ruptures
wouldn't depart.
They were permanent,
yet obsolete to that
of my future, but their
pull shall never leave me.

   My happiness was cracked,
corrupted by the indiscretions
of nature and the depressive
reprieve of sorrow.

My heart wasn't mine
any longer.

   The gold, the onyx
twisted the melancholy
of my already fractured soul,
tying the compounds of my
heart into the mix, holding
it captive.

There was no getting
it back, for I had to live with
those scars all to myself.

   Others couldn't see
the streams and fractures
or punctures of
onyx
and of
gold.

They were mine to bare.

My rights, my mind,
my joy wasn't mine any
longer.

   Such pleasures
were at the disposal of
the fractured state of my being,
and I wouldn't see them
again, for nothing
could be what it once was.