on poetry*

A poem is only a mouthful of air
until it is read.
Imagine it. Craft it carefully
from your heart's flesh.
Seal it in a bottle
of clear, pure words.
Set it adrift on
the ocean of time,
life's restless surge,
until a few congruous spirits
pluck it from the sea-wrack
and recognize a message
that illuminates their souls.
Readers find writers;
never the opposite.

welcome to my poetry page! i want to share with you guys all facets of my creative expression and interests so this is a little experiment and unlisted only, but in any case please remember this is my treasured and valued work and all poetry really is so subjective
<3 nicole


YEAR ONE

shoes on.
buckle, tie, a particularly satisfying snap.
foot out of the
door, heart against the world;
the pulsing beat feels like it might
hit the floor





--


YOUNG

When we were young
you told me you didn’t have a favorite place on earth
so you drilled a hole
In the dense black dirt
let down the rope ladder
made of fragile cares
i guess you didn’t make it back up here

you forgot to anchor it





--


NEW AGE
store bought happiness, sterile words, plastic hearts; manufactured, you and i




--


THAT *****
you laugh that cold coarse laugh. tilt your chin and sigh- ‘don’t quote me when i'm high’  




--



CHERRY BLOSSOMS

you were an artist
with paint smeared over your face
the brazenness and colorfulness visible in your gaze
you’d stretch out your arm
trying to gauge the right perspective
stamp a finger on the canvas if were all too congruous
your mark: a line of staggered footsteps,
haphazard and drunken; sideways
determined to do it your way


you lived life resplendent- often slovenly
the mess and the mixture
of a palette of the brightest hues
the wind whipping your face
as you screamed a new reckless dare
the way you laughed at challenge
as if it could give you no greater cheer
mocking, mirthful, reckless, morally pure
if i didn’t know better,
id think you didn’t care

you had keen interest
in old tapes, odd books, and flowers
writing letters, discovering shortcuts, and ridiculous puzzles
I- logical and always present
wondered what you were trying to piece together
why you would venture off into distant times and seek ways of wasting time
but you had a way of preparing for the future
investing in it and storing a safe
‘cherry blossoms’ you sputtered
your favorite flowers were cherry blossoms
when you said that i was indifferent
but when you explained their meaning
i could only silently implore you to be mistaken
—two weeks
of life, ethereal and bright, two weeks of light


we stood at the sea’s edge
only rocky cliffs on our coast
you gazed into the far distance,
waves lapping the shore
seagulls croaking their cries

i was reminded of your often soliloquies
moments of imagined tragedy and despair
when you would explain your paintings with a knowing
and set entranced and conflicted there

but you turned toward me in faked oblivion,
that i know were not abluvion of thoughts
a warm smile crept into your eyes,
a playfulness gently settled on your lips
your being lit up with rays
an innocence and ignorance
dissolved into your air

you gave the ocean water its sheen
a marmoris of glittering creatures in there
of what otherwise was a graveyard, a cold air
a grey calm, a great unflinching stare

colors- why were you so determined to die
they were your best known tool
colors- why did you not have more time
how they mask and trick
this fool

---




SOUNDS OF YOUTH
the first breath
clockringcrowsalarmtoaster click!
Heavyfootstepsloudfights and
flickeringthelightsplayingwithsticks
first kiss HAH i wish

star twinkling melodies

careful typing to you
(i hate wearing out my thumbs.)

the rush of the train

the toll of the bell

the raucous laughter of kids

cereal box shake

men’s loafer beats  

snip of hair 5 inches across

packaging tape unrolled

opening to go boxes

washing machine stop

bubble wrap pimples
water lapping my state
green lights to go  
homemade dynamite  
anvil clanging headaches
slow stirring of my thoughts
cycling my mind
silencing my heart


--




EIGHTLY

it was a swirling sky, so beautiful that beautiful could not begin to describe it, beautiful a word so overused that could not encompass our sky.
because it was orange around your head
you were gilded in gold by the flames,
glowing almost effervescently

It was cloudlessly blood red,
hugging your body fiercely
and flickering at the edges of you, like smoldered parchment

the blue, the blue stretched lifetimes and light years above us, it was dark and endlessly so, a black hole not because of the physical pull it exuded, but a gravitation beyond the guidelines of this world

beneath us, the lush grass cushioned our bodies and tickled our feet, not because it was particularly soft, but because we melted into each other and that made all the difference

you tilted your head and smiled at the boundless and infinite sky, painted in all hues, almost as bright as all the colors of you.

I could've sworn it was real

But the colors were a facade for the meaning of the moment, and it was almost as if you were color blind, blind to the beauty of the colors, because to you,
t o  y o u
the orange was a warning in front of your eyes,
the red was the blood you spilled last night,
the blue was the dark shade you always cried,
the green grass the prickling greed you could not hide

and I could not do anything
as I stood there and watched,
watched how you slipped into the sunset without a word
how you withered and shriveled at the hands of the sky
they strangled you and constricted
you just stood there, stoic, wordless
And fell backwards, tipping over the edge of the horizon, into the painfully beautiful sky.

it all comes back on the pillow of my bed
that day under the orange sun
i travel by train and plane, long days passing to meet you
and in that orange sun
We dance and dance
and it ends the same,
all too same.
a memory trapped in a prism, a colorful illusion.
the colors that fade, day by day

there was no goodbye at the end of our story
even though I try again and again.  
even so, I'll come tomorrow
so please come again, and meet me in this memory
for 8
∞


--




SHADOW

this shadow does not follow me
step by step, now forward now back
it is ahead of me, extending a hand
beckoning forward to the pitfall lands
this shadow is not the little voice in my head
it is the ghost that speaks for the face in the mirror
the more i deny it, the more i agree
with the words that i dare never to speak

a room with four walls echos back
with no interference, a straight linear path
a room with shadows devours the pack

--

Dead names with living faces,
        histories behind both
partial or unknown.

If you want to know me,
      let me speak,
If you let me speak,
      there might be silence.
                                                      Be­cause
we both know the dangers of familiarity;
inconsistencies with life and desire;
we both think [we know],
yet do so little.

To speak of I:
to recount,
            my actions,
strained decency                            and flaws.
To form a congruous picture of self...

I find ridiculous.

Let me swing between these lines and labels and lean on whatever may bear my weight.

I will leave you to decide who I am.

Whilst I will my chariot
to keep to who I am.

To the most stoical being alive,
Who acted as an asylum to the insolent offspring,
And made easy all these strives,
And gave my existence an inconcievable upswing.

He led me to the innocuous,
And made sure every ambition wasnt left astray,
Sustaining his progeny utmost congruous,
And desired us ecstatic and allay.

It wasn't as facile as the naive do think,
Despite all anguish and deprivation,
In the times he had dismay make him rethink,
But succoured me without an utter of isolation.

The real chevalier,
The benign protector,
The light hearted buoy,
And most importantly none but an adoring father.

I can't know
What some convictions
Will mean to a world
I will never understand

I will keep the conviction
That each one in kind
Will bring
An understanding
And worlds
Not homogeneous
But congruous.
Never one
But together.