why is it we find it far too easy to except the acts of harm, why is it it is far more easy to except those same acts of harm with pitiful excuses and reasons are given, many obvious lies.?

I am far from alone in being one whom has excepted these things and I and also far from alone in realizing the true harm in doing this.  

Seems there is an option to cure this, When we find the strength to say no, harm is not an option that is relevant in many situations, though yes at times harm is very relevant.?  

It has been my experience that most times simply changing my mind set of my own view of a given situation leads to harm as an option being quietly removed from the table of deemed appropriate acts.

So seems this simple act of self discipline causes far less harm to be spread in the world, maybe it can lead to far less buying of **** poor excuses for harm to be used.  

hummmm. 

I don't notice when my grip slackens.
The thoughts that held me have long since faded
into the hummmm that rattles through silence.

Untethered, I lose myself. Seemingly
broken into a pack of wild dogs
whose howls and moans echo distantly

Mingling with words uttered aloud
For no one's benefit: "Please, just stop it,"
tumbled down into particulate sound.
(As fine as sand.)

Those fragments that find their way back to me
snap capricious jaws, and left uncertain,
I flinch away from unfamiliar teeth.

hummmm-

its there in her head, never ending, tonedeaf, dead
it buzzes without pause
it dims the yellow sneaking out of the small lamp by the side of her twin bed

on it she sits wearing nothing but covers, and the one bracelet made by her lover
it is silence, but it is so loud
the digital 2-4-2 stares at her as it has for what seems like hours

is it in her head, beneath her matted hair?
or outside behind the dark curtains?

with every bit that still exists, she shuts her eyes to sleep, counting each and every awkward sheep
if boredom has a voice
it is here now with a hum, talking from the deep

You think the painful sound
of goodbyes,
are the worst,
that there can't be
anything more unimaginable,
than that,
but I cup my ears,
a sound more deafening,
as eardrums break & my heart,
brought every time in the leaving
death isn't the only way,
but as I lie here next to you
in the silence with your back turned to me,
I contemplate that thought,
connect with me emotionally you say,
I've tried,
I'm not a mind reader
after all,
no communication,
will **** it every time,
so true,
not matter how intelligent I am,
the cold air so telling,
where'd we go anyway?

We act like were good,
such a stupid show,
stupid girl, stupid love,
I say well done,
my dear,
I say to you,
hey bravo,
that young man was here today,
again,
I didn't ring him,
he did just stop by,
I think,
and he sure thinks I'm special,
& I am,
don't you know?
he kept saying so and that you didn't,
he sees what you didn't notice,

I heard a soft grumbling in his voice,
a sweet wondering,
sounds of temptation,
relieving of frustration,
calling my Gypsy heart,
I'm faithful
but you give me a loving kiss,
& a hug, say how wonderful I am,
we look so happy,
I play along,
laughing,
oh you praise my hands,
my cooking,
my sense of humor,
how charming,
very talented,
a poetic license to ***** me over?

He says, I'm beautiful too,
he sees,
they do,
oh & I can dance, wow,
except,
too bad you never dance with me,
even 2 left feet could hear the beat,

& those boys you keep telling 'em,
'till they're green with envy,
and wanting a piece of that pie,
tongues are waging,
all over this town,

I hope you're,
not wonderin' why,
I know that you love me,
I do, I truly do,
but the fact is,
passion shouldn't be so elusive,
or a club you belong,
one so exclusive,

I don't want to be objectified,
don't you see the tears I've cried?
you know, you must,
how hard I've tried?

stop saying those things,
I'm much more than that,
like good poetry is?
you don't want to touch me,
and why?

Loving is free,
and I wish you knew,
how much I wanted you,
I don't NEED anything except
your touch,
but I need it very much,

  I know you don't think that's true
used to seem worthwhile,
had value,
we ached for alone time,
snuck it in,
stolen moments,
stored for later,
you're hibernating
it's all used up,
used to be so optimistic,
now I'm just realistic,

I'm so sorry we disappointed each other,
Love is not so easy,
you asked me to leave,
then said I left you,
a constant tug-of-war,
& constant sorrows,
I never know
exactly where I stand,
seems you left a long time ago,
I just can't figure it out,
gone in empty demands
I quitely folded my hands,

I prayed & I stayed,
my heart never strayed,
even when I was betrayed,
until today that is,
until the unbearable wasting,
eats me whole,

& maybe,
baby,
time to stop this unpoetic rhyme,
I think it's now,
to let this Gypsy spirit to go,
time for me to head,
get on own the road,
time to hit the dusty trail,
that driveway is a callin'
I hear that highway,
hummmm,
and the wind in my hair
& ain't that I don't care,
as my tires are sinking,
here into the sand,
not quite what I had planned,
I put that water bucket down,
cause I'd be likely here to drown,

I just want to be wanted,
the way you want her,
the way he wishes I wanted him,
and the way that he wants me,
to be the only girl that you want to touch,
that you want to kiss
feel, that you want me again,
emmmmm...I can taste it now,
so sweeeet,
I can feel it too,
but I ain't warm no more,
I closed that fridgid door,
and I know that I'm not the one,
you'll never be alone,
you got your memory of her,
a fear of getting close to me,
all to keep you warm this winter,
like a bone,
she'll never leave,
or let you go,
it's interesting lovers treat each other
the way they never treat a friend,
but you're my friend, until the end,
and I'll never really say goodbye,

You & I know it's time for me,
to say farewell,
I grabbed my keys
and I grabbed my coat,
cars waiting, gotta go,
still nothing,
nor a peep,
quiet as a church mouse,

Sang all the desperate love songs
written all the Poetry I can,
you were the centerpiece
of my obsession
I wrapped around you,
like you were my whole world,
thought I was still waiting on your arms,
your touch, a kiss
just turnaround,
but I know now,
that's not true either,
can't change it, can't go back,
or get there from here,
and there's someone else out there
who's wondering and waiting for me
still,
I feel it, like a beat
calling me home,

thank you for sharing yourself,
what you could,
I learned so much
to want more.

My goodbye wish?

I hope you find that too.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

finally
    a moment
  comes
delicately
to sit
  relaxed
  in quiet
   peace.

I close my eyes
to hear
what is in the silence.

beautiful summer rain
soaking
the trees
an the old metal roof
sings along
with unusual songbirds
this year
creaky aluminum
bends in temperature changes
a door sways
back an forth
gentle rhythms
all together
a benevolent band
wet parachuting droplets
bursting on impact,
a soft howling wind
accompanying
their tune.

my ears hummmm..

with vibrations,

apparently
I only hear
when I listen
so intently to life.

which is something
I need to do more often
to be honest
amongst the utter
chaos an confusion
I am currently in.

contentedness for me
is a destination I seek.

it is then-
it is then when I find my ZEN,
where I can honestly be
I honestly am
appreciative
for even
the pain
that I have felt.

that I've endured.

that I have persevered over.

why?
you might wonder?

I think it is simple-
cumulus clouds provide rain,
rain provides water,
water is life.

I am water,
an therefore
I wish to be.

Hummmm.
Mon Immortelle, mes aïeux !
Comme tu es appétissante !
Je n'en crois pas mes yeux !
J'ai agrandi ta photo jusqu'à ce qu'elle crève l 'écran.
J 'aurais pu t'embrasser si je l 'avais voulu,
Tellement tu étais proche, magnifiée !
Mais je me suis retenu
et j 'ai décidé de détourner le regard de ta chair et de me concentrer sur les accessoires
car le risque d'atteindre une illumination visuelle à distance aurait été grand
si j 'avais seulement pris le temps de m'attarder
Une demi-seconde sur le lac de tes yeux profonds
et la moue sur tes lèvres couleur aubergine
Je me suis donc consacré exclusivement à l 'examen minutieux,
Détail après détail,  
de tes accessoires, de tes épices.
Oh ne m'en veux pas
Si ce n 'était pas toi, la déesse, que je regardais défiler
Sur l 'écran à vitesse lente chevauchant une tigresse blanche
Mais tes accessoires
Et tes accessoires en disent long sur ton essentiel !
Ce sont des accessoires magiques, physiques, magnétiques, chimiques
Un simple verre de vin de letchi devient entre tes doigts du divin jus de jade
Tes boucles d'oreille et ton collier  d'argent assorti d'une fleur blanche odorante majestueuse!
Jasmin ? Frangipanier ? Rose ? Orchidée ? Lotus ? Dis moi !
Tes bagues dorées au majeur et à l 'annulaire, main droite comme main gauche, deux par main
Des fleurs, encore des boutons de fleurs !
De veuvage ? De mariage ? De fiançailles ?
Tes deux bracelets  d'argent au poignet gauche
Sans oublier ta robe bleue imprimée à fleurs
Et tes mocassins bleus assortis.
Et ton pantalon blanc bien évidemment !
Laissons de côté ce sublime rouge à lèvres couleur aubergine !
Bref j 'ai passé en ***** tout ce qui t'enlumine et t'illumine
Sans être toi tout en étant toi.
Comme ton sac en bandoulière et ce verre de vin de letchi ou de jade que tu presses entre tes doigts.
Tes accessoires sont la voie royale vers ton essentiel !
Et je sais désormais que tu es fleur caméléon,
Je sais les couleurs de ta quintessence :
Tigresse de jade blanc aux oreilles et au cou
Dorée au bout des doigts
et marron et blanche sur fond bleu,
Toute de lianes et feuilles et clochettes
Toute fleurs de  safran, gingembre, curcuma
Piment, tamarin et cannelle
Des épaules aux cuisses !
Me voilà bien avancé, n 'est-ce pas, ma fleur,
Dragon de jade, sur ton chemin de Compostelle ! ?

icantfindthequiet.
even when
it's just the t/a/p/p/ing
of the blinds
& the hummmm mmmm of the fan
there is no {peace}
#peaceful
as _ the _ air _ moves _ across
my body
E. very. cell.
wishesitwere
YoU

Hummm,
Hummm,
from your,re sleep if you awake to the sound of rota blades above quiet Ashfords streets .
Oh but you always do ,
and the covers on you’re bed can’t hide .
One thirty every night ,
dead on time ,
yes every night ,
Hummmm,
Hummmm,
then our serenity returns ,
not for five minutes lay ,
Hummm,
Hummm,
This time with rota blades and fog horns ,
“ keep you’re hands held at bay “
You are surrounded walk into the light “
Every night we walk ,
With our children ,
all that lay in the house of abandon
to the light we walk.
On broad shoulders carried our selfish acts ,
Loneliness ,
hatred ,
Pity ,
and plague .

Like Gentlemen and ladies awaiting high teas ,
On luxury Titanic liners with sunset kisses before bed ,
Calm  chilling  rocks await .


funerals pyre ,
Hell opens it’s. gates  where fire and pride burn ,
and music and dance and violins sing .





And those blues and twos that wake you at night ,
from inconsistent blues and light ,
the blackbirds song must wake its dawn chorus break ,
Or back to slumber you must keep ,
Only watch for the Robin it’s perch on concrete cross in darkest night  , sleep tight .

sitting in my car
waiting for a train
listening to the hummmm
of the engine
and it lulls me to sleep
only to be wakened
by the blare of a horn
behind me

the nerve of some people!!!

In the back right corner
three rooms removed from the main exhibit
idles a porcelain vessel
cracked shell of a masterpiece
   with just a bit more empty space

It sits in waiting
reminiscent of the admiration it once knew
eyes
tender eyes      familial eyes      devout eyes
it has not been touched in years
purpose- a centuries old secret
it finds companionship in the hum of dim lights
low vibrational
                           but at least present

hummmm hummmmm hummmmmm

hummmm      the only separation from silence
and unbeing
a murmur compared to its birthright
the shriek calls of native tongue
the connected boom of beating drum
the dust
              dust kicked up from feet   so   alive

This vessel once had a name
long since lost
to the progress of time
the dust that now showers it
is too clean
the eyes too critical
     or dead
feet shuffle by unmoved

Its belly has not been filled since _
and it is only in filling
  that emptying is made sacred
encased in rigid glass
in the far back right corner
three rooms removed from the main exhibit
yawns a porcelain vessel

And all its energy is calling for an exhale
it does not want
                             a clear glass barrier of defense
it wants for someone to reach out
and hold it
it wants for someone to remember its name
and shout it into the void
it wants to  s h    a  t t   e    r
                                               and release

The sellers out weigh the buyers, thus the worth
of each  attention instance, is measured
in fractions of sense
possibly conveyed, through
eyeball focus points and linger length,
click
must
be measured twice, to insure proper cutting,
concise division of soul and spirit
demand
compliance --
everybody knows, Leonard Cohen said so.

Maydjathank,
couldabin a bribe, a gift in secret.
Couldabin mo'habiting ways of winds,

cold
comes aslidin' down the mountain,
as the sun shines into shadowed cañons
in the east,
forcing night's coldest winds to
hide here
with us until this vale
as well
is warmed and life returns
to cold reptilian things.

Are we so far from feng shui
essentially?
Have we forgotten hot and cold,
both good,
but lukewarm, we can
bite into and chew
and swallow,
welcome
warming wind spewed in dawn
and dusk from the ******
mouth of beauty
singing al-
together,
signal a
way wu wu wei,

Here comes the sun, its alright…
- the voice of Edward R. Murrow
- ahem ificator, clear soto voce

(in Chinese thought) feng shui is a matter
of fact, a way things work,
a system of laws
considered
to govern spatial arrangement
and orientation in relation
to the flow of energy (qi),
and whose favorable
or unfavorable effects
are taken into account
when siting and designing buildings.
From <https://uci.officeapps.live.com/OfficeInsights/web/views/insights.immersive.html>

You knew.

So, you knew. So
what if you never thought it today?
What if I made you recall a Hong Kong sized hole,
in your morning ritual, some missing
rightness that banishes the fetish
of cold and dark being evil,
lifts the thought
of warm and light being perfect,
faces the fact
of hot and bright being tolerable, for a season,
each day

shift time and harvest, seeds are forgotten…

summer is the time we grow,
after all as before the
fall, when leaves and nuts,
fall, torn from limbs by winds running from
the coming cold,
as our world spirals into ever as if on course
captained by a commander,
steered by dead reckoning,
with Sirius our center,

we ain't dead, it's day again. Time to write
a reason war would not stand under,
weave a story,
form a shelter for the after noon, ah Succoth,
a tradition.
Do you recall the building of a booth,
with your daddy, in your youth?

Were there brush arbor revivals that ended
in the burning of all the branches
that bore the fruit we take to
make todays of all tomorrows.?

Such branches as bore fruit last season,
pruned and gathered to
burn in the fall, the
bonfires of humanity, given as thanks,
or taken as task.

Was that the idea?
Celebrate knowing how things work, when
we know and obey things like feng shui,

the idea that there are reasons for motions,
in winds and rains and sands…

shift, sands, change the signal ssssss in winds we hear
under the hummmm of
bees? no, amber, humming
amber rubbing matters
of considerate worth. Electric hmmmmm.

Measuring man, measure the worth of attention.
Ask if knowing is worth the effort to effect
a decision to cut
the pattern with no jig to hold the pattern true.

Eh, no iambic pentameter to distract
attention from words as agents
of effect, taste, feel, wish
desire,
come beginning to middle,
come to an end, a pointed time

smell imaginary strawberries, know, you know,
call the cause a terpene and use it in shampoo,
taste
no sweetness but see, mind's eye, remember, see

tiny wild strawberries that don't look like
that smell, you might miss them,
if there were no old stories of
such things being found
by children wandering alone along rabbit trails,
grown ups have forgotten.

LA Central Market, seldom seen at dawn
or any time of day by any but the servant bots
embodied in contented men who know
fruits and veggies all serve tastes,

Tastes are tested, ripe or green, too ripe or
ready in three days, sitting in a paper bag,
on the kitchen window ledge above
the fountain of flowing water,
hot and cold, on demand.

Is this not my promised land, for today?

In the limelight of once covenant
Feel and touch
Drops cling to the curling of my rose
(She darkens there, in the light of you)
I recoil in the gloaming
The shine shimmies
And bursts

To the floor
Of scattered leaves
And dried red petals
The moisture will not plumpen them
Or shout any good fragrance onto the breeze

You gaslight my blue abrasions
Creating phantasm on my skin
A silhouette of features I know well
Mouth and hummmm
Low vibratory calling
A song that sings
Eons into my existence

But I await
In crouch and ready pose
(My curl has not devastated my posture she may unbend herself)
To spring forth
Out of these blue black strikes
You have laid on my courage

My keeper has become
A tree that bears fruit
I will pluck from it
And willingly be put out

My flowering held in hand
Full bodied in the wildest
Temptation met with choice
And it darkens only the red of my lip

What is left *****
Myself
For your perversions grow only
When pressed inside my shadowy illusion
(So keep it to stroke some lonely afternoon)

My eye will grow to no longer notice
Any contusion
I shed my skin and walk out of apparition

Grace and beauty shown only
In a strong light
To those who might keep their shadows for themselves