Speaking of broken hearts
and mended fenced in mem'ries  
I am painting skies
of tangerine, saffron
& an illuminated lilac hue
against the starkly contrasted crisp cornflower blue, stretching canvas that is
along with all the
other blindingly beautiful colors of a twilight sky

And those dripping cotton candy stratospheric clouds
Ice crystals freezing into supercooled
water droplets
Streaking the sky in cirrus whispers
..I hear them whisper, "hello"...

Blinding beauty
through unadulterated sunlight
I am fleeced like a lamb
watching in awe,
..in wonder
then stomping sounds
of coming thunder,

Finding depth and height
out  in the stratosphere
Blinded by the
After Light
or afterglow
affected by the amount of haze
I'm in a daze
...as I am reaching

High above the fading light
of a brilliant early fall sunset
I take a big breath
of that sumptuous air
and twirl my skirted legs
my painted toes
where I know
I am back
to solid ground

Appreciating the last time
I say sleep well
to you  my dear
summertimes sweet mem'ries
and the fun we had this year.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

In the sky tonight hangs a perfect Half-Moon,
when I looked up above, I thought about you,
in your paint-stained clothes and all your artwork, too,
memories of our friendship flourished and bloomed.

With your hands so hearty and your talents unbound,
I saw close up how you artistry astounds,
I remembered our fights, disagreements and tears,
but we always remained close friends over the years.

I sure miss our talks about art over wine,
snacking on crackers and cheese every time,
yet the thing I treasure most about you, my friend,
is the respect and love that will never end.
___

See Nolan's toilet here:
http://www.addictedtowalls.com/contemporary-art-paintings/graffiti-tag-art/Duchamp-new-contemporary-art.html

See Nolan in his paint-stained clothes here:
http://www.addictedtowalls.com/contemporary-art-paintings/graffiti-tag-art/Graffiti-MSK-nolan-painting.html

See all the amazing artwork of Nolan Haan here:
http://www.addictedtowalls.com/
__
The "Half-Moon Inn" is the historic building/art gallery I lived in that Nolan had restored with the help of his partner-at-arms, Mitchell.

Read my blog story for all the exciting details and breath-taking photos of The Half Moon Inn and it's lush, tropical gardens!
http://dee-light-full.blogspot.com/

A fist split the silence
the hard packing sound
followed by a liquid clogged choke
and Joe went under the water
limp in my arms
crimson red permeating through the cool blue salt water
of my parents’ pool
Nolan rubbing his hand - laughing
**** I didn’t mean to actually hit him
and we all laughed because it was a play fight
we were young, looking for answers which didn’t exist
so we filled the void like many of us did
with the seething, impotent aggression of youth
It went Gangsta rap
to punk rock
to heavy metal
and Joe and Nolan were in a band
and Joe and Nolan professed their love of Satan
because Satan never made them sit still and be quiet
they burned bibles and summoned demons
from an online version of the Necronomicon
and we went to shows
at fourteen and fifteen
drinking beer and whiskey in the alley out back
with all of the local rock stars
we hurled ourselves -
arms draped around each others’ shoulders -
into the swirling whirlwind of fists
and studded leather
and sweat and beer and blood
where grown men punched us in the face
and we gave back as good as we got
hugging afterwards in the warm glow of our pain
we were alive on the front lines
hanging from the edge that everybody else strayed from
domesticated wolves scared of electric fence flags
Nolan went crowd surfing at the Municipal Waste concert
only to be dropped into a stomping pile of ******* kids
his lips split open and I gave him my bandanna to soak up the blood
I still have that ***** rag around here somewhere
He needed six stitches inside his lower lip
but we didn’t leave until after the show
even when the fire marshals came to shut us down
when ceiling fans and trash cans were being thrown around like beach *****
we were just kids
confronted with the meaninglessness of everything we had been raised to hold on to
like life rafts
we were just kids to whom
destruction seemed far more important
than creation
if we were ever going to make anything for ourselves
in this concrete clad hell scape

sometimes you look at these people and think:
is it better me drinking whiskey, or is it better treating
them ontologically as zoological specimen
                                                  and worth of caging?
i think that the Aristotelian awe-principle
for the practice of philosophy was
overly-exaggerated with dues
that consider science, i think that science
confiscated the emotional
imprint of philosophy that's bound to awe
and said: willcommen unto die phobia-realm...
which i still ascribe to postcolonialism...
  the times' propaganda say:
             arachnophobia is perfectly suited
to match-up to a billionth remark of Islam,
which is why i find Islamophobia so weird...
   arachnophobia consists of only one spider...
minding the phobic in Islam?
                          it's not a case of one spider...
it's a case of spiders...
                             they can't reason with
the Big Brother opportunism, which exists...
turning the blind eye won't help...
  it will simply aggrivate such people...
and using this language has created such
frustrations... correctly? aggravate,
dance of vowels. phobias aren't big, they're small...
miniscule... tell people that something is
small when it's actually big enforcers
a postcolonial past more so...
   i see these children like the psychotic reaction
to a prophesy kindred ot Harold II's slaughter
of the innocents...
                  they're there to edorese someone...
      after all: who gives a **** about these people?
                                                         ­  (endorse)
the psychiatrist gets paid, the mental health nurse
gets paid... why would they give a **** in a way
that says: i wasn't paid for this bollocking!
  maybe up in Manchester... but down here in London,
they don't buy disguises, you're
labelled Romanian: you're bound home where
you could have been a plumber but are reduced
to a straitjacket because: some ******* said
you didn't **** her... Philip Collins and hey:
welcome to paradise.
                        down 'ere in Loon-town you get
your money's worth...      
                   i wish they took care of me...
   silence pays... you get your cringe's worth of ****
to the Kilimanjaro's worth of calling
               bottled crema-foam on a phallus
an anorexia... as i see it: anorexia in Freudian lingo
is an objection toward treating ****** artefacts
in culinary terms... means that paradox
of having a cake and eating it too...
                obviously you'll sexualise problems...
i think anorexia is a question of making
          ****** parts culinary aggregates...
                i'm not jotting: girl, aged, 16, ***-starved..
i mean in general... making ****** objects
equivalent toward a culinary status for a care
to make them more appealing in being ******...
the anorexic might start thinking: so i **** it,
and don't eat it?   penguin clap for an icecream cone!
ruffian yoga minus the slippers and the seal clapping...
the loudest revision of applause: i can guarantee....
cos the flippers were wet... hence the additional
aquatic acoustic.
                    this is very much akin to that quantum
theory of: tornado at coordinate a.,
         and a butterfly as coordinate b.,
          i can see anorexia as a substitute to sexualised
preferences in making body-parts partially edible...
            i see **** i think of the cow's ******-pouch / pillow...
    i don't know, maybe because being in my 30s
i can still fake arousal when looking at it...
       i am not the original alienist... some martian
took my title role...
          but i can understand anorexia as a way to rebel
against putting potato mash and a steak and a few
veggies with the same duty nod as one might put
a ******* object into one's mouth and having to
a Werther's Original suckling tactic on it and
never attach a bone to it, i.e. never eat it...
      anorexia by my standard is verily sexualised...
   you put something into an open space and
it's almost a trans-transgender movement...
      which is why i find the transgender "curiosities"
obstructs in art... post-transgender occupancies
           are not reserved for the easily pleased...
anorexics are such people...
             this is sexuality confused with dietary requirements...
this isn't a circumstance of pronouns politicised
and exploits of modern medicine...
                   i do tend to abuse seafood
whenever i am cringed by the suggested floral pattern
whenever i dare not see the benefits of cesarean...
and i just can't see islamophobia fitting the irrational
rationality of other conscripted phobias...
          poor choice of Greek to be honest...
                      i think they're referring to:
a subtler suggestion, minus the crusading empowerment
that's yet to be honed on...
                        well **** yeah...
once you've actually a philosophy book,
   you'll become immune to any writing advice...
                you'll actually become immune
to advice for writers.... bhy writers... because you'll
realise their opinions are disputable and therefore
disposable... because they forgot that the one thing
that democracy hates... is its subversion,
                     art is the foremost stealth-seeker of
despotism in democracy... because it simply loathes
plagiarism... art is despotism in democracy...
               and it knows it... it's just too "shy" (aah...
wee wee poo poo) to admit it...
                 from what i learned from athos?
the best advice? is to not give any advice.
                    athos? alex dumas, the three musketeers.
the moment you finish a philosophy book,
a creative writing workshop and a quote by
Hemingway will seems as nothing but a bad dream -
these quotes come from people who abhorred
the mere concept of spelling, due and through
it being an "inconvenience"...
this is from people who suggested you were always
an incapable narrator without a daydream to
escape into... these writers began sounding like
your english teachers...
              then again... is sexualising problem better
than abstracting them? personally, and
without due approval: and all the more happy for
such a circumstance having been presented for me...
            we know the sane are too numerous
because they are allowed to make too much sense
of their dreams...
                     i contend anorexia, not as an eating disorder,
but as a disorder of a culinary aversion toward
          sexualising non-culinary objects in culinary terms...
or adding cream to the phallus or melted chocolate
to the ****...
                 i find that certain culinary objects are
oversexualised...
   and this is the norm: that extends into what
quantifies as the norm, for the norm is always
a quantifiable parameter than a qualifiable
      exchange, since an exchange never appreciates
     a qualification, or a grocer's worth of norm
for a conversation of two quid's worth of earning
equates to 20 tomatoes...
    we have assumed to know it all
whereas we are congregating in a plughole
     of close proximity prefixes, i.e.
re-: reflect, reflection, reflexion, reflex,
  reiteration, reimagining, retraction, reaffirmation...
    it's a tsunami of language / lounging with too
many images... it's "lounging" with too many images...
it's the proximity of prefixes... twinned with
the opportunism of the genus of synonyms creating
a deaf-shaft of faking rhetoric...
     i still placard the whole circumstance
a dance of vowels, or the unforced deviation of
keeping up an aesthetic....
                     no, i can't claim schooling,
because i don't want to claim being indoctrinated...
     and perhaps my Freudian is a little-bit
copper-wired / ageist...
                  but isn't food for the anorexic
  a bit like turning a ****** object into food
          for the ennobled aggregational stereotype?
the jokes aren't jokes for anorexics...
  the cucumber is doubly manifest
                         as both edible, as both sexually
arrogant... and thirdly as "inspiration" for
an architectural project...
                      oh **** fame... little albino blondie
can **** on my testicular cancer for all i care...
               and say the bulge was: like
******* on a cowish ******...
                                      i like puppets anyway,
cos i'm a bit laxed in that way...
                         for all the things that might be
given, of the few things that can't be translated
from house or car, or a wife and 3.4 children statistic:
personal integrity.
        obviously certain people can only hum along
to the achievements of a zenith's worth of a house
and a car and a dog...
                            personal integrity is almost too much
for them, such "essential" components of being
a human rather than doing a human reaction
       later involve the cliche of the ultimate gamble...
and we all know how humans love to gamble...
well... few ever manage to gamble the stake of:
a leap of faith... and we all know how Nolan's inception
         ends...           that's me seeing the film a few years later...
      so how does man, the gambler fair
   when he's asked to gamble with the odds
  leap ratioed against a stumble?
                                      numbered is that 10:1?
it's just fascinating that vowels are the sole assured
                        proprietor of "dyslexia",
or as i care to mind: even with a language proficiency...
and tongue-tied waggle that's excusable for
anyone ready to write something down.
      i can appreciate being an individual,
but i can't celebrate it... i'll only utilise my individuality
to create a new plateau, a norm, the most
distinguished liberalism of my individualism;
     i will only utilise my individuality to create a new
norm - and anything that comes against it:
can burn in hell.

There is a beautiful girl who wears blue dresses and has golden blonde hair and picks apples and reads George Orwell and listens to Bob Dylan and lives on the north side of Texas.
Today is her birthday and the best thing I could do is give her a phone call but I lost her number months ago and she hasn't called me yet.
Instead I'll sit here and think about her. Maybe if I think good things about he she will feel good.
That's all I could really ask for, isn't it?
That's all I want for her anyway.

I, on the other hand, want to hold her strong body in my arms and be whispered to sleep by her warm voice. I want to run my calloused hands through her soft hair and read her some E.E. Cummings and nap with her out in the warm Texas sun and drink some of her mother's sweet black tea that is eerily famous in that small town.

I remember the first time she came to this side of the country, the first time I met her.  
She came to visit a friend (who we had grown accustomed to calling Tex) who had moved to this side of the country three or four months earlier.
I met her, the girl who wears blue dresses (Anna) at a market that this town has weekly.
Her golden hair shown against the California sun in a dazzling manner and her blue dress stood out among the short shorts and tank tops. She was eating an apple and walking with Tex. When Tex spotted me she yelled and beckoned me over.
"Nolan, this is Anna," she had said "You're the first native Californian she has met."
I took Anna's hand and told her that I was honored and that it was good to have her in this small town and how sorry I was that I am the first Californian she met and not about how warm her hand was and not about how beautiful she looked in the Autumnal aura surrounding us.
She smiled and told me, in her minute Texas drawl, that it was quite alright and that she liked my sweater.

The second time she visited, we were all sitting in Tex's living room with Tex, her boyfriend Lukas, and Anna. Tex had forced me to come because she felt bad for third wheeling Anna and that "Hey, Anna thought you were cute."
Nervously, I somehow managed "So, uhh, '50/50' is in theaters and it looks ******* awesome. Plus, it's got JGL in it... oh, pardon my language, Anna. But uhh yeah, we should go."
Anna placed her hand on my wrist, "Oh, I would love to! It could be a double date!"
It took me a second but I blushed a darker shade of red that I had ever seen.
Tex clapped her hands "Oh lordy why aren't we on our way now?" Her accent had mostly gone away but she still said 'Lordy' and 'Ya'll' and it was funny.
Lukas was down and we all piled into my old, green Ford Ranger and were on our way.

At the Theater Lukas was on my left and Tex was on his left. Anna was in the seat to my right.
At one point in the movie, I can't remember when, Anna placed her hand on my wrist and I sat there scared halfway to hell.
At another point Anna started crying and I put my arm around her and she cried into my shoulder.
The movie ended and Anna looked up at me and smiled.
She said something and now I can't remember what it was but I can still hear it.

I dropped Tex and Lukas off at Lukas's and drove Anna over to Tex's place.
I walked her to the front door and today she was wearing a dark pink dress. Or maybe it was light red. She had her hands gripping the sides by her thighs as we stood on the door step.
I started to tell her that I had a good time and it's okay, the tears would probably wash out of my shirt when she leaned up and kissed me. Her hands stayed gripping my sides during the quick kiss.
We stood there facing each other for a few seconds before she shoved her finger in my chest and said "I'm going to invite you inside and we're going to kiss some more but I am going back to Texas in a week so you better not make me fall in love with you, Nolan Fillman, or I will be very angry."

We fell in love.
I drove her and Tex to the airport on the day she had to leave.
Tex and I sat with her until the moment she had to board.
As we stood up she kissed me, longer than on the doorstep a week before and I could feel tears against my face. She stuck her finger in my chest again and said "Well this is just peachy, Nolan Fillman, I will probably never see you again."

That was two years ago. It was her birthday and I spoiled it and now two years later I can't properly wish her a happy birthday.

"It is a bad religion to love someone who can not love you back"








-

These pillars that we call skyscrapers
Stretch to the skies looking for the gods that rest upon these clouds
Yet all I see are these prisons bars hiding the mountains.
This concrete jungle is trying to persuade me that
Only my dreams could touch the sky
Not my oily fingers that paint the pollution in the skies.

I need to escape,
LA lied to me
They told me that beauty is within the actors and artist
They are the stereotypes that run this city

I need to move east
Move to the Rockies
The mountains that cut deep within these clouds.
There will be the place that I flirt with immortality

Airline ticket in hand, I knew I was not going to come back
I knew when I smelt the Colorado air.
This air that is so new
Untouched by man
And unseen by the models from LA

I tracked towards the mountains on a trail
This trail is the golden compass that many men traveled on
As old ruins of ghost towns sit intertwined with mother nature
Teaching us that man will die and mother nature will go on.

I reached a lake
12,000 Feet above the city slickers and the cameras
Painted with the strokes that no artist can brush
I can't brush off the unexplainable feeling
Of not hearing a single person.
Although this wooden sign says that that I am at Nolan Lake
I still believe that I am in heaven.
Clouds roll over the Mountains to greet me.
Tears roll off of my cheeks
And create this waterfall
That crashes onto the base of the valley
Surrounded by the Titans called Mountains

My heart is clean
My mind is calm
My hands are moist by gods tears of joy.
I am happy

The house is quiet, only my whisper is heard...

oh, I guess I'm such a nerd,
are you hanging on my every word?

OK good, come on, let's go,

Shadows drifting, so discreet,
fowl breath, a cut out sheet,
  hard to move these trembling feet
a waiting guest, for me to greet?
not a trick, I hope a treat!?!

Perhaps the reaper comes this way
he knows of this, a game I play?
waking Crowley, where he lay,

I grab ahold the banister,
and step around the stair valute,
the air grows dark and thick again,
as everything is put in mute,
until a bell, I pause to think,
perhaps a playing flute?

Prolly not & that's real cute,
or maybe
inquiries of  candied loot?

True that,

I wait to hear again, a ding,
the joy of laughter it will bring,
the songs again my heart will sing,

I grip the rail, I'm petrified
a ghostly ghoul,
me, has spied
I move away,
from where I hide,

Shhhhhh be quiet,

My legs are heavy,
I slowly stepped,
you escorted,
up I crept
tears I wish,
that I had wept,
I move my hand,
away are swept,
no way for me to leave, get out,
they'd never hear me scream & shout
trudging on with wary doubt,
I bite my lip,
I moan & pout,
in every step, as I grow brave,
climbing up, a darkened grave,
with every step, my soul to save,

Very dramatic poet,
emmmm thanks, read on,

I reach the top in my suspense,
ahead I say, in my defense,
sorry if you're feeling tense,

It's alright,

I open up the door ahead,
filling me & you with dread,
dragging knuckles, telluric bed,
I look, in horror, shrilling,
....shrieking
a glowing face, chilling,
peeking, must be the one,
that I,
... am seeking!

I chuckle at the sounds of creaking,
bones & boards beneath my feet
they tell,
so sneaking up?
say
you lived in hell?
so I give up
hey, where's the bell?

Oh hear it is, that's just swell,
I know right?
Thanks for finding it though,

Look out!?!

Jumping out, you give a start,
I feel it pump inside my heart,
looks as if I need black art,

Yikes!!!

Your not afraid?
you silly girl, let me give
another whirl
a bony hand, sweeps & swirls
tattered sheets they creep & twirl

You do your best
to discourage guests
I'm prepared for any scary test
Yes I'm different from the rest,
& by the way,
you mustn't know that I am blessed
I'm not leaving, you may have guessed

Some pumpkins happy
some are scary
the children here,
they shan't be wary
I am not, no I am nary
this may be a fateful twist
but by the gods I have been kissed
sorry but your aim, it missed

I know that I look a witch
as I move my nose & give a twitch
but my dear, I pulled a switch

I raise my hands, I curse your words
as spirits cry, my voice, is heard
I bind you here, your soul I gird,
I cast a spell, hogtie your feet
take a bite, it's really sweet
yes my dear please have a treat
do you mind, if I have a seat?

I call my spoon, my kettle stirring,
as he speaks,
the words are spurring,
I laugh aloud, as kitty's purring,
supernatural events, occurring,
as caldrons bubble, broomsticks fly,
& Frankenstein went walking by,
his Mummy gives a wistful sigh,

Your look of shock, a priceless one,
like someone just removed the sun,
I dare not say, a silly pun?

No it's very good,
Oh hey thanks friend,

As breaking glass of aged pane's
& your attempts to stop me,
all in vain,

In  rattlin' of my heavy chains
relieving bones,
from what they weigh
as my skeleton comes out to play
protecting children as you prey,
wave a wand, a hand & down I slay,

Too much?

No, go on...

The werewolf howling at the moon
growling baying, softly croons,
a clown I think might be a goon,
the wicked hour coming soon,
cackling witches laugh &  snicker
spirits run & candles flicker
demons plot, giggle...
... snicker,
rubbing hands,
they fight & bicker,

Hehehe...

I must admit their kinda spooky
Some are cute and kinda kooky,
To me look like a bunch of groupies,

Ha ha, good one poet!
Oh, well thanks!

I give my stick another flick,
I guess I gotta few more tricks!?
as fires dance in flaming licks,

Ewwww, I like it...

Halloween no time for fools,
the banshee comes with gaurding ghoul,
we're taking him to scaring school

Oh very cool,
yeah I made some room,

You can ride with banshee there,
the one with all the crazy hair,
you'll be alright just don't stare,
It's not as if I just don't care,

Huh!?! Great,

The unwanted speaks,

Well my dear, I'd say we're even
but temporary guess I'm leavin'
and your magic I might believin
pretty good, you think you won
congrats again, it's been real fun
a spell like yours can be undone

Hmmmm,

Oh I see, you think my best?
wait a sec, I'll get undressed
something here I must confess

Most these monsters are my friends
on whom my back I can depend
do your thing, with time you spend

That's okay, you go ahead
I don't wanna end up dead
and now I see, an empty bed
& your face is just filled with dread
boy you're really turning red
must be all the ink I bled

Careful now,
is this just a story?
filled with rhymes,
& kinda gory,
finding out is mandatory,



Now I jump out,
- I just say BOO
I guess, you see-
the tricks on you!

Happy Halloween!

Great ending,

Awww thanks for the love,
yeah sure do love this time of year,
lotsa fun, this one,

Enjoy a candy,
& thanks for coming!

Cherie Nolan © 2016

"Courage is required to break the communication barriers of life."


Cherie Nolan © 2016

i don't
even know him.
i only recognize his vitals
rapidly diminishing on
the screen before me.

i'm wrong, this is wrong,
everything is wrong.
i'm trespassing on
vulnerability.

he knows;
he gets it --
how this place
can make you
feel like hell
without even
trying.

if belief were among
my faults, indeed
it would **** me to
scroll again  
        (and again)
through artificial
papyrus, through
reeds and lights
and electronics;

because every
new click
brings another
wrench.
tug at the
heartstrings;
what heartstrings?
these leave nothing behind.

because of you,
i am destroyed.
i am assimilated,
i am protein.
because of you,
i am denatured.

turn down your flame, nolan,
there isn't enough fuel
for you to burn so
brightly
for so
long.

"Dreams are my night time memories,
I will never forget."- May 2016 C Nolan

Assisted suicide?
Physician Assisted Suicide is the process of a doctor providing the necessary sleeping pills/lethal dose to allow a terminally ill patient to perform the life ending act. In the United States, all but four states have made physician assisted suicide (PAS) illegal.When in a situation a terminally ill patient is in, they should have the right to commit a physician-assisted suicide.
In 1994, the state of Oregon enabled the Death With Dignity Act (DWDA). With 51% voting in favor of the act, it gives terminally ill patients access to PAS. Attorney General John Ashcroft challenged the act by saying it was not “real” and that allowing doctors to do perform that, violates the Controlled Substances Act (CSA). CSA protects the regulation of doctors from performing unauthorized distributions of drugs and drug abuse. If doctors are able to assist suicides, through Ashcroft’s claim, they would be using drugs as an abuse. In the Supreme Court, petitioner Paul D. Clement argued in the case about the violation of CSA, with 6-3, “we conclude the rule is not authorized by the CSA, and we affirm the judgment of the Court of Appeals” (Gonzales V Oregon).
Patients of irreversible illnesses often develop disorders that go underdiagnosed causing them to live a life that isn’t happy for them or their family members. According to Dr. Fine of the Office of Clinical Ethics, terminally ill patients usually get depressed when dealing with intense suffering. When the patient is depressed, they may not respond to treatment as expected. If the patient is not responding to treatment well, the doctor may up the dosage of medication or consider adding antidepressants, causing the patient to be reliant on medication for the rest of their life.
Patients who receive a terminal diagnosis usually experience high levels of anxiety.  According to Dr. Fine, anxiety can cause problems such as, agitation, insomnia, restlessness, sweating, tachycardia, hyperventilation, panic disorder, worry, or tension. Sleep deprivation plays a huge part in the anxiety the patients feel. The patient’s sleep is often interrupted many nights and several times to get their blood pressure checked, blood withdrawals, checkings of veins, etc. Because these medical requirements can not be withheld, many doctors may feel the need to heavily sedate the patient to make them feel lucid during the day time.
Studies have shown that patients of terminal illnesses fear that they’d burden their families. The patients feel, “grief and fear not only for their own future but also for their families’ future” (Johnson), researchers say. The feelings of being in the way can cause emotional, physical, social, and financial problems. In  doctors Johnson, Nolan, and Sulmasy’s research, they found that feelings of burden are most likely to affect emotional symptoms, quality of life, and patient satisfaction. Wanting to feel like they aren’t a burden to their families and society was most important to patients seen by the doctors. The research the doctors conducted found that out of a list of 28 qualities, the wish to not be a physical or emotional burden on family, 93% of respondents said that this was very or extremely important to them. The doctors made three categories of experiences that were related to “self-perceived burden” (Johnson). The first one being “concerns for other” (Johnson), then “implications for self” (Johnson), and last being “minimizing the burden” (Johnson). Feeling like a burden can cause “empathic concern engendered from the impact on others of one’s illness and care needs, resulting in guilt, distress, feelings of responsibility, and diminished sense of self” (Johnson).
To let a patient commit an assisted suicide means, they’re freed from pain. To force someone who knows that their time's coming to an end quickly when they do not wish to be in pain anymore should be a crime. In Epidemics, Book 1, it states, “practice two things in your dealings with disease: either help or do not harm the patient”, by allowing the patient to continue their life is harming them, all physically, mentally, and spiritually. Doctors take an oath, the Hippocratic Oath when practicing medicine. In the oath, there is a phrase that says “Also I will, according to my ability and judgment, prescribe a regimen for the health of the sick; but I will utterly reject harm and mischief”, if the patient has considered an assisted suicide, they’ve been in too much pain and wish for it to end. Refusing them the help causes them more physical and emotional pain; physical being the illness itself and emotional being the feeling of being a burden.
Patients with terminal illnesses have the right to commit assisted suicides because it allows them to end their life from something no drug would be able to fix. With the illness being irreversible, dragging it out will cause both suffering and financial problems. Terminally ill patients have the right to die with dignity. Dying by choice will let their loved ones know that they are ready and have accepted their fate, easing weight off their families shoulders. Having the ability to die will portray the patients as human beings who want to make one last decision before going rather than people who are laying in a hospital bed waiting to die. A patient knows that the doctor’s job is to relieve pain, with a doctor refusing their wish, only cause distrust in their relationship. Letting assisted suicide would allow their families to begin healing. By refusing the patient their right to die, forces them to live a poor quality of life no one would ever wish upon anybody. It is in everyone’s interest to let them go. Doctors have a responsibility to make the patient happy and to relieve them of any kind of pain, letting them go is relieving them of the pain they wish to no longer feel. PAS gives them the ability to go happily and contently.

Why'd you take it
My heart and break it?

I'm in every scene
of a hometown love
sleepy streetlights
shedding the light
of every bright
and broken down dream

Drinking a few
back when I knew you
our tearsoaked memories
**** really loved that view
speakers playing loud
country love songs
in the back of an ol' Ford truck
and hoping you'll be in luck

painted toes hanging off the tailgate
as your hands trying to 'round home plate
bet Daddy's gonna be mad again

lost in all the crazy of our dreams
mending our clipped & broken wings
somewhere in the hot sunshine

Faded shirt coming down your shoulder
Cuz' she says she's gettin' colder
You and I, were just a little older now

That homemade, hometown love still
playing me back...
to the last days of that summer.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

My Father: I Never Promised You a Rose Garden!
My Mother: Well I Never expected a thorn bush either!

I always thought it was quite funny
I remember this on sunny days
when my parents were driving my Father would ask my Mother if anything was coming from the other direction and he'd say:
"Is it okay George?
And my mother would say:
"Okay, Hit it Henry!!!"...I still have no real idea why...I remember and I sigh...
as a twinge of sadness comes sneaking in.

There were certain people that my Father did not care for and he would say they were snobs ..."****** intellectuals"... as a child I got confused by that but now it makes perfect sense....it was said without pretense.
I had to figure it out.

Without a doubt...
I have many fond memories of my family...especially my Dad, who really sacrificed more than anyone I've ever known
who sowed every seed he'd ever sewn
Raised 4 kids till they were grown
all the fading memories that I blindly used to perceive as bad...
have now melted into the Beautiful
They are now the things that endear me to them... as I remember...they make me smile for a little while.

My Father has passed now some five years... was born a simple man of simple means...
times for him or more than just a little lean
Shoes three sizes way to big
stuffed toes with old newspapers
a dresser drawer....fashioned Sisters crib
He was a Phoenix rising from those ashes
And he was never out of fashion...
a Master Carpenter... a builder of my dreams...
raising beams
dressed in denim bib overalls and a white T-shirt...a red, white and black bandana in his pocket to wipe his sweating brow

And now....ever since the day he died
I have tried...but my Mother and I now have this distant love
so I know he's still guiding me, and us from far above
I never would have made it this far
way too many scars...
It's a strange feeling to feel so very alone
feel like I have no real home
in the world...
I am a caretaker of an apartment....

I feel he would have done
anything for me  
he would never let me see...
such awful things
and be
down in such lonesome places
with strangers, such unfamilar faces
Or so I used to think

I've been at the very brink
Now I understand he wanted me to know
to struggle for my life and so I would grow
as even a thornbush would...
It taught me to be humble even when I couldn't walk
to listen and not to talk
even though I have my children, my progeny...
If sometimes I still can feel so very alone...
so no matter where my Gypsy heart roams
I carry those memories with me they are my church in the day...and in the night
I remember his final words
and I know.... it'll be alright
He taught me how to fight
and I am fighting beside him now...

I am carrying out his final wishes
I cook them in my famous dishes
My Father absolutely enjoyed the sharing of food...
Always was in the mood for something delicious...
So I sprinkle
them with his way
the things he'd often say
with his stoic compassion,
an understanding heart, so kind
I try to share his brilliant mind...
I am thankful that he wanted me and made certain I was here
His memory to me so dear...
with him I have no fear
Thank you Father
Thank you Daddy...
Love you Ma Cherie....

Cherie Nolan © 2016

I love you onion
I'll tell you why
in part because
you make me sigh,
you are everything to me
the song my Mother sang...
a whimsical, sad
and poignant little tale
I hear you crooning
& the radio tuning
my Mother knew me better
than I'd like to think,
singing ...
Lonely 'Lil petunia in an onion patch
a bittersweet memory
of all the saddest words
that I have ever heard
the saddest is the story
told me by a bird
tears fall from a pungent smell
when I cannot forgive,
say you'll never tell
and in tears of laughter  
when I'm tickled
seeing the inchworm
in the shape of a finger
a moment comes,
  I stay
and linger
climbing like a spider
singing me a verse
Spent about an hour
chatting with a flower
and here's the tale he told
as you're peeling layers,
& hearing prayers
revealing honesty
and depth of flavor
intoxicating waifs
I sniff and savor
kept safe
by a sturdy skin
cooking you
I start, begin
chopped fresh
and finely diced
or maybe
even thinly sliced
for summertime
franks, not the
Ballpark kind
these I doubt
you'll ever find
homemade baked beans
that you adorn and grace
a smiling sweet,
lil' onion face
everything made
from scratch
gleaning my
lil' onion patch
in toasted rolls,
whole grain mustard
potato salad...
best I can recall
my Mother
took the time to make
in everything
she cooked and baked
you're in all my memories
though you're in so much more
I've never shared with you
this love I have before
Onions are adaptation at its finest
fresh, sauteed with butter
translucent sweetness
Elevating anything you touch
they cry, and laugh
and give so much
dried, grated..slightly dated...
even hated, chopped up..
or roasted, grilled...
so very skilled
any way you slice it
even if you dice it
differently delightful
and delicious
smart for recipes,
even onion haters
appreciate the graters
sometimes your in  disguise
a lovely found
& welcome surprise
must be
I have something
in my eyes
as the flower
continues to sing
a joyful gift
my onion brings
familiar sounds
songs I sing
petunia continues
who put me in this bed
I'll bet his face is red
I call him down
with every teardrop that I shed
  then she said
if only I had him here
I would take him by his ear
and make him share my misery
I'm cooking homemade
onion chips,
rewound on old-time family clips
recall the fresh-squeezed lemonade
while we're sittin' in
the cooling shade
a memory of you replayed
so very glad you came & stayed
  sippin' slow brewed iced tea
my lil' onion friend and me.

Cherie Nolan© 2016

As the snow flies
on a cold and grey Chicago mornin'
A poor little child is born
In the ghetto
(in the ghetto)

And his mama cries
'cause if there's one thing
that she doesn't need
Is another hungry mouth to feed
In the ghetto
(in the ghetto)

People, don't you understand
the child  needs a helping hand?
Or he'll grow up to be an Angry Young Man someday...

Take a look at you and me
are we too blind to see?
Do we simply turn our heads,
and look the other way?

Well, the World Turns
and hungry little boy with a runny nose
Plays in the street as the cold wind blows
In the ghetto
(in the ghetto)

As his hunger Burns
So he starts the roam the streets at night
And he learns how to steal
and he learns how to fight
In the ghetto

Then one night in desperation
A young man breaks away
he buys a gun, steals a car
he tries to run
but he don't get far
And his mama cries

As a crowd gathers 'round
an Angry Young Man
face down in the street
with a gun in his hand
In the ghetto
(in the ghetto)

As her young man dies
On a cold and gray Chicago mornin'
Another little baby child is born
In the ghetto...
( in the ghetto )

His mama cries
in the ghetto


Elvis Presley....was to me a very beautiful poetic sad soul, wanting to shake the world up....gone too soon doing things he did not want too in the end. XO

Cherie Nolan

Rob's father came up to him on his eighteenth birthday, and tossed a *** of cash at him. "Time to be a man", he said in his usual gruff manner, "Get yourself a hot one".  His grinning face seemed more like a sneer, but Rob wasn't all that surprised. Throughout his adult life, he was thankful and glad that his mother kept him fairly grounded, did the best that she could, molded him into the man that he was, and he marveled at how she put up with such an *******.

Her name was Kat, but there were no introductions, not while he was soliciting her for ***. She was a few years older than he, but Rob never asked for any details.  He just wanted to get on with it, for he felt not only awkwardly nervous and ill-prepared, but halfhearted in his approach to buy some time, to hook up with a stranger in the shadows of the street lamps.  

Sure, if his old man wanted to give him some money—free cash—why the hell not? Instead of finding a "hot one", Rob was face-to-face with a burned-out and vulnerable, young woman who tried to hide behind her ****, seductive exterior. She was equally as halfhearted as he was about getting it on, for business-as usual seemed to weigh her down like a heavy chain wrapped about her ankles

So Rob opted out of this whole thing. He asked if he could buy her a cup of coffee. Why not? It was a chilly night, and they wanted to warm up—in  a legitimate way.

They found a small, late-night diner. It wasn't long before Kat admitted she made a huge mistake, and would do anything to get another start. Her regret was leaving Nebraska, leaving her hometown—her mom, her little sister and brother left behind. Her father was the dearest man she ever knew, but he died when she was eleven-years-old. If only he could see her now. She would be so ashamed to face him, and glad he wasn't around to witness this sordid path she regretfully chose.

Once, Nebraska seemed like an insignificant blot on the map of the world, but now it was inviting to her. She longed to make amends to her family and to get back to the basics.  She wasn't sure what she would do with her life, but what she had right now wasn't what dreams were all about. It was a world of unscrupulous pimps and men who lurked around, wanting their fill, their lusts exposed discretely, yet so ****** upon her to be met.

She had enough. Rob was the first guy that came along in a long time that really cared to listen to her, though he seemed more a boy than a man. Yet she's been with his kind before. She has seen all kinds—white and blue collar, old and young, married and single, the well-experienced and the sexually inept, the *** addicts and first-timers, the boring, the daring, the *****—yet safe ones—as well the creepy kind that a street-smart lady needed to have eyes in the back of her head for.  

When they went to the bus station, together, Rob admitted, "I got to tell you, straight. I'm still thinking you could be scamming me for drug money...and I'm maybe a complete *****... but I want to take this chance." Kat smiled, a tender sort of a smile, and gave him a soft peck on the cheek, along with a big bear hug. "You're an angel", she declared. She really was beautiful, with big, lovely eyes surrounded by big, fake lashes.  Seen through eyes of his inexperience—his innocence—she really felt beautiful, something she hasn't felt in a long while.

Kat wanted to pay Rob back for giving her the needed, extra money to buy her ticket. She offered to do that in the best way she knew how and made him an offer. Having a night of free *** wasn't what Rob ever wanted. No, there were no strings attached. So she jotted down her mother's address in Nebraska, and told him to be in touch. "I want to prove to you that I'm turning my life around. I'm going to do it, too. I promise", she said, sincerely. She had no trouble looking him in the eye, tears beginning to well up, and she began to choke up while saying, ”I just can't thank you enough".

Whether he did the right thing or not, Rob would wonder. He would never forget her—even if he wanted to forget. Only a brief couple of hours with her, but she made an impact in his mind, like a branding iron that would sear the hell out of his brain. Later, he lied to his dad, and pretended to be thrilled that he got the chance to have such an awesome night—just rocking! It was the best birthday present so far!  For a moment, he thought of telling him the truth, but he pictured his dad saying, "You *****! You wasted your chance and my money!"

Rob decided that he wasn't going to write her. He just didn't want to know, instead wanting to assume she made it out okay. He decided to keep the paper with her address, anyway. It took him several months, after mulling it over in his mind, to actually write her a brief note to ask how she was managing. Did she really go back home? Was she doing alright? Did she put her ****** life behind her?

It was only a week when he received a letter back from Nebraska. Rob kept that letter to himself, never telling a soul about Kat. She was back with an old boyfriend from high school, staying with her mom and working part-time as a cashier in a supermarket. She was so eager to write him back, thrilled that he finally contacted her, and wondered why on earth it took him so long.  Rob believed her, like he first did about her story, and it was a relief to hear from her.  He was glad he took the chance. It seemed to pay off.

He heard nothing back from her until over a year later. This time she sent a picture in her letter. Kat and her boyfriend broke up, for the second time, but she was now married to her good friend's cousin, Nolan. She was glad it didn't work out with the first guy, because now she was pretty happy and couldn't imagine her life any other way. Rob smiled as he saw the picture of the couple, and she was holding her little girl in her arms. He name was Willow, a cute, little girl with strawberry blonde hair.

Thanks, again, Rob! It is all because of you! You’re a sweetheart. My hero!!!

He didn't want to take the credit. He was no hero. It was bound to happen, with or without him.  Rob was quite sure now that he would not write her another letter, but did pick up a card to congratulate her, to acknowledge he got the good news and was glad for her.

He still had that picture of her, and the last news he found out about Kat is that she moved to Colorado with her husband, and now had a son, Nolan Rob. Her husband got a better paying job, and she felt at home near the mountains. A picture of the kids came with it, and her two smiling children conveyed the innocence that she once had and cherished.

Wanted you to see my boy. His middle name, Rob, is after you! I figured you'd know this, but I want to tell you, anyway! :D Much love from us to you, Robbie!

Time has passed, and during that back-and-forth.  Rob's parents split up, sold the house, and he had graduated from college and was on his own. Contact with Kat waned down to nothing at all, and it probably was just as well. Were things still going good in her life? Rob still wondered and hoped so.

Now he was married, with a nice house and boy and girl of his own, thinking of Kat, now and then. He envisioned her doing well, a far cry from the young woman in a scene that replayed in his head, a night when he helped an unhappy and desperate lady get a chance to find her life, again. If ever his day ******, such thoughts could pick him back up.

He'd never cease to wonder about her, but what he did for Kat belonged in the past.  If it wasn't happily-ever-after for her, he'd rather not know.  He did his part, was glad that he had enough maturity and integrity to do the right thing, but no way was he a knight in shining armor.  Still, he was a hero in her eyes, a reluctant hero of sorts. He could live with that.

Smooth, smooth, fringed by yellow smudged, hard plastic
smooth, left to right then a painterly inconclusive running
out, the stroke all 60” expires into the yellow, then a firm
vertical orange stripe, a bookend, a hot surface elevated
upon a warm yellow bed, exotic, turmeric, heated from
below, as though from another world, a future planet found
in Manga, gum wrappers, belonging to the wedding
wardrobes of older women, and those with impossible
shoes, maybe a scarf, definitely lipstick and small Japanese
cars, decorative paper, a can’t-miss logo, as when I close
my eyes in the act of love, holding your kneeling body to
me I lose myself in a pattern of flashes, the bright play of
light and colour, a sensual play of pigment, blue and red
wavelengths, fuchsine, electric, electric, and the aura of
artists, such latent energy, hidden passion, rich in ******
fragrance, edged with desire.

The path of the brush now right to left yellow exposes a
yellow bookend at the left hand edge, there is a roughness
here in its covering of yellow, as though applied in haste or
in a single gesture with a large brush, it is thick, thick and
rough, but the yellow is almost present, a hint, a reflection,
as in the petals of the Bellis Perennis, you open your mouth
breathing, breathing your lips frame such perfect teeth as
day arrives,

Left to right, the paint thick then thinning to a broken
tailpiece revealing yellow on magenta, again, again, again, again,
how little I yet understand your body, the innerness,
the sheltered regions of your desire, I am afraid to harm this
preciousness, be disrespectful of the tapering valley where
love’s caress and kiss meet, are multi-dimensional, the
rectangle is not charcoal, but deflected, hesitant, to the left
the darkness of chocolate, to the right a greyness, a *****
grey, a dusty dark dog, loamed, a depth then play of
shadow, dark, textural as your maidenhair under the covers
above my right hand as it spreads my fingers across its
darkness into deeper darkness, a flat stone, its left end
washed by the cold tide, olived, clothed in mourning, there
is unpleasantness, some distaste, a little fear, the unknown,
the unknowable.

Daisy petals, opening in the morning light, the clapperboard
house on the Block Island beachside fresh-painted every
spring, immediately weathered, porcelained sea shell
textured, turned, tumbled, a dawn sky after rain,
ceramicised fungi, plain flour, acidic, taut, the moment
when the heart and breath seem to pause as we join each
other’s flesh as though this cannot be cannot really be.

Unrhymable this flower shade hued pigment deep saffron
vibrant, phoned, not quite of the fruit, a different tang,
sharper without sheen, magenta beneath its smoothed
surface up to left and right edge, (but for the yellow
frill beneath), lip covering, silk-scarfed, not autumnal yet, but oh
those Californian poppies, those desert landscapes as the
sun sets,

a single uneven gesture thrown left to right, an island
in silhouette with a rocky foreshore spreads into distance,

a bed of sylvan jade, an oasis, this an aerial view of tree
tops modulating to grassy pasture, a down-stroke western
boundary, an edge of surf on its northern border, perhaps
the brush formerly coloured has left its trace,

the main body of this Australian desert seen from the air,
Sidney Nolan’s bush, aboriginal earth, coloured mud,
unguent, the sense of liquid in your kiss, its warmth, the
very tip and corner of your lips, the brush of hair as you
move your head to my chest, the rubbing of hair on hair,
under your arms this play of sensation through the lips’
touch, then the shore, the sand no sand though, only in the
brochures, daffodilled perhaps, unsmudged, fresh,
vigorously golden, well-watered.

I had to go into the big city
well big for me anyway
a beautiful drive still dreaming I think
looks right down on the water that city
at Lake Champlain.

So what did you get?

Oh. You're seriously asking, alright.
Well, it's for a lovely couple this weekend getting married.

Oh I see, do tell Chef ?

I picked some beautiful ingredients
for pumpkin cheesecake
some candies...
I especially love the sunflower seed drops in magenta, violet, lime green, burnt orange, tangerine and dark  chocolate,
they look like little fall tears.

I also found some vinted
honeymoon wine
A voigner
with a lovely fragrant crisp taste

Hmmmm...interesting, go on?

It signifies the full moon in June after the flowers turn into young grapes some honeysuckle Aromas followed by luscious mango and nectar
Paired with roasting chicken
& beautifully seasonal fingerling potatoes
and this amazing rustic sweet potato bread
gorgeous heirloom vegetables in a few various choices
delicately cooking squash
all seasoned to perfection bringing
nutty joy to all
in an aromatic feathery plume of goodness
finally...
green goddess dressing and roasted nuts, berries among other toppings for a brilliant salad.

Oh...well any invitations still open?

I'm not sure, but you can be my guest in the kitchen come along

take your hat off what's the hurry?

Cherie Nolan© 2016

You were the boy next door
literally and figuratively
I loved you from the moment I saw you
Beautiful golden wavy hair
cut short but ****
soft eyes of a deer...
such a warm buttery brown

I used to fantasize about this feeling
though didn't know if
how, when, where...why
I was innocent as a newborn lamb
you seemed to only like me
or as if you only wanted ***

I was projecting or protecting
I am not certain
But the soft tender sensuous first kisses
I still can taste in my mouth
like sticky sweet caramel
every time I run my tongue over my lips
I remember....
I loved that mouth... and everything attached to it.

Our song was "Hello" by Lionel Richie
And you never knew
I thought of you constantly
after the kiss...for a long time
I waited

So I never thought you were coming back
Graduation came and with a determination
to undo the innocence
craving to know what everyone else already did
The night of baccalaureate
lyrical voices
"strawberry wine
seventeen...
hot July moon
saw everythin'
taste of love
Ahhhh bittersweet
like strawberry wine"
innocently
playing out for real
the most handsome guy there
Said he was 24
asked for a kiss... drunken silly, flirty girl
"Maybe... if I can get a burger first?"
he delivered so we kissed
though he was a gentleman that night
I made a date with destiny

Still remember
I wore a short denim skirt the front like button pants Confederates wear
so kissed warmly by the sun...tanned Native, naive skin...
a lacy white cotten tank top and these terrific kicks...black leather biker boots, square toed...kick ***
curly black long hair... hazel eyes
some say they can see green and gold in there...or something mysterious
Though I don't think I'm much of a mystery
I wore a little mascara... a bit of summertime blush and lip gloss
When I stepped out I got a "Wow"... so beautiful...**** girl"
I used to hear that sometimes but never felt that way... often times it made me uncomfortable
But I smiled and took his hand and trusted him
It was a barn dance so much fun
but I don't remember the ending so well
kind of fuzzy
I guess I drank too much
I do...I do...I do remember his touch
a strange smile just cursed my lips

So that summer I was with him
His father was a ***** pervert, an animal
and I couldn't stand to be around him
I remember jumping in the pool and it's ***** paws trying to touch me
If I told my Father
he would have killed him!
I remember he comforted me though
he did defend me that day
His mother was just such a horrible *****
I'm sure maybe because of his Father...
Brutally honest.. I suppose she told me I was just a plaything
I didn't believe her

Still don't... honestly
He used to like me to sing to him
In the back of his truck where we made a makeshift bed and we'd lie down looking at the stars....
and he left some pretty deep scars
But I remember...focus on the delightful, appealing  things too
like going to the lake and the engine died we had to paddle our way back
and there were bats overhead swooping and diving
He shrieked like a girl and I laughed...
we both did

As it turns out
He was seeing an older woman... I don't know how long
He was really 28 and so was she
Apparently they work together
To spare you the details I ran over his mailbox when I left and I never looked behind me...

I came back
your best friend
was dating my best friend
and you asked if I would go to the beach with you did you really think
I was going to say no?
I climbed in the car there you are
in the backseat
our eyes met like the day of the first kiss
I can still picture it now actually
you took my hand and you pulled me in
I laid my head on your lap...
Looking up in your eyes so happy to be home
we kissed again
finally...

I told you the story of how I'd been hurt
It did matter how much you'd flirt
or caress my hair, touch that spot...rub my neck... lift up my locks...and kiss me there, making yummy sounds...deep and seductive..
making yummy memories...

I was determined not to be hurt that way again
so you courted me for 9 months
And then you asked me to marry you...
So it was never all about ***...
although I know you thought I was **** and beautiful...your curvy hippie girl...and you knew that I thought you were beautiful too...my handsome shadowed face...baseball cap and sneakers, sorta tight fittin blue corduroy  pants  that just looked perfect ... maybe it was the back pockets and a nice white pin striped blue shirt with fold down collars
your laugh, the games of basketball, horseshoes, Frisbee... swimming
food... eating together was like food ***
we so enjoyed the connecting
the sharing...the tastes and flavors
you loved my cooking...thank you

I remember the convertible Mustang
our boat the four wheelers
we had everything and a four-bedroom cape... nice cars..
worked hard....nice things
we did lots of things together
we endured some terrific pain
nearly watching our daughter die
and watching your mother actually go
and your friend... snowmobiling will never be the same again Joey Laquerre... a local racing Legend gone
Irony? I don't know
his son dies at 17 in 2014 an ATV accident...

So many secrets so many skeletons we share in our closet
I miss that safe place and I know you do too
If everyone really knew ...everything..
well...it's such an epic love story
you told our daughter
And our son... how wonderful it all was
Reminisce with them a little too much even
I asked you why
you said you didn't know
and I guess you still don't
you're still with her
the one you left me for... you know
And the guy from baccalaureate he's still with her too
if I was so wonderful
then why did you have to go?

Happy Anniversary to the death of a marriage... 13 years

Cherie Nolan© 2016

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

She don't like her eggs all runny
she thinks crossin' her legs is funny
she looks down her nose at money
She gets it on like the Easter bunny
she's my baby
I'm her honey
Never Gonna Let Her Go

He ain't got laid in a
Month of Sundays
I caught him once
and he was sniffin' my ******
he ain't too sharp but he gets things done drinks beer like it's oxygen
and he's my baby
I'm his honey
Never gonna let him go

In Spite of Ourselves
we'll end up sitting on a rainbow
Against All Odds
honey were the big door prize
We're going to spite our noses
right off of our faces
there won't be nothin'
but a big ol'  Hearts
dancin' in our eyes

she thinks all my jokes are corny
convict movies make her *****
she likes ketchup with her scrambled eggs swears like a sailor when
she shaves her legs
she takes a lickin'
she keeps on tickin'
I'm never going to let her go

He's got more ***** than
A Big Brass Monkey
he's a whacked-out ******
and a love bug ******
Sly as a fox
crazy as a loon
when payday comes
he's howlin' at the moon
he is my baby
and I don't mean maybe
I'm never going to let him go

In Spite of Ourselves
we'll end up sittin' on a rainbow
Against All Odds
honey were the big door prize
we're going to spite our noses
right off of our faces
there won't be nothing
but big ol' Hearts
dancin' in our eyes

In Spite of Ourselves

Written by John Prime
Cherie Nolan- A favorite wedding tune

You're still in here, inside these walls
through open doors and vacant halls
I hear you gently clear your throat
and rustle with your overcoat

I hear you say in deep distress
I have some things I must confess
I Loved You Then I love you still
I love you now, I always will

You have my heart, my heart that's true
a love I thought I really knew...
But love is just not quite that clear
It's juxtaposed with you my dear

I'd rather stay but I must go
for reasons that I do not know
I hope your heart can find a place
to close your eyes and see my face

Remember what it meant to me,
I hope my love can set you free
for I am your eternity,
and with you I will always be
and I will never really say
Goodbye my sweet

So we must both lie down to rest,
No need for you to get undressed
So cover up and go to sleep,
& dry those eyes from tears you weep

Where I am going
I must go alone,
this is your place
this is your home,
you must stay.

One day I know we'll meet again,
In time I know your heart will mend
Through Heavens gate I'll wait for thee
With open arms on bended knee
Where Spirits run
In fields of wheat
To find their souls last one retreat

So I'll instead just say farewell,  
& hope in this you will not dwell
You know that I just cannot stay,
the sun will shine again today,

So smile at the sky above  
& know that you are truly loved,

We are timeless

So you will know,
you will never
really
be alone.

All Rights Reserved © 2016 - May 29
Cherie Nolan

I sat inside a hospital bay
in the usual uncomfortable hospital beds
feeling exposed....and cold
as they brought in a woman
who was convulsing...
my fears shifted

She was on a moving stretcher
there must have been 12 people in tow
doctors nurses and others
It's hard to remember who was straddling her chest
as they pushed the rollaway gurney
trying to revive her
I think it was an EMT..
remember his sturdy legs in dark Navy pants &  shirt with some
sort of medical cross in white
above his heart...
I just really remember this look
of sheer panic on his face

From the amount of police officers
and security guards
I could only surmise that she
was in some kind of other trouble
than just her physical distress.

At the time I was having some difficulties
with my heart and this situation did not make it any better.
I kind of felt like I was having a serious panic attack...
or that I might even have a heart attack
I really hadn't heard anything about my own condition...or cause

I just tried to breathe
the sounds around me
of machines beeping and voices yelling
so many lights flashing
the doctor pounded on her chest
...literally
trying put a tube in her throat...
attempting to force open lips that remained sealed
I felt like they were  
trying to push that airway in me....

as they worked on her behind that curtain
like The Wizard of Oz
I really couldn't see
they were trying to get a line
her veins too thin and collapsed
the sound of drilling her bone....
in her thigh...
I cupped my ears
as the tears rolled from our eyes
unable to get the medicine in any other way
I had never heard of such a method
I really wasn't eavesdropping
but I was completely drawn in

Narcon I think that's what it was called ...
that's the medicine they gave her.
Apparently it can bring you back
from the brink of death....
I was grateful that they had it for her.

As it turns out she was holding some drugs in the prison for a controlling cellmate
It was coercion and extortion
This so-called drug dealing badass chick
who made her hold the drugs
knew she had money on the outside
and dearly made her pay for it
from the sounds of it
the girl bedside me knew that she was going to be caught with whatever she had been forced to hold...
she was trying to roll a joint in the bathroom...
innocent enough for Prison
when she heard a couple guards talking and coming
it seemed this ...getting caught,
each pill a seperate offense
would be a worse offense than death ...
I thought...for her
So she swallowed an entire wax encapsulated ball of pills
Barely able to choke it down....
knowing it had been brought in by a mule
desperation won

As she slowly stopped convulsing and became dimly awakened
somewhat, aware.... felt like we all finally started to breathe
Nurses and others applauded...relief veiled the room

She was up....then WAY up
I guess you would say she was high
From the drugs and from being out of the prison I suspect

She was scared and crying and my heart went out to her.
She was confused and rambling
unsure of all the different pills inside the Wax Ball trying to recount
asking if she was going to die
Begging not to
to the doctors ...the officers as they were asking her "what did you take honey...come on?"
Over and over....looking in her eyes with a flashlight... as her spirit tried to fade but her body and soul just would not let her go yet.

After a bit of time she started to be more coherent and my heart started to feel less like it was going to burst.

I was so upset by the turn of events
that I really wanted to move to another room  
my nerves were just so terrible
  but the nurse said that people were literally lined up in the hallways .
She asked if I'd prefer that in a snarky tone... I said "no, of course not"

I asked for help  to unplug my equipment
then I went to the bathroom
our eyes met ...hers and mine
for a moment...a quick glance
of some mutual pain and understanding
and we smiled at one another.
I don't think it was difficult
for either one of us
I was looking for an escape to go to the bathroom
from my pain and problems
and get away from this mess
this noise
and she definitely was looking for a way out of her situation
we found calm and comfort in sharing...connecting

She wasn't young enough to be my daughter ...
I think she might have been about 36 or 37
but I thought about that possibility....
she had no family there
and that made me sad
I too was alone
I believe she knew
that I had compassion and true empathy for her
I saw that in her kind and sad blue grey eyes
and I think she saw that in mine....or I hope so

She was not formally educated
but she was quite intelligent and articulate....
She was quite proud of her studies while doing time....
she had a wonderful plan and how she was going to get her children back and a job as a hair stylist.
She had long golden strawberry wheat colored hair

She told how she had been in prison for 7 years away from her children... drugs that got her into Prison and drugs brought her to this Hospital this night

She told over and over
the story of this controlling cellmate
and how this whole turn of events that happened.
All because of drugs mostly.... she owned it
she knew that she used drugs to escape her life before  
and she had taken so many wrong turns
the last charges she received were for "walking off"
from house arrest... she ran... with nowhere to really run.
Now there was this...

She was friendly with the guards
they knew her well and most of them treated her decently,
calling her by her last name only
The one guard was constantly by her side and joking,
reassuring her that she would be fine.
Well there was another guard who was not so friendly,
when she was convulsing he had a smile on his face...
chuckling even....maybe out of fear...
I hoped that.... more than hate
It troubled me in ways I can't really describe.
I think he thought she deserved it.
Maybe there's others that might read this
that might think the same thing...
I do not know.

For me....I don't know her whole truth...her story...
..and I don't know how she got there
I don't know what her childhood was like
or even her young adulthood before she ended up there... I know the complexities of my own life
and except for the broken shattered pieces that she started to share
I don't know what happened in that prison either ....
not really
and my Father told us that
we should love everyone unconditionally
and so that's how I practice and live my life.

You could see her deep sadness and true regret ...
in the lines on her face
yet I also saw hope.. in her eyes and I heard it in her voice

The hours that she spent there were like heaven to her.
She got drinks and food that she would not get in prison...company of new people and a chance to feel normal whatever she perceives normal to be

she laughed nervously with the guards but I could tell that she was sort of excited to be out.
Maybe she took the drugs just so she could get out and breathe the air for just a moment.
I wondered about all the motives one might have
She said that it was because she felt she was going to get caught
but as the story went on ....
she further detailed
after the guards came into the bathroom
and found nothing
she went back and sat at a table with a few other cellmates
and waited to see what was going to happen
maybe she didn't think the drugs would seep through the wax
Or maybe they would have a slow delivery and she would just be high again
or maybe she did know
I don't think she wanted to die but just desperately wanted out
She knew that this badass chick
was going to want money for those pills
she had asked to be moved back to Delta
where she liked it....
she said she was clean there
Apparently she complained over and over and even told them what this girl was doing
She told them that she was going to be a victim in this new unit
she did not want to be there
no one was listening

I was still lying in the bed when they finally strapped her in and decided to take her back to the prison
I was kind of sad to see her go to be honest
because she wasn't completely stable
Physically or emotionally
And I don't really think she belongs there
I guess they don't worry so much about prisoners
And as she left
she had this look of longing that she wished she could trade places with me and she didn't even know what was wrong
that I was there for something wrong with my heart
I think even if it was cancer she would have traded

We again exchanged warm smiles again, an acknowledging nod
and we both added a small wave...
I think knowing
we would probably never really see each other again

My friend who had been absent
Who finally decided to come
and see how I was doing
said "do you know that girl?" and I said "no I don't we haven't even talked." I think he was puzzled....

Actually we both were there with something wrong with our hearts...
and I will probably never forget her face
I will pray for her, her families and her children
her children's children
that they can break the cycle of abuse, dysfunction and unhappiness
I am 100% certain that it's possible
I've done it in my own life
and my family's life
though some things are not always so probable

I wish it was contagious...
that she could have caught it there at the hospital but it's really something you have to dig deep to find
You have to want it more than living
More than dying
I'm not sure we ever find our ideal life or blissful happiness...
Most of us endure a lot of suffering
I have let it grip me before
though I am satisfied with being content
in my life... grateful in every moment
anything more really is a true blessing

So upon reflection
I guess again it just helped me to reinforce that every single part of life cannot be taken for granted.
The air that we breathe
the food that we eat
the music that we listen to
and dance to
the kind smile of a stranger
in a hospital bed next to you
a sad poetic story
Or one of Hope
Being able to drive to the store or walk home if you would rather
Sharing time with your family and friends and everything else it's beautiful in the world.
If I ever think my life is too much
just so bad
I always try to think about those who have it so much worse than I do
Although sometimes if I do that it's too much to bare
To think of genocide and children starving
Even if I only have a few dollars sometimes

I do this not only to gain insight ...review hindsight and if I'm lucky have some foresight in my future
or to protect myself from those potential tragedies happening in my life or in my family's life....

it is more about the fact
that I need
WE....need
to be aware
all the time
the people around us are suffering
and there are little things we can do to make their days better like those smiles and the wave we shared....

I carry her smile with me and I hope she carries mine with her.
I was really pretty scared but somehow that smile and wave was comforting and I hope it comforted her too.
The irony was that she was due to get out within a couple months so I again pondered whether she was institutionalized and wanted to actually stay.
I hope not though because she seemed so kind and so optimistic under such distressing circumstances.
If she had to stay I'm glad she had a moment to breathe the air outside her Prison Walls again even if it was just for a moment
And I sure hope she got the hell away
from that bad *** chick
who just wanted to bring her down

Cherie Nolan © 2016

Utilitarian Love Poem**

You are aesthetically pleasing,
the reason for which I first noticed in you.
And later I found your personality equally pleasing.
I also noted your chest to waist ratio is suitable for birthing.
Therefore, I think you should live in my house.

“Graceless Ravens Envy You,” by Eric Robert Nolan

Revel in apostasy.
You are the black dove, hovering
High in an inklike arc.

Blacker, even, than
coal-colored wolves in onyx lines seeking
quarry at starless midnight.

More ebon, even, than
narrow sable blacksnakes staying
cravenly in shade at noon.

Darker, even, than
murders of crows, newly legion at Autumn, amassing
among saw-wing martins at dusk.

You’re blacker, even, then the rooks.
Graceless ravens envy you.

Remember your rebirth?
The sun rose,
Your birdsong changed and then
the questions flew from your beak
faster even than the wrens?
Faster than you could fly?
For a moment, they rendered
all the world obsidian.

Remember your feathers burning?
Sunlight striking your wings and then
all the slow alabaster there
singing, quickening into
aerodynamic black?
Remember the flock’s suspicion?

Remember your siblings, the nest?
Remember when
all their pearl heads turned
their backlit crowns in morning sun
ringed so thinly in shining ivory?

Their song was interrupted,
Yours was made a query —
empiricism’s aria.
Flustered, they fluttered
at all the low notes.
There were all immaculate;
you were the color of night.

Now you arc alone —
soar and sin and sing,
unrepentant one.

Somewhere an ordinary dog,
awakening from shadow,
howls at the sun.

(c) Eric Robert Nolan 2015

Diggin' in the dirt
have a little fun
drink a little beer
have another one

Sun is really hot
and I just want to play
gotta go outside
gotta get away

Go swimming at the crick'
Maybe catch a fish
cook it on the bank
we don't need a dish

Get a little tan
get a little burn
Doesn't really matter
cuz I'll bet we'll never learn

Grab onto the rope
and come on for the ride
It's way too nice out here
for you to stay inside!

Cherie Nolan © All Rights Reserved 2016

Her Father's old wool jacket,
from Johnson Mills,
in creamy white,
dark forest green,
golden amber,
in a lovely patchwork,

A soft dark winter tuke on her head,
that dark green in the background,
with rusty speckles on her cheeks,

Wet snow falls silent,
the sky is a crisp Winter blue,
the air is cold and clear,
& intoxicatingly clean,

As she breathes life in and out,
then,
looking down at her black Sorel boots
and her worn black denim jeans,
a nice old holey wool sweater,
and a maul,

A **** lumberjack?
Maybe...

Dressed to hack the wood,
the plumber thinks so,
he stops by,
a friend of hers,
sorta,

Huh?

Not invited,
but no one is around here,
we all do it,
so he helps too,

Hey I'll make lunch,
harmless flirting,
I suppose,

Because,
wood warms you 3 times they say,

Once to chop it,
two to stack it RIGHT,
three to bring it in & burn it,

But if you count the starting of the,
cantankerous chainsaw & the guy,
helping you,

And you hafta arrange & rearrange, everything,
cleaning the flue and chimney,
I'd say a few more than that,
& don't ferget to pay the man,
the cantankerous one,

Yeah he got lunch too,
and about them ashes,
could be pretty hot,
take 'em out regular,
that stove cranking too,
OUCH,

She ends up gets burned,
a few times each year,

Taday,
she's on step too,
as she picks up the heavy maul,
not to heavy for this gal,
all the way back,
watch yourself,

As a neighbor winches,
a woman chopping wood?

Yup.
That's right,
a way of life,
for her,
always has been,
poised and ready,
swing and smack,
if you hit it right,
you hear a crack,

Just like a baseball bat,
hitting a homer,

Big pieces,
are made more manageable,
when you don't try to control the force,
when you let the sharpened maul,

Do all the work,
for you.
Cherie Nolan © 2016

As leaves of crimson fall,
& bleed  like cherry wine
sleeping parrot greens,
they overtake mind,
I quietly approach,
set up a sneaky blind,

I spot a toucan looking tree
in colors rarely seen
it takes my breath away
in soft & brilliant sheens,
showing off the beauty,
& creating quite a scene,

Amber hues of mustard,
blending in with rust,
others look like wheat
that was baked inside a crust,
so telling you about it,
is something that I must,

Burning up the sky
in flamingo sunset pink
as if I'm in the Tropic's
just sippin' down a drink,
look at all the colors,
just amazing,
don't you think?

Like a lovely bird of paradise
is landing in my hair,
so I can write it down
a story we can share,
I'm jotting down the words,
like Ginger & Astaire,

Out arift upon the skies
I hear the weeping willow
I close my eyes to dream
& lay on leafy pillows
like sheets of iridescent,
quoting as they billow,

I stand in admiration,
a journey that I applaud
sent to me from heavens
from hands, a loving God,
leaves today are burning
stand mystified & awed

So beautiful & grand
your plumage is at peak,
waving me dear willow
I softly hear her speak,

Listen to the sounds
as they open up their beak

Go press a few examples
to savor every day
listen very closely
to every word I say
you take 'em out again
when the skies are turning grey

Cherie Nolan© 2016

Fading off
into the soft
of the Tangerine Setting Sun
I slipped away
to rest my gun
my battle here
well it is done.

I gotta say
hey girl
you know I love you
so I'll never be lonely
as you are the stars to me
a deep and beautiful mystery
I share you in our history
you are the light I see
the one that I am following.

I am here my dearest...dear,
so do not show them any fear
as I am watching you
as you are consoling the darkened midnight sky
please stop questioning, wondering why
as you look up for a shooting passerby
dry those endless tears
in  puddles of sad
I am glad so
I'll just sigh
as this is not goodbye
just farewell my sweetheart

You'll never be alone
my heart it is your home
so take my hand
your life is going to be so grand
I've already planned my love
from up here so very far above
on seeing you again one day
amongst the
showy pink lady slippers we will lay
you will see my eyes of clear blue
and soft grey again.

So you must stay...
go and play
while there's light that shines today

Take up my fishing pole
go back to our favorite swimming hole
I showed you my graceful,
& patient flicking wrists
I gave it one last careful twist
and the fly will softly land and kiss...
the water

There's no maybe
my baby
my crazy
curvy Wildflower girl
as I watch you twirl
as I watch you in the setting Sun
you come undone
in the morning dawn
your tired, sweet and sleepy yawn
as you feel the breeze blow through
your uncombed tangled hair
please take a dare to share
in your beautiful perfection
I know you'll find the direction
live today for me
live today with me.

I can see you
as I stand here at a waiting Heavenly door
in waters clean from Angels shores
you'll know me again
as you did before
you'll know my love
and so much more
I sigh again as the sun is here
as I too am drawing near
..time for me to go so,
make use of today
For you and them, I pray

I am
always
waiting
patiently
forever
and always
with you
...for you.  XO

Cherie Nolan © 2016

Bluer than the azure sky
Staring into a star
Seeing the beauty of us
Reflected in beautiful
Eyes Like Water*

Cherie Nolan© 2016

What are you doing here again?
I'm not your lover and I'm not your friend.
Why are you sneaking round my door?
A familiar face....that I've known before?
And just what do you bring
in offers?

If I do as you'd like then what will become of who I am?
Will I drown in in the deepness of your sea
Or find the very deepest part of me?
Will I feel lost
or will I feel free?
Will I light my soul and keep a smoldering fire?
To fill my heart's deepest desire...
And feel like I cannot get higher?
To the highest place that I can take my myself?

To soothe the deepest ache inside my soul in the deepest deep
You make me nervous
And so I'm intrigued...
So I just might invite you in
As long as not committing sin?
I wonder...

The things that I've been yearning for
You'll release me from this ache I'm sure
And the smell of the sweat and the sweet perfume
A fear embraced of what dangers loom
What it will mean come tomorrow
Could be my delight or such sweet sorrow
When I'm alone again.

Senses I've rarely tapped into before
Just the one time that you rapped at my door
I do not trust you though
Your last visit was so bittersweet
So pardon my bashful and modest retreat
As I feel this all the way out.

If we start with a just a slow sweet kiss...
to find a rumored thing called bliss?
Then I wonder...
if we could we take this...
one moment at a time?

Because before we know it
I could be gone.
Lost in your Temptation

And as you know...
I fear for my salvation.

All Rights Reserved May 26 2016 - Cherie Nolan

I am painting word pictures today
tasting hot incoming Autumn  breezes
transforming splendor
dreary rain filled moments pass
bidding adieu
and welcome my rustic bamboo
fare thee well to Summer's sun
now in this Burning September

Entrancing
as the
dancing trees
in changing multicolored hues...
skies of crystal clear blue
cut outs of rolling hillsides
and lush Green mountains
in that endless and seamless quilt
sheltering the storms

My eyes are drawn
past the still lively green leaves
as the burning umber
and cardinal tipped ones
radiating
hat tipped
as chlorophyll ...
choking the beauty outward
from the petiole
like greedy verdant fingers...
the palm of my hand
I linger ...a moment
they wave in soft winds
...and I wave back

I remember
old-time Vermonters
like my Father
didn't care for the Sumac trees
thought perhaps a ****
only beautiful to look at
& they are so very lovely

These happy helpers
say hello to Fall
stick around
when everything else
already brown
holding down
needy dry hillsides
from erosion
growing fast and tall
turning into thickets...
for woodland critters
providing borders
unsung heroes beckon
along railroads,
highways ,
pastured Meadows
and Orchard edges
these beauties...
never really go away.

A harvesting moon
giving seasons
  five months
from the time
the leaves fall off
until they grow back
in the spring time
  serrated leafy knives
cut into the sky
a bittersweet
and bashful goodbye
sighing...
to drunken apples
and their dropping dried leafy friends

Surprisingly scrumptious
providing
we are foraging and gleaning
I make a lovely citrusy
sour and fruity tea
like wild cranberry juice...
imaging the Joy
inviting clusters of crimson know

Providing more than food
for winged ones
a sugar depository
loaded with antioxidants &
spreading sunshine
in darker months

Attracting  lovely colorful winter birds
my winsome friends
seed eaters
small singing kindred spirts...
tempted by seeds pods
of the Staghorn Sumac
and remaining wildflowers
bursting like burgundy globes
scarlet and brick reds
mellow yellows
  turning burning
blazing bright oranges
as the seasonal butterfly dreams
unfolding it's summertime schemes
right before my wondering eyes

  European and English
Gardens know
varieties
I can only close my eyes to see
accentuating loose,
textured landscapes
stunning gardens
& fern-like cousins
across the world
A Middle Eastern grind
of this crimson spice
from those crushed dried drupes
while they prepare rice for dinner

I so appreciate
what a gift we have to share
time is running short before
as told to me in times of yore
we brace as one for Winter's Bone
though I am not alone
Vermont it is my earthly home
all I really want to say
thanks for sharing with me  ...
on this perfect picturesque
Vermont September day.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

The first time
I heard them
I swear,
I was to listening
to the most beautiful choir
in four-part harmony,
swaying
or angles wings rubbing,
& perfectly, playing
a common file instrument
angled, such a unique sound
symphonic & splendorous
they are all around
this free concert
an offering of
Mother Nature
chiming at once
uncaged,
& calling on the ladies
in perfect unison  
sounding like church
telling one another
of sunlit hours
say the flowers
fending off evil spirits
allowing me to travel
into the dark again
leaping over obstacles,
alerting me to danger,
still in their silence
  I am protected
by this harbinger of luck
a most powerful portent,
of coming things
they sit silently in the quiet,
like a copper cricket weathervane,
as the poor man's thermometer
spinning tales effortlessly,
in the wind calmly
  watching over us
a shivering in the night
save you, are mine
my Native American totem
or God's Cricket Chorus
foretelling of Sorrow
of coming rains tomorrow
ex-lovers and death
a shrill creaking
stridulating in song

Oh, I fear that day,
your music should go away
please dear uncaged cricket choir
  I truly ....
   hope you'll stay.

Cherie Nolan© 2016

God please help us all,
our future president says,

"I will build a Great Wall,
and nobody builds walls,
better than me,
believe me-
and I'll build them very inexpensively,
I will build a great, great wall,
on our Southern border,
I will make Mexico pay for that wall
-mark my words."
                  - Donald Trump

If you look on the internet
is literally loaded
with stuff that he has said,
documented proof,
unbelievable FACTS
undisputed ones,

Let's examine this statement,
just for a second,

Is HE going to build a Great Wall?
I personally doubt it,
I doubt he's going to be building anything
since he refuses to even pay painters
their due wages,
for work they did on the Trump Towers,
why? Some AD-HOMINEM,
argument no doubt,

And what is going to make this
WALL great?
that's going to make our country great again?
more walls?
Rebuild the ones we tore down for  good reason?
Take us back to the dark ages?
Because we will no longer
accept the tired
the weak and the huddled masses,
because,
he wants us to live in a state of fear?

And nobody builds walls better than me? He really slaughters the King's English,
that aside, me?
Me, me, me, me, me-
personally speaking,
I wish people understood his
Misogynistic, egotistical, narcissistic behavior better,
I have studied behavior,
unfortunately,
and I find so many things he says,
so deeply troubling,
at a cellular level,
like a psychic attack,

He says inexpensively?
Who is he kidding?
What kind of costs are we talkin'?
from whom "The" Donald?
Even the fact that he calls himself-
"The Donald" is pretty telling, no?

Why on our Southern border?
This is the only point that we're,
weak?
If you think race was an issue,
well it really is now,
& those undocumented Mexicans,
here in Vermont,
who live close by,
maybe I should warn them?

As Canadian immigration sites crash,
as people riot in the streets,

No, it's definately personal.
I'm not leaving,
I'm not giving up,
I'm not giving up my right to bear arms
either, as folks here in my
neck of the woods,
brace themselves ,
literally and figuratively,
for Civil unrest
& war even,

Muslims are shocked,
just keep reading,

And he leaves that opening
where he says wall(s),
being plural,
speaking for one,
going all the way around
the United States,
maybe,
obstructionist politics,
Republican EVERYTHING
Senate & Congress,
equals no balance of power,

And it's really scary,
how angry he is,
and how is he exactly going to make,
the Mexicans pay?

By making us all pay.

Sorry, but I can't accept this
it goes against everything I believe in,
that WE stand for,
I am not giving up on that vision,
I may accept the outcome
for now,
but I refuse to be defeated,
this is NOT defeat,

No,
I fight on,
for everyone,
I rail against the tide turning,
we should REFUSE to drown,
to be kept behind a great wall,
as he said he would NOT
be willing to accept defeat either.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

You are
the Object of My Affection
my reason
my direction
The cause
of this infection
I can't break it down
.... in sections
Not a vote
     in an election
My sugary confection
A whirlwind
      of protection
A needle deep
       injection
I can't stand
     this harsh rejection
You are the seed
     of my reflection
We share
       the same connection
Perhaps thought
      just projection
With further
     real inspection
Was found
    in that detection
I have no need
for our perfection
I'm making
    the corrections

To be the Object of Your Affection
I hope it's not too late
that your love it still awaits
me
on the BRIGHT light of the sun.

Love you

Cherie Nolan*© 2016

I am a poet
and you should know it
Though do you?

Reading whispered lines
rehearsed by years and time
by my  Roma traveling mind..
unraveling our secret wishes
and sending hand blown kisses

Metaphors they seep my veins
and a poet who is this unchained

Makes you believe
in stories of their Poetry in Motion
And lovers foolish notions
a Gypsy Magic potion
fills your senses
with bloodstained, tearfilled wrinkled paper

Crumpled in a bin
Your heart ...
along with your heart
.....that I pretend to win

Read my words but don't believe
That I will stay
I'll always leave

you at the end
thank you my Poetic Friend

Your affection I do not feign
within my deep and darkest veins
I bleed this Poetry for you

My Gypsy heart will not be still
It seems to have it's own free will
And I am just a poet...living Magic in my words.

Cherie Nolan © 2016