"stratospheric" poems
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
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 2:39 PM UTC
Can I write you a love song
I’ll sing it softy in your ear all night long
Blow gently without words on my saxophone
Diamond and Pearls behind the throne
A beautiful ensemble meant for only you
As I give credence too
Take my hand
Cross this journey with me as I sing about faraway lands
Past Egypt pyramids shifting Morocco sands
Lay back my love, allow your mind to silently drift
Feel the enchantment of my piano keys as it spiritual uplifts
I’ll sing love songs of old
A cappella chorus echoed from deep within my enlighten soul
I’ll sing to you about the blues, society’s injustice, and elements of darken storms
Keep your heart warm, while playing my French Horn
Enrapture foretold from this dedicated symphonic poem
A music sheet of percussion, woodwind, brass, keyboard, and strings
Harmony carrying the mind away as the joy of coming spring
I’ll hum your favorite beats, can you feel the crescendo now
Fiddle from the heart by the sweat of one’s brow
Submerge your cerebral cortex, lose yourself in the sultry tunes
Harp sounds bathe of light kissed from the illuminating moon
Destiny overcasts in the lyrics
Fate floating stratospheric
Karma of others handled in the eyes of satiric
Opera, I give you so grand in its grace
French Creole dialect murmured among silk and lace
Sounds of my flute resonant to face
Allowing my Cello sounds to thoroughly embrace
Can I write you a love song
Body and soul serenading soprano to keep you standing strong
My guitar stringing your philosophies along
An equal equation, one plus one equals two
Emotions, feelings, sentiments, its tenor expressed only for you
No compass to my heart, my seasonal love found in hidden melodies
Trombone guiding back and forth breathless as it please
Orchestra sounds
Ascending minds, bodies, souls, pass the opening clouds, divine and profound
The last note sung by me as we gradually come down
Beautiful music embraced, needs never to make a sound
Shh, close your eyes
Meditate on the music for a little while
Hush sweet baby don’t say a word
My heart softly tweets to a mockingbird
If that mockingbird don’t sing
Can I write you a love song created only for your being
As minds are sightseeing
Hearts fleeing
Timpani drums guaranteeing
Entwined of our divine wellbeing
Emotions freeing
Crooning of bodies heard as the day is long
Can I write you a love song
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
a polar vortex
swirls eastward
on Siberian Tiger paws
bounding over
Appalachian Highlands
gobbling geography
gelling Great Lakes
spawning Erie blizzards
sculpting Wabash ice floes
clogging commerce all
along the Ohio River Valley
this voracious
juggernaut’s wide maw
bears icicle teeth
laughing as it swallows
Pittsburgh, Little Philly,
and a Big Apple, before
gorging itself on
generous portions
ladled into
simmering crocks
of steaming
Boston Baked Beans
growling
blue arctic
air blasts roar
bursts pipes
savages the heat
of blasting furnaces,
bubbling boilers, hot
belly stoves frantically
drinking oil, flaming gas
burning wood and
burping soot
the blistering
jet stream claws
screech a slashing
stratospheric hum
as Frigidaire blasts
swallows breath
brittles limbs
chafes cheeks
gnaws earlobes
crystallizes tears
nibbles nostrils
cubes snot
numbs toes
bites digits
diving sub zero
gradient subdues
batteries to
deaden states
delays buses
derails trains
cuts power
constricts veins
preys on
vagabonds
and animals
get the homeless
off the street!
bring the animals in
check on your
elderly neighbors
don’t get caught outside
and shut the **** door!
do you own stock
in the Public Service?
beware the polar vortex
and next months heating bill
Sonny Boy Williamson
& Otis Spann
Nine Below Zero
Oakland
1/6/14
jbm
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 2:43 PM UTC
the world is adorned with a million windows
the bleakest night has a thousand eyes
daylight shines into the globes darkest corners
truth will ultimately expose all lies
NASA’s satellites circle
Tropic of Cancer latitudes
cameras pinpoint the disease
metastasizing in the body of Homs
from stratospheric limits
sensitive lenses read the names
magic markers have scrawled
onto white sheets covering the dead
YouTube gets Oscar consideration
for grisly cinematography
a real-time visceral docudrama
of panting fascists gleefully tramping
through the desecrated streets
coolly administering a coup de gras
to a city on its knees, pleading release
from an **** of incessant bloodletting
twitter records desperate tweets
the batting wings of endangered flocks
furiously thumbing into the blogosphere
calls for UN intervention that falls on blind eyes
BBC reportage,
the global gold standard
for journalistic excellence
scoops the stories
of London based FSA partisans
awaiting repatriation to scatter
Bashar’s Kodachrome killers
Has the All Seeing Eye
who has graced us with sight
laughingly curse us with vision?
Does the
One Caring Eye of the Universe
bless us with perception
to haunt us with images?
Has
The One Thats Sees Everything
blinked closed the eye of compassion?
Has the horror of Homs
become too much even for
The Universal Eye of Love?
the opened eyes
of a dead child
reflects our
cold winter
of indifference
demoralizing
dehumanizing
a watching world
Music Selection
Grateful Dead Eyes of the World
Oakland
3/2/12
jbm
Mar 2, 2012
Mar 2, 2012 at 12:04 PM UTC
On a clear day, I envy upon sight of cumulus clouds. Billowing, Drifting, Shifting. Floating to and fro vast landscapes in its glorious white state. A fluff of wondrous properties, perched effortlessly above in Stratospheric realm. I yearn to uproot with thee. To unshackle me from the iron ball and chain on my every limb. To float me above from this maze of a land. To lift me from my dull perspective that exists only in left and right, forward and back. My Sherpa, I beg thee to guide me around jagged alpine rocks, through oceanic stretches, above the skyscrapers in my hometown, towards unseen horizons and magnificent views, so that I may per chance witness the meaning of life. In return, I offer my soul as a gift: to form with the essence of thee. Though I know, my naive and loveless character would only taint your color with amorphous grey. Perhaps one day, I can billow, drift, and shift with thee.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 9:45 PM UTC
*Drive a Porsche Nine- Eleven,
Wear the Gucci Horse-bit gold ?
Take you back to Seventh Heaven ?
Style locked in Gimlet mould.
Oyster Bay’s crisp apple bite
Quaffed in slender crystal flute,
Cartier peeps from the cuff
Of silken shirt in peerless suit.
Bircher bowls of oaten crepes
At Harbour-side in golden dusk,
A prelude to a moonlit cruise
With chiffoned girl in **** musk.
Pink mansion perched at high cliff edge
Standing over Half Moon Bay
Where poker’s stratospheric stakes
Depicts that only Players play.
Cash cascades with no restraint
For gleaming ninety carat stone,
Adorning ladies on your arm
Who just, will not leave you alone.
You wear your Porsche Nine- Eleven,
Drive your Gucci Horse-bit gold,
Wrap yourself in Seventh Heaven....
Consumated Gimlet hold.*
M.
Sky Tower Casino
Auckland
1 November 2014
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC
Back on earth hand in hand,
Gravity holds our celestial souls
As our spirits freely flow...
Above stratospheric heights
In streams of northern lights
We drift into the ionic night...
Swirling lunar dismay
As astral lovers play
Through waves of gamma rays
Vertical horizons give way
To a star cluster phase
As our spirits make haste
Beyond the milky space
Unexplored galaxies exposed
The nature of black holes
Worm holes throughout the cosmos
Supernovas as they explode
Still our matterless spirits flow...
Nebulas illuminate our dreams
Music of the hemispheres sing
A gift from the multi-verse
Inner stellar angels bring
A world made for kings and queens...
Back on earth, side by side
We stare into the midnight sky...
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 9:36 AM UTC
Don't waste your time
Trying to give this
Feeling a definition
Because it can't communicate
What is not directly
Expressed with words
Don't cry
Be happy
Be imaginary
Polar stratospheric clouds
The taste of cotton candy
Delicate mesmeric beauty
A gorgeous wallow in
One way lore
This sense of purpose
Feels false to me
And I see how the land lies
There was no harvest time
I'll close my eyes
And sing to myself a winter song
I've always known the
Difference between an acquaintance
And a true friend
Moments by moments
Let's watch the flowers bloom
Let's watch the flowers die
You've watched the ravens
You've watched the crows
But don't forget your way back
The weather has changed it's mind
Or maybe it has deceived us all
There was no gain for
Some personal advantage
To believe something
That wasn't true
A hoax of an mistaken impression
The weather has changed it's mind
A beautiful smile amongst a shadow
The mourning cloaks
Are often the first
To arrive and the
Last to leave of
The false spring
The memories of scent
Are not so easily forgotten
Sometimes it was cruel
To be so kind
Tough and unyielding
Yet compassionate
Such were the
Men of yesteryear
Yet, everything was false
The medicine, elections, food ,
The media...
We were living in
A fabricated fairy tale
An illusion of life
It was the cause
of our demise
And the dreams that
We would claim
Could never be
Ours to obtain
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 10:21 PM UTC
in their formative years
these stars burnt bright
movie theatres took them
on a stratospheric flight
they became famous
for being kids of talented nerve
the rolling camera's
showing their dynamic verve
yet the tinsel clad images
weren't portraying the true self
child actors were a studio's
road to greedy pelf
when reaching the teenage
period of their existence
drugs and alcohol plagued them
with much persistence
something was absent
as they grew to adulthood
little or no care given by
pushy parents in their childhood
tiny stars that once twinkled
did fall hard on the ground
their careers in dream flicks
bought them all unbound
Hollywood's picture factory
wasn't substantive in its part
which left many juveniles
to feel so aggrieved of heart
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 12:59 AM UTC
Seventeen.. it all feels so different yet the same...
I remember all the friends and fires that came
And the ones that left, mistakes I made
I recant them here under stratospheric shade
Under dark of night and heavy rain
Restating thoughts of bliss and pain
I remember blood rains and dragon tails
Wolves, foxes, a tiger or two, my imagination never fails
Together with my brother I've carried it all
Through brainstorms and stories tall.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 7:44 PM UTC
O Father of intricate dimension, "grant me a sister I prayed,"
"All in due time young one, all in due time." He said.
But the years rolled on & the horizon
stretched his bones
in his stratospheric bed,
Still my hunger for a younger
affection was never quite fed.
"Father, Father!" One day I called out, "have You forgotten my request?"
"Son, I am appalled & insulted that you'd think I'd think of your request any less."
"Forgive me Father, it just seems to be taking so long."
"Who combs the hair of the oceans & places a glimpse of Heaven in every bird's song?"
So I waited.
All the while, the sun hang up his coat at the close of every day
& the moon bowed her head, old, withering, gray.
Soon Time's old artistic hand began to erase my memories,
& with them went my unanswered request,
It was blown from my mind, white-washed from my soul,
but there is One who never forgets.
The One who tucks the sun in His shirt pocket;
One who the rich winds pay respect.
I will not tell you how my sister came to be
for that is a tale for another time,
I will, however, tell you she stands here besides me
penning these very lines,
A personified proof of love
from One not conducted by Time's familiar chime,
His answer to me from above,
My Valentine.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
it's not a prison that
keeps me segregated from the
general population to
protect their neurotypical minds
that are terrified by
a blood lust directed toward the self
or perhaps that urge to consume
and consume
all just foreplay for the
grand finale where i'm
bent over the toilet and riding
that stratospheric high
catapulting me out of this world
and into the forest of stars
a pinprick in the infinite black of
space
but do not misunderstand
it is not some sort of jailbreak
a streaking figure in the
black and white stripes of shame
clinging to my exiled body
it is more the futile pulling
i am not stuck in the trap
i am the trap
and i lock down on my
vices and the
self destruction that sings
the most sickly sweet songs
that somehow convince me
that if i am pulled even tighter
i might somehow break the mould
and no longer lash myself to
those actions and thoughts
that terrify
and destroy
i worry i am the strip
of glue that hangs in the kitchen
to catch the fruit flies that
come to visit in the summer and
pester me until
they land their feet on my
sticky
sickly
trap
they can't escape
and so they die
is that what i do to them?
is that what i do to you?
do you become paralyzed
by some sort of
noxious agent or
a viscous bog that
cements you here
and forces you to watch
eyelids held open
as i dance with the demons that
you assure yourself
you will be able to tame
you will be able to banish
but they're the one's who've been there
decades of companionship
and torture
Stockholm syndrome that
ties me to them
through some sort of
vital connection which i can't escape
clipping the umbilical cord
and leaving me bleeding on the ground
aching for that part of me
that is gone
so i pull myself
i stretch myself so thin
and the harder that
your fingers fight to escape my trap
the harder i clamp down
because i want you to go away
to prevent the inevitable pain
and yet i pull you tighter
i lock your fingers into me
my nails digging into your back
as if somehow i can affix myself
to you.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 1:48 PM UTC
Converging
Lifted by lust
stratospheric brilliance unfurls
Merging
Lost is sensation
Two become one as planets collide
Blending
limitless magnificence
pleasure reigns in the warmth without shadow
Diverging
Passion wanes, descent begun
gaining momentum
Separating
Unity is crumbling
bodies separate, heat is lost
Parting
Loss of sensation
greedily hands reach out into darkness
Nothing
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 5:58 PM UTC
I take a marble path to where we met
Underneath the ebony pressure and blowing mini lives
And think of every single thing
That ever chanced to grace your lips
And I walk and I walk and we walk to the bench
Where we aimed at those deaths
How they laughed at our kiss
Trilled down the fragrant spools
Of blurb stained cotton
You and me forever being
Good at bad ideas
Dark stories flying through the pane
Teasing me and never to be seen again
So take take take me to where we met
And where a single moment was greater than this
And even brighter than this
Swirled veins of redundant horrific prayers
Get me out of myself
to infinite
Yes darker than the 'byss
Please believe me
I never wanted this
And never could again
And here I am ready to jump
Into the magnificent song of yours
The gates creak for want of you.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
A ride today in Des Moines
that appraise law and counteract
any that country may enact
where Wichita lineman forthwith
and mackinaw shall really embellish
furthermore with Granny Smith
awhile down stream on a riverboat
that foregoing is never behind
where a river is always wide
and bourgeois with a paddle wheel stride
why his atropine smile
reach the delta with such desire
and let him take the home route
in an abode of parish shanty
where river dance makes day long
a simple beast, a man
with chinchilla wrap round his neck
that sweep her off flourishing deck
these stratospheric ideals now
for sovereign witness entail campaign.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 6:52 AM UTC
My dream takes me on a journey- big dream, big sky,
sea all around. Silent as a galaxy.
Flying is easy- I have simply to think it.
I rise weightless into a wilderness of imagined blue,
hovering over the wrinkled beach of my bed,
my mind a white butterfly,
And there I find you, dizzy with excessive light,
floundering at the sky's edge, head in the clouds
looking for silver.
Drawing me close, I fall into the net of your arms,
that safe place you've always made for me,
your hands tightly clasped behind my back.
We feed from each others breath,
aware of the sudden gravity between us.
But you are not as I remember.
Your face smoothed of all detectable emotion,
your eyes, not as they were, but exquisite diamonds
piercing through wads of cotton cloud,
until you become part of them-
a neat trick!
Shuddering, wounded,
lightly I descend into weeping,
I spread the sails of my arms,
tacking on a downward draught
until I find my feet anchored,
eased into familiar sheets.
A new light dawns on me,
wipes dry the lids of my eyes.
The clock reads four,
acid, luminous,
and there you are, in the kitchen,
slurping coffee from a chipped cup,
your free hand rattling the slats of the window blind.
I reach out for you, but your image dissolves
like paper in rain.
Aware of the mind's deception,
I remain wreathed in sleep,
and though this is still a dream,
you will always be a part of it.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2014
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
flashbacks to pjs and long drives
bleached blonde hair and big blue eyes
sad little sunsets hidden behind crumbling houses
made the stratospheric masterpieces that we stumbled across
as we grew up and traveled farther
all the more stunning
we never talked about them though
just trusting that the other treasured them as much as you did
i never doubted that those sunsets were still hidden
in the caverns of your big, odd, heart
now its not just your heart thats big
look at you, so tall in the crowd
walking... somewhere, anywhere, who knows
certainly not you :)
your head high, eyes to the sky
or wherever, anywhere but down
that was never you, you never looked down
except at me, when i would lay on the floor of your room
and giggle when you'd snort
and your goofy laugh
no wonder im out of sorts
i loved that floor
it was always there for me to sit on while you sunk into your bed
i just miss your eyes on me, no thoughts behind them
it was just our moment to sit in the sibling-ness of it all
now we run but i miss when we crawled
we'd stress about the crazy week coming up
but i could never cry in your room
except for that one time
but that wasnt your real room, just your dorm
the dorm with the door
the closed one
that i just stood and stared at for a little bit
like it had slammed on me
and my throat closed
and i choked for a second because i thought
"i hope theres a window in there"
"so he can see the sunsets...
... and maybe remember me"
just maybe
i cried because i wasnt sure
i doubted that you would remember me
that you would remember those sunsets
i doubted they were still shining in you
i want to say that mine are still shining bright
but you dont ever call
and when i call youre only half there
and i understand that where you are is so much better
than where i am
but i still want you here
on your floor
your old floor
where i giggle
but theres no laugh
where theres a sun
but no beautiful light
not anymore
Oct 21, 2018
Oct 21, 2018 at 11:36 PM UTC
*Fecund , Sun drenched coppice , Marsh Hawk pursuing eyes , mid-afternoon iridescent Dragonflies , half turn of the ever evolving earthly -panel , a fragile , cobalt soap bubble teetering from parasitic occupation
Felled timberland bridges , Warbler performers , days of pungent Pine -and Water Oak umbrellas
Persuasive vapors commanding the senses from every direction , spun in -the pastureland , seeking the fall of the stratospheric canopy , poetic tales -of the inverted world*
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 3:54 PM UTC
upheld
facing heaven
facing the music
angel choirs are nothing like the devil
down in Georgia
far above the level of
love
into a stratospheric stratification of
hope
and seven levels of adrenaline beyond
dope
dopamine dreams drip
slow
soothing control
like a lighted window in the
snow
glimmering like gold
but so far gone
the meaning is
lost
and I wander
through my own house
wondering why this isn't home
wishing to the stars to go
away into the unknown
but I'm snatched back
and I switch back to passing
myself in the mirror
and screaming ****** Mary
because I'm home
but gentle hands
know
how to love while being played like a fiddle
how to sweetly play it off as
close enough to god to
know
yet I am home
and the stars align so I do find
refuge in the music
and make a home in
dreams made doped
coaxed by my own
two hands
too late to come down
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 1:42 PM UTC
No voice is quite
like that voice...
pure and unfettered
every note polished
perfect
every lyric deeply felt
delineated
A voice that lifts
caresses
embraces
Soaring with power
stratospheric
in its reach
yet at times
surprisingly soft
yielding
delicate
A priest sent her
a letter stating he
felt the presence of
God every time he
heard her sing
An incomparable artist
she fills our universe
with glorious sounds
and infinite rapture
She is God's greatest gift
to music and the world...
her name is Barbra
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
the poem started with the word
the
it wasn't a good
the;
it didn't sit on the page right
like a head with a bad perm
another poem started with the word
the
the the
had so much integrity;
it floated on the page like a sun drenched cathedral
i can only surmise the magic of a poem has in it the ineffable soul
of the writer
are the good writers nonchalant
talent dripping
or are they secretly *******
their the's
******* on
the the's
making them gleam
glowing hard
polishing them with a spit shine
so it sits on the page
with a sense of superiority
some poems are nothing but arm pit stains
no matter how good they are
black listed from love
others
stratospheric
sky-blue uniforms
with bright yellow kerchief's
you cant take your eyes from
they are
the
crowning glory
the
the
in the
the
God of the
the's
peaked like a maraschino
with pastel and golden sprinkles
on a ball
of vanilla
a the
like a high end Mercedes
with the scent of lavender
and the magnitude of the
Botafumeiro
a
the
to **** for
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 1:43 PM UTC
that doesn't sound right
life emerging from inanimate matter
you better watch it
.... its positively stratospheric
its the new normal
hipstirrr hunter has no hugs
showing off his gun
every other day
Quite sadly, this information is not surprising
but we want to say goodbye
we want them to rest
anguish, sadness depress ed
its the state of the thing
there's really no need
he's just going to **** kittens when he finds out anyway
Someone belongs here
Forget about it
If we get away with this, it'll be a miracle.
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 11:54 AM UTC
It was the anthem of an era – a short-lived era,
and I think only those of us who lived there
could have detected it at the time.
**** you, I'm punk."
There is constant reinvention, recreation, but
I am sure it will never be the effortless –ism it once was.
We are accessible now, but we were visible then.
We were the spectrum, we were the speed,
an onslaught of red Sunfires and green T-Birds.
There were nights I could swear (to whatever God was to me then)
that I had seen every last one of them trickle in or out,
sometimes all at once.
There were days I was a constant, an observer,
terrified of missing whatever "it" wound up being.
Most of the time, I was seemingly absent – maybe soulless, even.
With coaxing, I would be brought back from stratospheric distances
to a camaraderie that seems sacred now.
None of us thought it so back then.
The grip we thought we needed always seemed to elude us.
What we did have was vital to us all,
though we couldn't admit such vulnerability –
our eyes bugging out and our hearts caving in.
And now, knowing the future is destined to be wavy and unknown
like the tracers leaving callous brushstrokes behind everything they see,
I realize how the brick sidewalk was a sight for sore eyes if I ever stood staring at one,
motionless.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 11:12 PM UTC
It is written, it is said, that locked inside every tiny head, is intrigue wonder and awe
but we haven't quite managed to evolve from off the forests floor
We have challenged and defeated, some ideas so narrow and conceited,
but still we forage, we fight, we squander, sitting in huddled packs sipping intoxication as we poignantly ponder
With immeasurable intellect we have managed to cosmologically dissect, quarks and strange sparks, gravity in black holes at an event horizon,
in the minefield that is the humans and their psychological gymnastics display we haven't really turned out anything much surprising,
our form , our structure, our natural physicality's we are most definitely compromising
As tantalising as it may feel to believe that from the caves and carnivorous ways we have moved , leapt boundless bounds into what would appear to be stratospheric realms of discovery, I personally feel no celebrations passing my gloomy way as I still see a world of horror, **** , ****** , torture, and abuse, you will see me smile when I hear no more of anguish, see no sights to turn my stomach, and to never again speak of just how disgusting the taste of modern mayhem has become
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 3:23 PM UTC