This thing,
it suits you,
but she swallowed
and wiped away her glow
the blues, they suit you too
There’s a pill for everything
a pill for happiness
a pill for madness
a pill for killing.
I grow tired of getting older
I no longer want to do these things,
make these decisions,
but at least we can drink wine together.
I tell her she looks pretty
in her bare feet
and long dress
I love her still,
but the loss has touched me too.
We seek the darkness
thunderstorm funerals
muddy American flags
and trains off their tracks
I loved the picture of you out in the water
the wind made your hair wild
Nothing lasts…
I caught a blue glass-eyed wink
and a toothless grin
through the slow rising twirl of cigarette smoke and green flesh
I could smell the decay on your brain
It was a rainy day
when they put you in the ground.
Everything is open wounds now
and a bland thanksgiving dinner sucked through a straw
We forgot somehow, how to laugh
Could have been the slow drip of morphine
or the simple way our bones cracked.
Death dragged his heavy feet
as real life licked me
like a sandpaper tongue
Reminded me I am just the nameless meat
between the lion’s teeth
and we all die alone.
In black in white she sat
her legs demurely crossed
with her crooked cat eyed glasses
Tell me about your chaos lady,
the bloody slashes across your face
your dead baby sister
at the bottom of the outhouse.
It’s no wonder
in the end we all go mad.
Would it be ok if I took this gloom
and weaved it into some hideous mask?
I will hide behind it for the rest of my days.
H.M. Nolan 2015
.
I fought hard to get there ~ knowing
time was not on our side.
driving miles of highway
and
sifting through millions of thoughts in my mind.
.
I had to see her,
touch her
and
stroke her soft silver hair ~ feel
the warmth of her breath
and
listen
to the rhythm of her heart.
.
I wanted so much to hold
onto the beauty of her soul ~ wrap
my arms around her tightly ~ ~ ~
never let go……………..
but…
…
She was present for my sunrise,
I was present for her sunset
and
in between it all ~ we lived
as
mother and daughter.
.
.
.
In response to the Poetry Challenge for the week of May 11th…
.
“Why do we sit at this table, my Friend?
in the back of the bar behind the pirate’s curtain,
I believe that we somehow have each been,
on separate paths to the same trouble, again;
these kinds of places mean only one thing,
the scars on our faces are rather telling,
now let’s drink and divulge in our comradery,
but, why is it that your hands are trembling?”“Don’t sip so fast, my dear. My hands only
tremble because of the quieted rage I have grabbing
at my chest. Can you see them, love?
The demons of the bastards and the whores as they
laugh and squeal in time to each others bleating?
I have brought us here, for clear and precise reasons,
and your scars will only serve you well by the time
the reckoning has begun. It is a very beautiful night.”“Aye – you’re right; what a perfected, star-filled sky,
epochs in time, they still shine – a shrine to you and I,
a luminary mapping of the vengeance in your eyes,
a twinkling mirror image of the bastards that must die;
Now sit back and let your chains down, my friend,
indulge in the strength of our unity, once again,
we both know how it goes: it’s us against them,
in an infinite war for the Hell that we find comfort in.”“You speak truth. I have grown weary of these chains
and the weight they add to my steps. My shoulders have
become accustomed to carrying burden of injustice; Hell’s
hand satchels; filled with the names of the hunted horsemen
who failed to do what we must do. But – I share this load with you;
my kin both in the infected shadows, and in the guileful light.
Intoxication it is, my friend, both of the mind and of the body.
Tonight we watch the stars unfold, and light the way for morning.”
Remembering you, is like placing my lips
on a heavy bottomed whiskey glass, filled
with tiny sharp shards of a broken mirror
and tilting it into my mouth. Slicing my tongue,
the same tongue that licked the blood from your lips
when you fell into my glass desk.
Tearing at my throat, with a familiar burn,
that comes only from crying so hard that the
salted grief becomes more acidic with
each clear recollection of
just how
fucked up
you
are.
The mirror catches the light, like you did,
but it makes me keel over; internal bleeding
and a searing pain, also familiar. Your calling card.
You found me when I was just a young girl,
and you added an unforgettable misery
to my world.
Your creation was my slow deterioration.
Your masterpiece was the physical
damage that would grab at me with it’s clammy hands
still, fifteen years later.
View original post 123 more words
Like a bus
that couldn’t stop,
its driver, legs locked-
straight, baring down-
all the weight,
the failing of brakes;
beneath his feet,
where the tires
touch street
screeching, scraping
metal shavings
but can’t quite stop
in time not to
run right over me.
The Sledgehammer swings,
it’s wielder, well-meaning-
momentous force-
impact to the chest
sets into course,
broken by the best
of darkness creeping
in through
my own big mouth.
:
if your purpose in life is to destroy me,
then
go
right
on
ahead….
I am already dead.
:
:
Pick me up in stages,
let my knuckles drag,
and my head drop and loll,
mouth open, struggling to breathe.
Let my eyes roll back,
and wait for my pulse to become
so feint..
that the fingers pressed
to my neck would have to be so still
just to feel any signs of life.
Hide and seek with timing,
and the only evidence lies
in how fast the blood dries up
and clots.
And then ask me.
Do you want to live?
I am a collection of days,
the pendant trophy that hangs
around your neck.
I am the melted down knight chess piece,
that you reshaped to be a pawn,
to carry in your pocket for good luck.
I am the empty space, that fills your mind
right before you blow out that candle,
and remember what you did, before closing your eyes.
I am the memory, that sticks to your clothes
and is etched into the lines in your hands,
that no longer serve you as they used to.
I am the girl that is now a woman,
and you are the old man that is now a shell
of the demon you used to be.
I will be there, the day you die, surrounded
by tubes and drips. I will be the last face you see,
and I will take that trophy back.
Because I lived.
And you, you…
View original post 74 more words
Put your words away,
The sharp edged sword that
you insist on wielding
unashamedly and
with a grace and elegance,
plated with hostility;
a rage, that you sweat from
every pore.
Your skill at skinning
the defenseless has not gone unnoticed,
and if it is praise you want,
I will kneel at your feet,
and look up at you with the
adoration that you deserve.
I will. I promise.
But you have to put down the sword.
You have to tame your words.
And when I bury my own
knife deep into your gut,
you can kneel in front of me,
and your eyes can meet mine
and you can ask my why.
I will tell you, I promise.
I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.
All of that walking on
glass,
for
nothing.
Beasts of Articulation 