Dividend.

Here’s a thought from me to you,

nothing equally divides by two,

the perception of equality,

gets crossed up with duplicity,

dishonesty, epiphanies,

the tattered wings of chivalry,

a vicious cycle gets pursued,

and chased down like a dog in heat;

Once again I’m on the move,

the disappointment is nothing new,

please don’t take it personally,

it’s not like you meant much to me,

complacency, mentalities,

the monarch of totality,

without a thing to prove,

the crumbled teeth of dishonesty,

In the mouth of a comical stooge.

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Swallow

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.

the last of days

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

Suffer.

She will,
only become,
aware of,
the severity,
in the things,
that she,
has insistently,
gone and done,
when she admits,
to the obvious shifts,
in the gazes of,
the Almighty Ones;
she will,
finally be outdone,
deep inside of,
the smoking barrel,
of a black market gun,
will she submit,
to the things,
that she’s let,
grow into beasts?
Or will,
the darkness,
finally,
swallow her,
in totality,
just to make,
itself regurgitate,
her existence,
repeatedly;
the day will come,
undoubtedly,
a day that makes,
today seem sweet,
like times of joy,
full of ease,
gobble them,
swallow them,
get down,
on your knees,
a day will come,
that defines suffering.

Nod if you Understand

Mocking Bird Down

Listless,
Restless,
Benign and numb.
Heavy hearted.
Detached.
Unlatched.
Falling.
Resisting.
Insisting,
on enlisting
every emotion
already in motion,
to paint pictures.
Join the dots
On what I have lost.
Or, what I gave up.
Say something.
Moan.
Groan, anything
to show me
that this
isnt
permanent.

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~Turbulent~

That Sinking Feeling by rosiehardy on Flickr

Hiding from life
Endless strife
Drowning under the waves
No need to be brave
Soul searching
Seeking the light
Suffocating darkness
Heart staining blight
Cleansing…all that remains
To rid me of residual blame
My spirit refuses, still fighting me
Thus remaining as turbulent as the sea

©Paris Poems 2015

photo: That Sinking Feeling by rosiehardy on Flickr

Plaster Hand.

I have this plaster hand…
Likened to yours;
Hanging above the kitchen door…
The one we made so long ago…
On Christmas Eve Day, just bored…
I have a poem written…
By your tiny hand;
As tiny as the one that hangs…
Above the kitchen door frame…
It says “Mommy I Love You”…
And the Gods help me…
If when I pass it by, I don’t hear the words…
In a sigh, a whispering…
I keep a tiny, silver jewelry box…
The one you saved up for;
Inscribed across the dusty top …
Is chiseled in, beautifully:
“I Love You Mommy”…
And “Mommy” dies a little more…
I have all these haunting memories…
Of having future plans;
Fulfilling hopes and dreams…
Just you and I surviving…
Getting back up to stand…
I saved these Christmas things…
Yours and mine;
Stored away like a box to mourn…
Every year, when it’s opened again…
And looks the same…
As the years before…
I held on to your special ornaments…
All of them;
Though I never hang them high…
I never get a tree anymore…
I see no reason why…
But I keep these things…
To remind myself…
Of the twinkle lost to my eye…
I held on to so many things…
Of yours;
Desperately trying…
To keep you somehow, near…
Closer at least…
Than wherever you are…
I have this little butterfly wing…
You brought home;
You flew it behind you like a kite…
A colorful ghost that chased you…
Right out of second grade…
I find these notes you wrote…
To me; To Mommy;
They read your apologies…
For spilling toothpaste on the rug…
And I want to come find you wherever you are…
And tell you that rug never mattered to me.

Vomitting Warmth.

I don’t know,
but every time
that I think
things are fine,
a tiny fracture
a hair-line
in the aftermath
left behind…

I don’t speak,
much anymore
because it hurts
same as before,
hammering home
chiseled score
through the bone
tap into the core…

I don’t see,
so well these days
with the sunshine
burning my face,
sizzling holes,
saving grace
vomiting warmth
all over the place…

I don’t care if the world,
burns down out there
travel be the flames
easily on the air,
burning, abroad
licking everywhere…

Shivers and splinters
cross-hairs and blood,
iron and cobblestone
nails, screws and wood,
I fill up my bag just like
you taught me I should
then I wait like a statue
in the place you once stood…

tears mixed with raindrops
taste an awful lot like blood.