Raven’s Wing Poetry

This poem was written for Read Write Word Prompt #101: P-P-P-Poetry. This is a Wordle prompt in which all of the words begin with the letter P. I used some of the words and added a few of my own in this poem, which is inspired by William Blake (the quote in the poem is from his work “Proverbs of Hell”), Langston Hughes (“I, Too, Sing America”), and one of my own poems that I wrote earlier this year. Enjoy!

-Nicole
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I, too, say Amen.

I am having an early Sunday morning vision
of prophecy:
our bodies slapping together,
sweat running in rivers and casting shattered tributaries
off of our skins. We are somewhere
sequestered, and yet more sacred than the backseat
of my car. We sing Hallelujahs, composed in the key of carnal –
a polyglot of grunt, hiss, and shuddering breath
against a harmony of moan,
countermelodies of our whispered directions, and a
climax of screams in fortissimo. We sound
antiphons to each other, utterances in counterpoint
as we co-create again and again. This
is worship – and I, too, say
Amen.
Continue reading ‘I, Too, Say Amen’

This poem was written for Read Write Poem Prompt #99: Setting the Scene. I wrote this in the persona of a young man growing up in the late 1950’s/early 1960’s. I tried my best to follow the prompt, so I’d like some comments no only on the quality of the work, but how well it followed the idea of conveying a scene without telling a story. And oh yeah — enjoy.

-Nicole

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Men are admitted into Heaven not because
they have curbed & govern’d their Passions or
have No Passions, but because they have
Cultivated their Understandings.
- William Blake

I want you to picture something. A Wednesday afternoon in September,
1960. In your mind, it would be colored
in black and white and looking like
a desolate, inside-out Leave It To Beaver special. You always seem
to paint gray there when you think of this. But I remember it
in color. How the Library of Congress stands over me
in a cream and stone, column and stair missive
from our country’s modern ancients, erupting from the beige sidewalks
and carpet grass below. How I stare upward, wondering
if the frozen sky of blue noon can be cut by
the sharp right-angle shoulders of this roof.
Continue reading ‘Truancy’

Fair Fireworks by Aurburnne Wyork

This poem was written for two reasons: 1) it’s (I think) #2 in the series some persona poems that I am working on, and 2) for Read Write Poem Prompt #98: Whee!. The persona is actually one my my alter egos, Nick Raven. Without further explanation, I’ll give you the poem below. Enjoy.

-Nicole
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They think I’m part of the carnival acts. I slip
in and out of shadows, tent pole magic in thin, lanky lines of sable
and squares of canvas casting liquid rhombi of black
upon the ground. All of this, created
by sallow, maudlin, and rainbow lights. The skin
of this exuberant monstrosity is littered with them, and it stinks
of popcorn, cakes made of tangled messes of fried squiggle, and syrup
recast into clouds of pale color and dancing
on the ends of sticks.
Continue reading ‘Carnival’

This poem was also written for two prompts: Read Write Prompt #96: Spam. Spam. Spam. and for the latest mini-challenge from Read Write Poem, which was to write seven poems about the body in the context of October. This, I think, is kind of a more expansive work deconstructing my body in eight parts — hence the title. And a couple of the words from the Wordle prompt ended up in this poem. So, enjoy.

P.S. If you want to read everything else I wrote for the mini-challenge, click here.

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I.

Icicles, cracking
when the wind grows cold: battered bone, the rounded ends of
tibia, fibula, and femur. The dented faces of moons
collide with each other behind shifting knee caps
as I walk. I didn’t know knees
could protest so loudly. The asteroids that hit me
beneath skin were Lyme bacteria – I never saw
them coming. Maybe when I am sunk into the sleep of Earth, they’ll
dig up me up in fossil and wonder if
my femur bone was ever used for batting practice.
Continue reading ‘Read Write Body Poem #7: Deconstruct’

This poem was written for two prompts: Read Write Prompt #96: Spam. Spam. Spam. and for the latest mini-challenge from Read Write Poem, which was to write seven poems about the body in the context of October. I was trying my damnedest not to write another diabetes poem, but this one insisted on being born, so I let it go, writing on the theme of “blood” for my sixth poem. Enjoy.

P.S. If you want to read everything else I wrote for the mini-challenge, click here.

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My blood, it tells on me. Feed the meter, and I can keep parking here
on Earth so long as I
do not keep dumping sugar into my river. I wonder if
by 2020, they will figure out a way to tell
what poisons me, to sketch out the
reprobate carbohydrate faces of my miscreants
on wanted posters in full living digital color
in the Cyclops eye of my glucometer display. Then I might see
some specifics. Maybe a
cosmoramic display of the jelly donuts,
the orders of crème brulée, the chocolate mud pies, or the
giant plates of linguini that passed into my body
without being stopped at the doors
of my lips.
Continue reading ‘Read Write Body Poem #6: Blood’

I’ve begun writing a body of work (no pun intended) for the Read Write Poem Challenge for the month of October — write 7 poems in about the body in the context of October. Read more about it here. And read my poems here.

Stumble It!

This poem was written for the latest mini-challenge from Read Write Poem — write seven poems about the body in the context of October. A conversation that happened while I was shopping for my wedding gown a couple of weekends ago prompted this poem. Enjoy.

P.S. If you want to read everything else I wrote for the mini-challenge, click here.

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I am not blessed with curves that might
invite skiers to slalom off my waist and then
fly through the air as
skis disconnect from ground and then
sail off the curves of my hips. Do not let
the dark skin fool you – I have no junk in my trunk
to speak of. No, I am Continue reading ‘Read Write Body Poem #5: Curves’

This poem was written for the latest mini-challenge from Read Write Poem — write seven poems about the body in the context of October. I didn’t pick a specific body part this time — I went more with the general idea of “disappearing”. Enjoy.

P.S. If you want to read everything else I wrote for the mini-challenge, click here.
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I can fold myself up so small. Bend my kneels, curl my back
until it cracks. Assume a flattened mantis position,
elbows swallowing themselves, wrists closing in on skin
like a pair of taciturn books. I could crush – no, compact myself
until my chicken bones break in the darkness. Knees become useless,
rotating broken legs in every direction. Arms flop, speaking limp doll dialects
until they die of gangrene. Eyes close, pull down the shades
to the light. A line in the silent black, one dimensional,
no longer speaking. The oldest trick in the book, Houdini’s envy – except
I don’t come back to tell you
that I’ve broken the void.

Written 10/11/09
©2009 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.

Stumble It!

This poem was written for the latest mini-challenge from Read Write Poem — write seven poems about the body in the context of October. I chose “feet” for the theme of my third poem. Enjoy.

P.S. If you want to read everything else I wrote for the mini-challenge, click here.

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My feet are long, fallow roads of wandering, the color of Earth
on a desert day. Thin piano wires of bone
impress their songs under my drum head skin, and hills of knuckle
rise up to stretch it across their angled and arced backs. You could take
my feet for a ride, rival the curves and turns
of a rollercoaster. These long fellows are gifts
from my father.

I’ve always tried to find shoes worthy
of their impossible lengths, grand vessels of
queenly leather of metallic shine and night sky sparkle to
encompass my royal kinks, slopes, and cracking joints. I want
open sky to house the little toes on the end of each foot
that almost curl in fetal silence into themselves, afraid
to release their faces upwards
like their other brothers and sisters. But few and far between
is the workmanship that can cradle my feet in its arms
and wear beauty on its face at the same time. Instead, Noah constructs
a million ugly arks in fake black leather just to hold them, to
interlope between my skin and the ground. I think going barefoot
is underrated — but that’s impossible
in the half-chilled depths of Ohio’s October.

If I ever find worthy vehicles of my feet that can wear
feathers, the precious gemstone children of Earth, or even
fake ruby mirrored elegance as their clothes, then I would gladly
step in and walk. But I wonder
if the vainglory of such peacockery would warrant
the heavens to drop a house
upon my head.

Written 10/9/09
© 2009 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.

Stumble It!

This poem was written for the latest mini-challenge from Read Write Poem — write seven poems about the body in the context of October. I chose “hair” for the theme of my second poem. Enjoy.

P.S. If you want to read everything else I wrote for the mini-challenge, click here.

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My hair betrays me. In the summer, it curls endlessly
on itself, becomes a nest of snakes hallucinating
and searching for prey first in one direction, and then
the other. As the Kundalini of mercury rises
up the thermometer’s thin glass spine, my hair
also rises – and once that quicksilver line
busts the bottom of ninety degrees and explodes out of the neck
in arced silver plumes, the spines of my curls then kink Continue reading ‘Read Write Body Poem #2: Hair’

I attempted to mash up two of my poems for Read Write Poem Prompt #95: The Poetics of the Mashup…but I didn’t find two poems that I liked well enough to mash up together. So I chose to revise a poem that I was less than happy with.

-Nicole
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This is you and me, divided
by a dichotomy. Mortals have tried
to solve our equation for centuries, using us
as the variables – but x never equals anything
that spoke of combining black and white and then
dividing by two. In the end, they forgot
that we were supposed to be added
together.
Continue reading ‘Athena’s Epistle to Medusa’

This poem was written for the latest mini-challenge from Read Write Poem — write seven poems about the body in the context of October. I chose “hands” for the theme of my first poem. Enjoy.

P.S. If you want to read everything else I wrote for the mini-challenge, click here.

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Maybe if I look a little closer at my hands, I will see
the pens and pencils marching
underneath my fingertips. I can faintly hear their stylus feet
if I study the callous resting on the left side
of my right middle finger. It began enveloping itself in skin
when I was seven, folding itself over in whorl and toughness – and it was birthed Continue reading ‘Read Write Body Poem #1: Hands’

Writer’s Block Poetry First Draft Poetry Night will be on Friday, October 16 at 8:00 PM! First Draft Night, hosted by Joanna Schroeder, is a night where new poems and new poets are always welcome. Cover is $3 for the night. There will be an open mic — so come on out and share your *new* poetry!

For more info about Writer’s Block’s First Draft Night, check out:

http://writersblockpoetry.rewritingovid.net/FirstDraftOpenMic.php

http://community.livejournal.com/wbpoetry

Stumble It!

From PSH’s website:

“Worldwide Open Reading
Sunday November 1 2009 @ 2:00 pm PDT/5:00 pm EDT
Call in and read your poetry, open mic style. No content or style restrictions. Share details about your local poetry community with our listeners. We want to hear you!

Our Live events are hosted through BlogTalk Radio and can be accessed during the event by visiting http://blogtalkradio.com/psh and clicking on the “Click to Listen” button.

You can listen to the shows through your web browser as well as call in and ask questions live through by dialing (646) 716-7362 during the live broadcast.”
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Literally, poets from all over the world have read on these broadcasts. You know yours truly will be dialing in and reading. I encourage any poet who wants to and who can read to join in!

To check out Poetry Super Highway or find out more, visit:

http://poetrysuperhighway.com/PoetLinks.html

Stumble It!

Solar Eclipse by Nicole Nicholson

This poem was written for Read Write Poem Prompt #93: Make it a Whopper. And as you can see, I did. I hope you enjoy the read.

-Nicole
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I am surrounded by my brothers, the trees. Their leaves
weave a broken green canopy above my head. The sun
casts her veil – a gentle waterfall of lucent gold
tumbling in perfect straight lines to Earth –
through an opening in the leafy roof high above my head. I stand beneath,
shut my eyes for a moment,
and let this spirit of sunlight fall onto my face,
holding my breath until the moon moves into place.
The burnt orange on the back of my eyelids fades into black,
and I open my eyes to find:
the moon wearing her crown,
a lion’s mane of white fire
tipped with electric blue. And now the sunlight waterfall
has turned to dust, a silver tumbling of the moon’s skin
onto my face. I open my mouth and swallow.
Continue reading ‘Eclipse’

This was written for Read Write Poem Prompt #92: Word Gems. I’ve been influenced by a lot of river songs lately, namely R.E.M.’s “So. Central Rain” and “Find The River”, and “Yes, The River Knows” by The Doors. I was also inspired to write this based on some recent events in my life. This is a long poem in six parts. I hope you enjoy the read.

-Nicole
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Me, my thoughts are flower strewn
Ocean storm, bayberry moon;
I have got to leave to find my way.
-R.E.M.

I.

He wanders,

a coin lost on the carpet,
mingled in a multitude. A flesh-and-bone moth
in search of flame. He echoes stars inside his belly
that look like the strands of Christmas lights
stretched and wound around the arms of fake trees
sequestered to these country club banquet hall corners –
tiny dots of soft brilliance,
glowing against plastic green and brown. He holds
ripe plums in his eyes – ready to burst, ready to explode and
shatter wine-stained raindrops everywhere. He walks the room,
scans the crowd – and their eyes are veiled
by husks that are made of:

grain and grapes
giving up their ghosts into liquid leisure,
decanting their death into glass containers;

blood ties
with picket fences riding those red rivers –
their intersecting joints of white and wood that whisper
neighbor in their eyes in code that only
those stamped with the name of this town
can decipher; and

their memories – tall and brick,
statuesque and green. The nearby river’s deep has
extended her arms
to cover their heads, drown their souls
in the walking sleep of absorption.
Continue reading ‘Lost Man, River Town’