sweeping across the
sky, an obscuring curtain, a
star-spangled banner

which Creation salutes
some with hushed, black stillness
others with noise

a chorus of
cricket fiddles, hoots and howls
the nighttime choir

joined some nights
by crunk superlatives, thumping bass
and couples laughing

moon crowned lady
casts her soft, silent cloak
over our heads

while I worship
her age and era with
my bleeding pen

Written 8/2/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.

Stumble It!

This chained lune was written for Poefusion’s “Monday Mural” prompt. Another foray into the darkness. This might be a bit disturbing, but I hope you enjoy anyway.

-Nicole
———————————————

I am your
fucking puppet, my muscles taut
pulled by wire

then dropped from
above the veil of oblivion
Heaven mocks me

Hell watches me
sinews threaten to thread through
the tiny holes

torn by hooks
buried inside my aching flesh
I dangle, helpless

soon I will
dance your sick marionette ballet
as I bleed

my final steps
fading into silent stillness, then
a hanging corpse

Written 8/24/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.

Stumble It!

-Nicole

her eyes, steel
twin orbs of fire focus
on her target

taut, yet quivering
faintly, held by pinching fingers
the arrow waits

she releases both
breath and arrow in a
single, swift motion

years of painful
perspiring practice pay off as
the arrow sails

and plunges its
sharp head into the red,
round center bullseye

Written 8/23/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.

Stumble It!

This chained lune was written for the One Single Impression Prompt this week, “Stairways”. Enjoy.

-Nicole
————————————————-
madness calls me
to drift down subway stairways
seeking dark scenes

nighttime casts clothing
a different city emerges, wild
Metropolis, the whore

decked out in
the finest concrete and neon
she glows, electric

and I see
her true blood, fragrant, coursing
through subway veins

junkies, freaks, madmen
bottle-blond horny women and
high-heeled queens

gangstas, and businessmen
on a secret double-sided
neon nighttime life

this I love
unscrubbed, raw, real, blood pulse
unsanitized and filthy

and I can
see it all nightly by
a stairway descent

Written 8/10/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.


Stumble It!

I went back and wrote this chained lune for Poefusion’s Tuesday Title, which was “Brushstrokes and Sage”. Sorry, I couldn’t pass this one up. Enjoy.

-Nicole
————————————————-
even in old
age as an amused, impish
sage, he calls

we hear him
through brushstrokes married to oil
weddings on canvas

old, yellowed notebooks
drawings of what his mind
saw in sketches

the mystery of
inside anatomy, the machinery of
the human body

the machinery of
mechanical wings – joints, connected and
ready to flap

but there’s a
wry smirk inside the ink
inside the paint

as if he
truly had the last laugh
and we’re perplexed

still trying to
decode the pale curved smile
of Mona Lisa

Written 8/8/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.

Stumble It!

I was able to write something for Friday Five at Poefusion this week…this Friday’s words were: exiguous, waterfall, thoughtless, imperfect, and gifted. This is a chained lune. Enjoy.

-Nicole
—————————————-
exiguous, my life
as it fades to black
my vision blurs

thirst has stolen
sanity from me, trapped behind
this enchanted waterfall

which I cannot
touch or drink, lest I
die upon contact

I, imperfect, cast
in mortal clay, was thoughtless
blinded by love

so when you
gifted your love to me
I didn’t think

of the consequences
of loving the son of
the goddess herself

our love was
never meant to be – you
had been betrothed

to another heavenly
citizen, a princess, before you
came to exist

so I, the
obnoxious human female had to
be dealt with

so I am
left to perish slowly, taunted
by running water

which beckons me
with sweet coolness, but promises
death upon contact

Written 8/8/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.

Stumble It!

-Nicole
—————————————————–
you stand and
look at your reflection in
the bedroom mirror

looking back at
you is your usual disguise -
hair, clothes, makeup

what if you
could see beyond the mirror
to your soul?

you would see
that you are a trellis
bearing twisted vines

half-dried green
and gray vines carrying
ink-black flowers

insults dropped from
the lips of others which
bloom your defects

flowers pointing skyward
bursts of sick, open-mouthed
gossip and wounds

ugliness so commonplace
even youngsters are taught that
it is okay

to point and
whisper and even laugh at
the fat girl

appearance is everything
but the greater power is
simply to exist

time to clear
the dirty laundry out of
your wounded psyche

time to take
out the hose and wash
off the blood

from the thorns
driven deep into your flesh
by those vines

time to wash
out the fetid fecal fallacies
cluttering your soul

piles that send
up foul stench of insult
like “you’re fat”

or, “such a
pretty face, but if only…”
then blank silence

sentences never finished
but still driving the thorns
into your heart

I will arise
and shake off the kudzu
of their ignorance

I will stand
and refuse to shrink down
to abject nothingness

fat girls everywhere
I call out to you:
who’s with me?

Written 7/26/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.

Stumble It!

This chained lune was written for Poefusion’s Monday Mural, based on the above image. Enjoy.

-Nicole
———————————————————-
The old tree was dying,
her wood drying
as ancient life left her.

The tree has been shelter
for the sculptor -
a cradle of memories.

He remembered afternoons of resting
in her arms,
watching skyward in her branches -

he could not let her go.
He gently carved
a hand from her wood.

He rests in her palm,
watching past branches
which frame the starlit sky;

she will not die now.
In her branches,
he’s a little boy again.

Written 6/29/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.

Stumble It!

-Nicole
————————————
Blood for blood
is a pointless, miserable exchange -
no one wins.

Written 6/28/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.

Stumble It!

-Nicole

————————————————
I come for
the souls of the dying;
for they are

my only sustenance.
I can smell impending death
from far away.

What you consider
stench is incense to me,
sweet and toxic;

guard your dying
well, for I seek their
hearts for food.

I take the
form of Raven so that
I am not victim

myself, for scavengers
are not the stuff of
other creatures’ sustenance.

Beware me: I
live long from the strength
of your souls;

For I am
Raven Mocker, and I seek
out your dying.

Written 6/16/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.


Stumble It!