The stage, loaded with kindling, piled and poised
will be the birthplace for the next moving film;
flaming hands in prayer up to the star-studded clarion sky
reach for dreams to melt onto the celluloid below.

The birthplace for the next episode of moving film
rests taciturn beneath a dome cranium planetarium ceiling;
reach for dreams to melt onto the celluloid at my feet
and watch them rise up and project onto the vacant stage.

Nothing can rest taciturn beneath this cranium ceiling
once the incantations, loosened from the film, glimmer up
and I watch their dreams sing colors onto the vacant stage:
I am the hapless scribe, taking furious notes as they rise and fall.

Once the incantations, loosened from the film, glimmer up
I am charmed, a scribe with a rampant and chaotic eye
fighting to take furious notes of their rise and fall
until the dust from their fata morgana fall at my feet.

I am charmed until slain, with rampant and chaotic eyes,
until the moon collides with their open, wanton pupils,
until the dust from their Fata Morgana fall at my feet,
until her fairies, called home, leave me dream-blind.

Until the moon strikes my open, wanton eyes
I will not stop writing, and perhaps not even then –
until Morgana’s fairies go home and I am left dream-blind
I will translate these phantasms into words.

I will not stop writing – not until while
standing just beyond a grove of trees rendered in silhouette
I have translated these phantasms into words.
But first, it must begin with fire.

Written 4/7/11 and 4/8/11
© 2011 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
————————————————–
This poem was written as part of my NaPoWriMo poems and also for We Write Poems Prompt #49: Almost a Poem, in which we were instructed to write a poem about writing a poem. I hope you enjoyed the poem.

-Nicole
————————————————–

Stumble It!

There are four of them.
Each day, the sun rises and warms our faces in the East.
Each day, we breathe out the smoke of our spirits until it is spent.
And each day, you are divining these lampposts.

Each day, the sun calls out names from the East.
You call out sacred names in Prospect Park
each day, to divine each of these lampposts:
the faithful priest, reaching out his tiny fingers.

You call out sacred names in Prospect Park,
names that no one else understands
except you, the faithful priest with tiny fingers
reaching out to interpret angled metal and glass.

Names that no one else understands –
we of the computer mind use them to build our temples, our mysteries.
You reach out to interpret angled metal and glass;
I reach out to interpret word, lyric, and song.

We of the computer mind build our temples, our mysteries,
and light our glass shatter heart altars within.
I reach out to interpret word, lyric, and song
and build my hallelujahs while you touch the face of God.

To light your glass shatter heart altar from within,
you supplicate to the Four in Prospect Park each day;
with electric hallelujahs you touch the face of God
and borrow their light to shine behind your stained glass chest.

You supplicate to the Four in Prospect Park each day,
wrapping arms around their lithe, green and black waists.
Borrow their lights to shine behind your stained glass chest;
let no one tell you that your faith is misplaced.

While you wrap your arms around their lithe, green and black waists
they will smile and see your devotion.
Let no one ever tell you that your faith is misplaced.
Keep touching the faces of God.

Your lampposts will smile, see the devotion.
Each day, as we breathe out the smoke of our spirits until it is spent,
keep on touching those faces of God.
There are four of them.

Written 4/1/11
@copy; 2011 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
———————————————
This poem was written for Sam Drezner, the son of filmmaker Todd Drezner who has released a new documentary, Loving Lampposts. Todd and his wife Erika discovered that Sam was autistic shortly before his third birthday. Drezner made this documentary about his son as well as about the whole autism and neurodiversity debates. You can watch the trailer on its website in the earlier link as well as see a clip of his son visiting the lampposts here.

I first heard about this documentary through Steve Silberman’s Neurotribes Blog. I was fascinated by Sam’s fascinating with the lampposts, and was reminded of how I have my own special interests as an Aspie. Since April 2 is World Autism Awareness Day, I am posting this poem in Sam’s honor.

-Nicole
——————————————————
Follow @ravenswingpoet

Stumble It!

Mona Lisa

It takes twelve years to paint her smile.
Feel your own lips, read the Braille in their contours.
Pull ribbons of secrets from under your tongue.
Whisper them onto the canvas.

Feel your own lips for the Braille in their contours.
No one is looking; sneak and
whisper them onto the canvas,
disguise those ghosts of your kisses as paint.

No one is looking, you sneak.
Crown your lover with black tumbles of hair,
bequeath him with the ghosts of kisses in paint.
Go upstairs, and write love letters to the mirror.

Crown your lover with black tumbles of hair.
You did not invent this world;
go upstairs, and write hate mail to the mirror.
Paint your love like Morse code instead.

You did not invent this world.
You only dissect it, and catalog its entrails.
Paint your love like Morse code instead;
you do not wish to fire walk tonight.

You only dissect and catalog the world’s entrails
and give gifts of sketches and strange machines.
You do not wish to fire walk tonight;
let them stare at your sketches instead.

They have your sketches and strange machines.
You intend to recreate the world,
so let them stare at all those sketches instead.
Your first steps will not be that simple.

You intend to recreate the world.
It will take five hundred years.
Even your first step will not be that simple;
it takes twelve years to paint his smile.

Written 4/13/10
© 2010 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.

—————————————————
This poem is the seventh one for NaPoWriMo 2010. I decided on another pantoum, this one about Leonardo DaVinci. I’m fascinated with him and he is considered to be the archetype of the Renaissance man, although this is probably an understatement. Oddly enough, he wasn’t as prolific of a painter as he was a sketcher and inventor, but I chose to focus on the Mona Lisa after reading somewhere that the portrait may have either been an a) modified self-portrait or b) a portrait of Gian Giacomo Caprotti da Oreno (otherwise known as Salai), a pupil and possible lover of DaVinci’s. That’s the take I decided to use for this poem.

-Nicole

———————————————————-
Follow @ravenswingpoet

Stumble It!

This was written for this week’s One Single Impression prompt #18, “doorway”. I delved into the Bible for inspiration for this pantoum, “Doorways”. This is also for this week’s Writer’s Island Matinee Muse prompt, “Avenge”. Enjoy.

-Nicole

——————————–
Where is the blood?
My secret sword screams
for Egyptian throats to slit -
doorways betray their keepers.

My secret sword screams
to foment a fatal final plague.
Doorways betray their keepers;
from them I exact my answers.

To foment a fatal final plague
I must read these wordless doorposts;
from them I exact my answers
to a holy, macabre question.

I must read these wordless doorposts.
My secret sword swears an oath
to a holy, macabre question;
I must search this endless, hot night.

My secret sword swears an oath -
for Egyptian throats to slit
I must search this endless, hot night:
where is the blood?

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

Stumble It!

This was written for the One Single Impression prompt (Melody). Here is my take on the prompt, written as a pantoum. Enjoy.

-Nicole
——————————————
A T C G
four notes to compose
every organic living thing
cellular symphonies

four notes to compose
every living score
cellular symphonies
sound in concordance

every living score
two note intervals
sound in concordance
within a Great Opus

two note intervals
base pairs
within a Great Opus
amino acid harmonics

base pairs
four letter melodies
amino acid harmonies
music vibrates in our flesh

four letter melodies
every organic living thing
music vibrates in our flesh
A T C G

Written 6/22/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.

Stumble It!

This is a rewrite of an older poem, “To The Musician”, and a poem written in response to the Read Write Poem Prompt #32: Reuse, Recycle, and Revise. I reworked the original piece into a pantoum. One request: please read the original at the link above before you read this version.

-Nicole
————————————————-
Wrap safety and caution around you;
your fingers caress the skin of a lover
just as easily as they caress
the thin steel strings of your instrument.

Your fingers caress the skin of a lover;
each one will beg to be played like
the thin steel strings of your instrument
until she sounds out orgasmic chords.

Each one will beg to be played like
a romantic search for the blue fifth note
until she sounds out orgasmic chords.
But I wonder – who is really playing who?

A romantic search for the blue fifth note
leads to many bedroom stages;
but I wonder – who is really playing who
in these one night only engagements?

Leads to many bedroom stages,
Innuendos in winks, smiles, and whispers;
in these one-night only engagements
they want your body – not your words or notes.

Innuendos in winks, smiles, and whispers,
the hands of adoring, one-night fans -
they want your body, not your words or notes.
They’ll steal a sweet moment, leaving nothing behind.

The hands of adoring one-night fans
just as easily as they caress,
they’ll steal a sweet moment, leaving nothing behind.
Wrap safety and caution around you.

Written 6/19/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.

Stumble It!

-Nicole

————————————————————–
silent still still still
breathe in out still
freeze focus don’t blink
watch watch watch watch

breathe in out still
cells divide inch up
watch watch watch watch
one inch of green

cells divide inch up
stalk stalk grow slow
one inch of green
leaves extend to sunlight

stalk stalk grow slow
a secret silent drama
leaves extend to sunlight
sit watch watch watch

a secret silent drama
freeze focus don’t blink
sit watch watch watch
silent still still still

Written 6/17/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.

Stumble It!