Midnight. I trace the borders of this town with my two feet
under a blanket of stars. Darkness clings to me,
washed away by scattered pairs of headlights
shining like broken beads spilled onto the road
and rolling past me as I walk. August smells like
spent bonfires coughing up their burnt wood ghosts and
warm rain spilling its heavy and humid funk onto
dirt and concrete. I am naked; I am wet;
but I don’t care.
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Tag Archives: prophet
February 2010 Read Write Poem Mini-Challenge Poem #4: You Don’t See It
You don’t see it, but some days
I drag moonlit danger behind me like a veil of milky dust
casting itself off of my crown. I balance
armies of fire on the backs of my arms and
use them for wings. I hear
the stars rubbing their legs together for the want of music
and hanging gold fiddled notes on Venus’ earlobes. They
chime, making love in the solar wind.
I strap bass lines onto my back;
wrap chain mail angels around my chest;
strap thunderclouds to the soles of my feet;
and I dance.
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February 2010 Read Write Poem Mini-Challenge Poem #3: Delirium
This is my third piece for the February 2010 Mini-Challenge over at Read Write Poem. This month’s challenge directed us to gather a poet’s work around us, pull out or underline lines we really liked, and then construct at least two centos, or patchwork poems (one each on days one and two, of course) from those lines. On day 3, we have the option of either writing another cento or parting ways with the lines and writing our own poems based on or inspired by our chosen poet.
I chose to do another cento using Arthur Rimbaud’s lines.
And you can read all of my February Mini-Challenge Poems here.
-Nicole
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I have swallowed a fabulous dose of poison. On my
hospital bed, an overpowering smell of incense wafts over me:
guardians of the holy oil, confessors, martyrs. I have a
pillow over my mouth, they can’t hear me, they’re
phantoms. I’m no longer in the world; life’s clock
has stopped. Yes indeed, I’ve shut my eyes
against your light;
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February 2010 Read Write Poem Mini-Challenge Poem #2: The Prophet
This is my second piece for the February 2010 Mini-Challenge over at Read Write Poem. This month’s challenge directed us to gather a poet’s work around us, pull out or underline lines we really liked, and then construct at least two centos, or patchwork poems (one each on days one and two, of course) from those lines. On day 3, we have the option of either writing another cento or parting ways with the lines and writing our own poems based on or inspired by our chosen poet.
I chose Arthur Rimbaud.
And you can read all of my February Mini-Challenge Poems here.
-Nicole
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I have a horror of all trades. In my vision I saw
a million charming creatures moving in time to
beautiful church-music, Power and Peace, noble ambitions, and
lord knows what. These, it was promised, would
bury the tree of good and evil in absolute darkness, would
banish despotic proprieties, freeing us to love purely
in the pure land. It’s the vision of numbers; eternity, the
shoreless ocean in the sun.
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New Year’s Day
This poem was written for Read Write Poem Prompt #107: Lighting the Way. We were given the above picture as a prompt for this week’s poem.
I have to apologize ahead of time: this poem is rather long. Also, I only wrote about the picture in the final part of the poem. But this poem was inspired by three things: 1) a poem I wrote back in 2008, “Modern Day Jeremiah in Six Sentences”; and two songs by U2, 2) “The Wanderer” and 3) “New Year’s Day” (hence the title of this poem). This poem takes off from and expands on the viewpoint of the speaker in the poem from 2008. I see this is a work about transformation, and appropriate, as we are about to embark on another year. What will we make of it?
Oh, and I hope you enjoy reading it.
– Nicole
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I. New Year’s Eve, daytime
I go out walking
under intersecting and parallel lines, messengers
carrying thunderbolt rivers through their black
and metal insides. Across these thin wire men,
a scattered army of sneaks join laced hands and
hang in pairs. These are the names of the dead in
black, white, and red sweatshop leather. Listen
in the wind, above the crack of bright blue cold in the
daylight, and you will hear them: Michael. Levon. Keisha.
Marcus. Darrell. Patricia. James. I look for ashes to write
my words, to wail angry scriptures in
charcoal rain over my head. God answers me instead with
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Modern-Day Jeremiah In Six Sentences
This Six Sentences piece was written for the Tuesday Title prompt at Poefusion. Enjoy.
-Nicole
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Listening to the color of my mind has produced blackness on my face. I look for ashes to rain down upon myself, sackcloth to wear, but find neither plentiful in this happy, sunny, articulate void called twentieth century America. The azure coasts call my name in fairy tale pixie tones, and their wonderful blues seduce my heart, but succeed only for a moment. I make my own ears go tin and turn my heart away, for I want to be Jeremiah right now, wailing requiems for liberty, beauty, passion, people, and meaning in the neon concrete temple courtyards of this North American Israel. Listening to these golden azure songs will steal my feet away from the path of lament, never to return.
Written 9/30/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
