Tag: Poetry

Poetry-Thing Thursday: For Me, For You

~ S.M. Nolan ~ 4 Comments

Nicotine stains my fingers,
while they beat a rhythm over keys.
Color flickers beneath them,
from multicolored LEDs.

What do I say?
To Whom do I say it?
Hope and love and peace,
things I used to preach.

But now things have changed.
My mind’s estranged–
not from reality,
but sheer morality;

the is and the was,
the what and the how,
even the where,
is not the now.

Slaving each day,
for no monetary pay.
I’m crazy some say–
or stupid, in a way.

But I do what I do,
for the hope of all,
to read and to listen,
let reason befall.

Whether for its own benefit,
or the mere fun of it.
I give you words.
Let them be heard,

and perhaps felt,
by one and by all,
whether big or small,
I give them to you,
so we might never fall.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Colors

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

On a warm summer’s morning,
cool dew clings to grass.
Sunrise kisses the milk-white skin,
of her bare-naked breasts.

Cool pale meets hard pink.
It stiffens against the breeze.
She sits, leaned back,
arms propping her up.
to gaze at the awakened hues.

Bluish-green taints milk-white,
in lightning strike patterns,
from veins pumping crimson blood,
compelled by a red heart beneath.

Her head tilts back.
Sandy hair cascading.
The first rays of sun engulf it,
warm it with their soft yellow light,
and reveal the gentleness,
of motive in her ice-blue eyes.

To know her is to love her,
orange and daring,
but so very few do,
for the gray and the white of shyness,
make her humbling privilege gold,
atop her palette of affections.

Still she sits, until satisfied,
atop a verdant, dewy hill,
waiting for something,
no matter the color,
to move her back to life.

When it does not come,
she instead lies backward,
baring her self to blue skies,
and hoping, even dreaming,
for the Sun’s color-filled goodbye.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Mind-Grease

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

I seek release,
for a load of mind-grease,
that’s honking like geese,
being chased by police,
for their opulent fleece,
while their alpha does cease,
and book pages do crease.

But I find nothing fun,
in staring at one,
whom glows like the sun,
and forgiving the pun,
is as pure as a nun,
who’s lifting a gun,
to be on the run.

So I’ll do what I can–
I’m only a man,
and she’s a big fan.
No matter our plan
we’re into the pan,
with a sun-cancer tan,
and toeing a ban.

Bodies entwine,
a perverted sign,
that crosses a line,
and incurs a fine,
but it’s 4th and nine,
while I’m in decline,
and she wants to be mine.

Emotions never read,
by the living dead,
we fall into bed,
and our bodies are wed.
Should have cleaned them instead,
but we’re dirtied in head,
by a loneliness dread.

So with a whimper and moan,
our fates we have sown,
innocence lost, the departed’s postpone,
while we claim one another as own,
and take turns revealing the news through the phone,
that she and I, together can hone,
melted mind-grease into razor-sharp bone.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Stardust

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

Pen my eulogy on a blank sheet of papyrus,
in Indian ink with a feather quill,
then when it is spoken and over,
set me afire on a funeral pyre.

For life is short,
and death long,
and I’d rather be remembered in song.

Etch my face into Marble,
as Michelangelo did for David,
then recall my words as I have writ them,
and heed my warnings spawned from history’s archives.

For reality is thin,
but hindsight thick as steel,
and I’d rather be heard than made to feel.

Turn my body into dust,
and let it drift evermore on the breeze,
so that when I am gone,
I may return to the void where I belong.

For entropy is building,
as the universe begins to fade,
and I’d rather be stardust than human-made.

And when the time has come and gone,
don’t linger too long,
for I am moved on,
Back in the endless void of nothingness,
from which I have spawned.

For life is short,
but love eternal,
and I’d rather be part of the nothing and loved,
than part of a lonely revival.