Tag: Poetry

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Merely Human

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

Close your mind,
and shut out life.
A beautiful thought.
No pain, no strife.

But no love. No Growth.
All darkness and an abyss.
A death of the spirit–
fate of the heartless.

All good things,
come from an open mind;
art, music, literature
the roots of our kind.

Imagine if the world,
closed down its doors,
turned out its lights,
cast off its moors.

Life as we know it would cease.
All our great progress,
turned to dust,
in the shadow of duress.

So keep it open,
and widen it if you can,
for the universe is larger,
and we are merely human.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Distraction

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

Yellow. Orange. Black. White.
A rubber ducky in my sight.
I promise to speak of only right.
But I’m sure you’d like to fight.
Sorry, I don’t. Go fly a kite.
And while you’re at it, don’t be so uptight.

Smoke. Mirrors. Lights. Action.
You only go where you can gain traction.
With those whom form but a minuscule fraction,
of that which we call the “sub-human” faction.
The same kinds of folks that would caption.
Michelangelo’s David “distraction.”

What. Why. Who. Where.
That. ‘Cause. Them. There.
A fat man. A small man. An Au-paire.
A bald man. A shaved man. A man with long hair.
If only. If only. A blind-man could stare,
more men would take a lover, not a brood mare.

But tick. But Tock. But money. But mock.
I jest with the best whom can take a knock.
As meant to be, for even thee, must sometimes feel stock,
and believe in life as naught but a clock,
that’s ticking and flicking for a lone moment of shock,
but you know what I think– it’s all a crock.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Reflections in Stone

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

Before I go,
I must tell you what is known,
just so you,
may carry on with what is shown.
Sun low. Sky,
ablaze. Reflections in stone.
Dead foe and,
all that is left of man is bone.

The few creatures,
yet living and breathing
of hue ashen,
black eyed and now seething.
For they too,
have suffered from a species still teething,
that knew nothing,
of the value of weaponry sheathing.

Thus time was,
cruel to those whom least knew it.
The rhyme of,
a way they knew could not fit,
with a dime,
they sought only to pocket,
while a chime,
signaled to run rather than sit.

But in essence,
perhaps that is the moral.
Seek presence in,
those things not bound to whorl.
For a fence,
cannot help but to strengthen a quarrel,
just as sense,
may remain its own laurel.

We value blindness,
in a world of foresight.
And undo what,
nature has made right,
then chew on,
gristle that makes our jaws tight.
And during day,
rant long into the night.

But don’t you,
see we’ve but one world to claim?
Think, won’t you?
People, this is no game.
Life thrown’t to waste,
for fictitious gain, for shame,
This known’t, we’ll
forever be lame.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Your Life

~ S.M. Nolan ~ 5 Comments

If I had my way,
I’d take back the night,
from those whom stray,
from the path of right,

and in return,
I’d give them the afternoon,
the mornings and twilight,
so the rest could be ours.

I’ve no need of sun.
Sandy beaches.
Nor surging crowds.
I have my fun,
with written pages,
and alt-reality shrouds.

Some say I’m lazy,
or not quite sane,
but after all it’s my life,
and I live it for me.

No matter your pleasure,
so long as it’s tame,
enjoy it at leisure,
indulge in the game.

‘Cause it is your life,
and yours alone,
you have only one,
so indulge it your way.

And forget what is said,
by those unimportant,
for a gift to the head,
is much less abhorrent,

than a punch to the gut,
by those that scoff,
cannot revel in opportunity,
no matter how uncouth.

It is your life,
and yours alone,
and there’s no sharper-knife,
than one made,
from one’s own bones!