Something Creative » Poetry

Untitled #66

Nil17 — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 01:07:55 +0000

There is a beautiful blonde boy who holds my heart. His blue eyes look at me with such trust, such love I cannot breathe. His eyebrows, delicate as a hummingbird wing, express more than you can imagine. I can already see the man he can become. There is a sweet brown-haired girl who has her hands on my soul. Her tiny lips curl into a smile unmatched by any celebrity. Her laughter proclaims the joy she will be. This little boy heals my hurts & disappointments with his smile, his laugh so much like his father’s. He sees my tears & reaches up to pat my cheek. This little girl soothes my insecurities & short-comings; her tiny coos let me know her faith in me. She sees my tears & flirts as she grasps my finger. This boy & girl are the best of me; my hopes & dreams come alive. They repair me when I’m feeling less than… And in doing so make more room in my patched & mended heart.

Protected: Untitled #65

Nil17 — Sat, 20 Aug 2011 00:23:51 +0000

Protected: Untitled #64

Nil17 — Sun, 24 Jul 2011 23:48:00 +0000

Untitled #63

Nil17 — Mon, 02 May 2011 03:41:14 +0000

Public Enemy #1 is dead!
Talking heads on all the major networks
Exclaim in increasing fervor. Texts & tweets
Fly with speculation over the manner in
Which this despicable man left our mortal
Coil. It makes no difference-Osama bin Laden is gone.
What remains are the survivors of 9/11-
Finally seeing some justice…and our troops
Still alert, still fighting to protect these
Golden shores. Crowds gather at the White House,
Washington Memorial & Ground Zero. Celebration
Mingles with the memories of those who have
Been sacrificed for this moment…
Hear the cheers of USA, USA?!
They are for you…for us…for the best we can be.

Untitled #62

Nil17 — Sun, 01 May 2011 08:03:23 +0000

Your pain echoes in the s i l e n c e Eyes haunted with sad k n o w l e d g e If it were possible I would h e a l What I have not caused.

Untitled #61

Nil17 — Tue, 22 Mar 2011 22:00:40 +0000

my head cradled against your

shoulder, rain begins to

bounce off the window; each

raindrop an unshed tear.

lulled into slumber by the

sound of unspoken pain-

washed with thunder and

your gentle breath.

Protected: Untitled #60

Nil17 — Sun, 23 Jan 2011 20:42:25 +0000

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Nil17 — Sun, 23 Jan 2011 20:40:45 +0000

Untitled #57

Nil17 — Tue, 28 Dec 2010 02:14:39 +0000

the sound of your voice

leaves me stripped

bare — like the fields

under a late December

moon. my soul

glimmers pale with

desire for sweet words

whispered urgently.

at the culmination you

claim what has always

been yours.

Untitled #56

Nil17 — Sun, 21 Nov 2010 18:29:15 +0000

Chaos inside my brain

dreaming of school days

searching for clues to a hidden past

someone wants it to remain

buried…curiosity gets the best of me.

I poke & prod looking for answers.

Late at night I visit secret rooms;

without warning the main hall is

ablaze. Everything fades except

violent red flames; demonic moans

rage from the protesting walls & the

sharp screech of glass being

tortured echoes.

The scene shifts to a hospital

where my shadow roams the

hallways. Hopping between

rooms where various family

members are being tended. A sick

overworked brother, a cousin in labor,

a young boy -a nephew?- is in for the

treatment of a childhood illness. My

feet slip on the waxed floors in the socks

I must wear. Every room I visit is uphill…

Trying so hard not to slip backwards as

I cling to walls & doorways. I struggle

with every step-catching myself by my

finger tips. Retracing my route I slide

with abandon downwards…

singing at the top of my lungs. I try to

catch the tune on paper but it drifts away.

As the song fades I am ensconced in a large

home. Many generations & branches of

my family love there. Again it is in the hours

just before dawn. Restlessly I wander

from room to room watching the lives

in motion. Unable to find my own space yet

happily helping others get comfortable in theirs.

I try writing several times- my pen can’t quite

grasp the words colliding in their attempt to escape.

I find refuge in the kitchen. It is now 5 am & the

breakfast preparation is underway. Sausage browing,

eggs frying, hashbrowns sizzle as they hit the griddle.

The mingling scents give rise to my hunger as I step

out into the front patio garden. Hazy sunrise pushes

up over skyscrapers highlighting the cityscape.

My skin is sticky in the humidity & the increasing

heat will soon ripple along the street. Large green

Army men are marching past.