1954

Forbidden. Outlawed.

Unfortunate circumstance.

Yet, you made my heart dance.

Cloud brought down from heaven above

To touch my lips with your love.

Dark and lonely life filled with strife

That you, fair one, cannot begin to understand.

Daring to care and share the joy found in feeling.

“Vulgar,” they would say about the display of our affection.kiss-1

And still you turn to me, and call me your golden apple.

Dropped from a tree with sturdy roots deep in an

Earth you can only wander on with trepidation.

Wrap your ebony branches around my ivory limbs,

You beg, and cover me with your green leaves of envy.

Shield me from that which seeks to separate us.

Bring peace to the minds of those who fail to know

The sweetness of amour in any color of the rainbow.

The livid can die alone and bereft,

Taking their hatred with them.

Freedom forgotten.

Released. Allowed.

~S.K. Nicholls

image: phototbucket

My Brand of Horror: Ghost Story Prompt (Week of October 27th}

This Halloween week’s prompt at the CSB! Come on over and Trick or Treat!

The Community Storyboard

I had to use all of the pictures to tell a story with a poem.

Seven Sisters of the Sacred Hearts

Rented a boarding house near the park

Its cupola a place for praise

Its storied rooms where souls were saved

Its basement beneath all dark and damp

Where a serial killer made his camp

 

One by one they disappeared

Townsfolk began to live in fear

The house abandoned fell to rot

Scarce a man did miss the lot

A decade later faint and fair

A family came to make home there

 

Curious child descended stairs

Hears whispered voices chanting prayers

Demon with piercing glowing eyes

In rags of filth to be despised

Did raise his ax without a sound

And in that basement target found

 

Ghost child met nuns her soul was saved

From hell’s fury but not a man depraved

She wanders now a gossamer…

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Yesterday: Writing Prompt for CSB

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Yesterday the world ended

I opened my eyes this morning

And the world had ended as I knew it to be

Today begins the yesterday of tomorrow

I will make it a good one

And my memories will cast no dark shadows on me

Tomorrow is not something that I can control

I will put my faith in the day

And tomorrow the world will begin again free

Happy Birthday From Florida Pamela Beckford!!!

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Hallmark has a lot to say and though they say it well

I think that maybe you’ll agree there’s still a lot to tell

So bring on the cabana boys and all the margaritas

We want to share in all the joy and dine on hot fajitas

We’re going to dance the night away and party until dawn

So save your cares for another day and put your glad rags on

Hot water is in the Jacuzzi and the cold is in the pool

RUM!? I’ll have mine in a smoothie, ‘cause I’m a healthy fool!

Steel drums sound by the poolside, palm trees are bending low

There’s a lot that we that could tell, but just a few you need to know

There’s an age when nothing matters but the fun that’s found in friendship

It’s a sort of fun not found easy when you’re hanging with your kinship

We don’t judge on bad behavior, reveal the secrets that we know

We just jump right in there with you making memories to show

So when you look back on your life and wonder where it went

Recall the parties that we had and all the good time spent

I could bring up all the times you really made my day

Or how you calmed my fears and wiped my tears away

But that would get all soppy and maybe make you cry

So I’ll make my final statement, and let your face stay dry

Happy Birthday Pam!!!  We Love You!!!

My Nurse

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Ah! She comes between me and my white barren walls,

Sometimes solemn, sometimes smiling,

Standing, staring, sometimes softly

Touching while she sings

Not well though, she does not seem to know

I hear her singing,  nonetheless, it is better

Than the absence of song

I had before she came into my room

She used to feed me with a spoon

And hold my cup up to my lips

So that I might take a sip

She wiped the dribbling shame from cheek and chin,

So I might grin with dignity again

Does she remember me?

Does she know that I remember her?

At times, I feel that I am just part of her occupation

At times I feel that I am so much more

She feeds me now though through a tube

It’s not the same and yet it is

I can’t explain just how it is

She accepts it, and so must I

Writing prompt: I thought I saw…an imagination

First try at a little poem in a long while 🙂

The Community Storyboard

I have not been feeling very poetic lately, but I thought I would give today a try.  It is very basic with simple words, nothing too complex on my brain right now:images (10)

I thought I saw a moonbeam on a sunny day

I thought I saw a mermaid swimming in the bay

I thought I saw a unicorn prancing on a hill

I thought I saw a platypus with a long duck bill

I saw a child was reading from a book so fine

Not across the pages but in her little mind

A learning tool, a fantasy, a journey in a nook

I thought I saw the future as she took another look

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Soul Cycle

Fields of amber swaying in the breeze
At a child’s eye height memory of tops dancing
How fast it grew being knee high in spring
Summer passed so quickly gone
Did not see it growing there so green
So long and lush blooming in a blink
Topped out rustling fruits brushing
Against one another sun parched
Wrinkles out its seeds withering
In the heat with age fading soul
Turns gray and returns to earth
Barren deceivingly so for a season
Peeps its offspring through the frost
Green tendrils seeking for a glimpse of sun
For the sake of repeating itself in
Fields of amber swaying in the breeze

~ S. K. Nicholls 1986

Photo by Miriadna.com

I copied this from an earlier post of mine, because I wanted a sunny picture on my site today.

Uncle Charlie Trashcan

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Sketch by N. Wilcox at deviantart

The lines on this face drawn by an artist’s hand, forged by a subject’s soul

Tell the stories of a man once young grown old

Homeless, not knowing from where he came nor where he is going to land

Living his life according to no one’s plans

There was an old man in my childhood whom I will never forget.  My mother helped me to remember.  She wrote a story about him that got published in the LaGrange Daily News.  He became rather famous whether he wanted to be or not.

This old man lived in The Heart of LaGrange Hotel that sat in the middle of the “Y” intersection where Hines Street met Hill Street just up the road from where we lived.  He was not totally homeless, but he might as well have been.  I was no more than about five or six years old.  My older sister and I would see him coming up the sidewalk pulling his little red wagon.

coke-bottle_chronology1When we saw him, we knew it was time to run in the house and gather all of the glass soda bottles.  Back then they were worth 10 cents apiece.  A few dollars could easily be made off of generous children.  The store on the other end of the street collected them for recycling with more soda.  We could have exchanged them or sold them ourselves, but Mama had a purpose.

She died when I was eight years old and there are so many things about her character, like the character in the man’s face in the sketch above, that I will always remember.  His lines came from years of sorrow and joy.  Her altruistic compassions came from a giving heart.   She intuitively knew that we had nothing to fear from this old man.

He would come by in the morning to collect the bottles that we readily shared, and come back in the evening with a handful of pecans that he had collected along his way to share with us.  He told us outlandish stories as we sat on the roots of the ancient oak by the street.  We listened with eager ears.

I asked him one day what his name was and he told me, “People call me Uncle Charlie Trashcan.”

“What is your real name?” I wanted to know.

“I don’t know.  My father wrote it down on a corn shuck and the cow ate it before I learned to read,” came his reply.

One day some preteens and teenagers jumped him and beat him up.  They left him in the bushes for dead.  His lunch box was smashed.  His wagon was stolen.  My mother found him on a walk.  She brought him in the house and cleaned him up.  He had a bath while she washed his tattered clothes and she bandaged his wounds.  He told us stories while his clothes dried.  She fed him dinner at the table with us.   She packed him a lunch for the next day in a shiny new metal lunchbox with a coffee thermos.  He seemed so very proud when he waved his good-byes that evening.images (4)

Mama’s article in the paper produced a new wagon and he got some much needed social services and quite a bit of fame.  That did not stop him from pulling his red wagon up the sidewalk to gather soda bottles, or from bringing us handfuls of pecans in the evening.  It did not stop the storytelling or the smiles that made more lines on his face.

Dancer’s Antique Memories

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Poetry Prompt # 3 “Old”; Arkside

One heart hears a sweet but lonely sound

Clock ticking faster on the wall

Has passed on through the Fall

The antique memories that she found.

Winter brings sad severe cold chilling

Grandma lies quietly reading alone in her bed

Keepsake from a dry corsage marks pages read

Lies and stares, plaster roses on the ceiling.

One mind, all but so sweetly has gone

She wipes his dribbling shame from chin

So that he might grin with dignity again

Mumbling incoherent remembered songs.

Faded portrait, Cotillion Ball

A time ago the frame seemed gilded

Words not spoken, but shared feelings

The antique memories recalled.

~ S.K. Nicholls

We Drink Because We’re Poets: prompt #2

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Green bubbling fountains of life in the city so void, not of life, but of green

Rushing not unlike the water after the storm, in hurried fashion fast people rushing

Someone to see, something to do, someplace to be in order to be someone

Forgotten the trees and the breeze across park lawns, striving to be someone not forgotten

Green waters unknowingly release the pent up emotions as we pass by the fountains green