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Best Poems Written by Michele Nold-Godleske

Below are the all-time best Michele Nold-Godleske poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Michele Nold-Godleske Poem

Cycle

Dearest young leaf,
Why so melancholy?
Thy emerald sheath has not borne Time's folly.

Think not of Autumn's deathly brilliance,
Of colors rich and flaky grounds,
For Thou wilt weep every moment hence,
While Springtime's youth still bounds.

Greet Thy greenness with glee,
For thy root to the Oak remains strong,
Aeolus' fury on Thee has no effect till Summertime gone.

So worry not of what is to come,
Enjoy Thy existence, little one.

Details | Michele Nold-Godleske Poem

Interview

Sitting in a cloak of black conservatism:

I feel my hands,
oily on the desk like shortening in
slate gray cookie pans,
the speedway inside forcing the absence of 
reabsorption,

And my thoughts,
so flippant to implore
if a man with a chartreuse neck tie
can see the long wet streaks
across the cherry plane.

He speaks,
a sequence of interrogatives
common to the bored walls
of serious conference,
evoking tone inflection
in the pattern of polite.

Darest I mention truth?

I am your whore;
infect me with smug integrity,
smack me with false prophet leadership,
just leave some crisp bills
on the nightstand, sugar.

Yet my voice models his wavelength,
relaying back the catchy tired language
of one hit wonders;
eyes brighten,
hands extend
from the man who owns a chartreuse tie.

Sigh.

Still,
complacency
awards a loaf of Wonder bread,
and a two bedroom lower.

Details | Michele Nold-Godleske Poem

Heart Shaped Balloon

I gave you a balloon,
It held my life inside.

Within a shiny rubber tube
components of my soul aligned,
a sign,
I became something new
for you...

Memories
Feelings
Ideas

Each speck
a tickle upon my breath,
a tiny bubble
of nuanced personality;

The strengths of me debrided
the secrets of my lungs,
pink and untold
for you to confide,
ease trouble
in eyes before me.

Yet
were you astute?
Could your mind compute
the depth 
of the beautiful find
floating before you?

You bent,
my unique particles ended
their show of strength
broken in length;

You twisted,
crushed and divided
my dreams subsided...

Molded to an unrecognizable form,
I became your norm.

Though you never knew,
my secret hope to survive
my own gift
thrive and lift,
lay within you.

Your grip thirsted control so long,
the pieces of me left burst
to skitter away in song
among soaring clouds,
leaving shrouds of pain
grounded and gone...

Flying far from the land
one beautiful day,
away 
from you
and the broken balloon that laid
in your hand.

Details | Michele Nold-Godleske Poem

Pussy Willow

sepia stretches,
unfurling her fingertips
blush pink and fuzzy

Details | Michele Nold-Godleske Poem

Cenote

Glimpse an empire in sweated palm burdened with pain centuries old; 
Horrors and stalagmites hang in beautiful tragedy Gods have told:
Within soil surrounding bluest calm, such memories you hold.

Details | Michele Nold-Godleske Poem

Angolan Strength

The rim of my Erembe in hand,
her quiet pace remains.

Today the Angolan sky spills liquid of my breast,
while her breath smothers the blank sounds
of the tired plains
(Colors of snowbird’s crest)
woven with the smoke and strain 
of yesterday.

My little Faiza, how were you able to run?

She carries the lone gaze of hours 
dizzily felt four and twenty ago:
the shedding, scraping of blood,
our village skin melts neath the sun,
color of cocoa,
scent of smoking gun.

Bear not burden or shame
upon your desperate frame,
my daughter.

Her face and a diamond linger
I know the worth each brings
(Special love and a shiny finger)

Such pretty things may bring about
a slaughter.

Though never 
the same,
Though never 
together,
each possesses a facet of pain.

The rim of my Erembe in hand,
her quiet pace remains.

Details | Michele Nold-Godleske Poem

A New Day

Luna fades to dream
As the sleepy Earth's eyelids
Begin to flutter...

Details | Michele Nold-Godleske Poem

Cancer, You Are An Artist

Cancer, you are an artist
A prolific one at that,
For several dear ones
Have encountered your work.

Your wretched fingers as sculptors
Design imprints of faces unknown.
You smudge white, pain-ridden clay
A little here, a little there,
Till your subject becomes amorphous.

But oh you are not finished!
A red cross encrusted kiln
Invariably cements your doings.
A surgery of crackling and burning,
Until the shape is spit out,
A hard shell lost of all dignity.

Satisfied with your creation,
You give it one last look
Before it rests on an earthly shelf
And another project is begun.

I am sad to say,
You are quite skilled at your craft.

Details | Michele Nold-Godleske Poem

Inside a Bipolar Mind

Dynamic ecstasy shuttles me past the powdered moon
Only to plummet downward toward the sadness of the waking shore
Oh how I dream to float amidst the gentle atmosphere

Details | Michele Nold-Godleske Poem

A Course For Two

In a cafe
somewhat blase 
(I suppose)

A glass pendant glows
above You and Me;
a newly created pose.

Our eyes reflect no guise:

Whisper to me in sweet libation,
drown me in Chianti conversation,
with no pause.

Our lap cloths desire the impure:

the dessert of When and Where 
within,
We scoff at the (Maybe)
of decadent bare skin,
never demure.

Dare we continue this course for two?
Finish the glass, my dear:

The blase cafe, no longer in sight,
I propose we collide in Twilight
tonight.