She never asked for castles or a love story grand,
Just someone who would always understand.
Someone who’d notice the things left unsaid,
And remember the little thoughts inside her head.
Someone who’d know how she takes her tea,
What makes her smile, what makes her happy.
Who’d bring her flowers on an ordinary day,
Just to see her smile and brighten her way.
She wants to be heard, respected, and known,
To feel that with him, she’s never alone.
A love so gentle, yet fiercely true,
The kind that says, “I’ll always choose you.”
And if the world should laugh and say,
“He’s wrapped around her every day,”
He’d simply smile, without a care,
Because loving her was never a burden to bear.
She doesn’t want someone to rule or possess,
She wants a heart that chooses her happiness.
A love that feels like coming home,
Where two hearts belong, but neither owns.
That’s all she asks, nothing more, nothing less
A love full of warmth, respect, and tenderness.
Someone who loves her, in all that she’ll be,
And makes forever feel easy and free.
MY OWN KIND OF BLUES CAME IN THE EVENING NEWS
SADDESS FILLS MY SOUL FOR NO REASON I'M TOLD
QUIET NOW WIPE THOSE TEARS AS MY EYES CLEARS
THE WETNESS POURS MORE AND MORE ON THIS FLOOR
OF GRIEF BENEATH ME I WEEP SO PROFOUNDLY
AS LAUGHTER COVERS THE SUN TASTING THE WARM
SUBLE AIR NO ONE WILLING TO SHARE IT
FOR I CAN NOT BREATH FOR SUCH A PAIN
I LIE HEAR 80 YEARS MY SENIOR AS I DIE TODAY
FROM A HORRID DEATH OF LOVING TOO MUCH
AND NOW THAT THE FUNERAL IS THROUGH
IT'S RIGHT IN MY FACE HE DON'T LOVE YOU
SUCH A SILLY LITTLE THING HERE LOOKING AT ME
WAITING AND WANDERING HOW GREEDY IS SHE
FOR I TAKE NOTHING AND INHERIT YOUR PAIN
I SWALLOW THE CRIES HIDDEN DOWN YOUR SPINE
AS I CRY FOR US BOTH AS I REAP WHAT'S SEWN
HERE IN THE DEBTS OF PITY HOW CAN I LIVE
IN SUCH AN EMPTY CITY I WHERE OLD SHOES USED
JUST SITTING HERE WEEPING WITH THE BLUES
WRITTEN BY YOLANDA JOY NICHOLSEN 5-20-2004
2610 PROVIDENCE STREET FORT MYERS FLORIDA
COPING WITH TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY
evening was pregnant with silence
noiseless in eerie quietude
the kind of night ripe for murder
she usually liked walking this path
never felt threatened before tonight
but eight young women were missing
she hesitated when she heard a twig snap
then she began walking a bit faster
hearing another set of footprints catching up
Rendezvous and Little Pooh
eating Christmas pie
says Rendezvous to Little Pooh
want me to stick you in the eye?
What kind of poem is this creepy story?
Asks grandma’s four-year-old granddaughter, Tori.
the horrible kind my folks always read to me said her grandmother.
Probably why nightly nightmares snatched up me and my brother.
You leave my heart with an agonizing ache,
a rot that hollows me, worn and thin;
yet every vow to leave, I break,
because I crave the anguish you drown me in.
You tear me down to splinters, nerve by nerve,
and leave me trembling where the wreckage lies;
yet still I reach for every wound you serve,
as if your torment were love in disguise.
I drink your cruelty like a sacred wine,
and call it love because I need it so;
each wound becomes another fragile sign
that I am yours and cannot let you go.
The wolves would kill me quickly and be done,
but you return and teach me how to stay;
I learn to chase the loaded gun,
and kiss the hand that pushes me away.
I know the wounds will never close,
that loving you will always leave its mark;
but I would rather live inside your storm
than spend my life safely in the dark.
In your arms I choose to stay afraid,
because I believe your heart hides love within;
pain becomes a small thing when it's weighed
against the chance that you might choose me again.
I'm a furry Aussie wombat
I'd like to ask you for a date
And if it all works out
you could become my best mate
Together we'd go bush
where we'd scratch a little furrow
The start of a conjugal home
we could extend and build a mighty burrow
We could feed upon the Aussie native grass
to that menu add some leaves and roots and moss
And if we become a couple
I'd always let you be the boss
I'm regarded as a cuddly kind of chap
who knows we might eventually elope
I would send you birthday cards
communicate by post, in a brightly, coloured envelope
Taking photographs of strangers at the park,
I wonder upon the foundations in which
they were built.
Did their mother sing them to sleep?
Did they not have a mother?
The most important questions
are the rhetorical things.
Did they practice piano
or attend dance recitals?
Creativity is a beautiful thing.
Were they encouraged,
or discouraged?
I think that eventually
you become what you become,
regardless of anything.
Back to my work:
Old couples hold hands.
A Black woman plays jazz.
Newlyweds skip.
Teenagers kiss.
A clumsy kid trips.
A duck quacks.
Fountains spew.
Flowers bloom.
Everyone laughs,
and God smiles.
This world is as ugly
as it is beautiful.
Today,
I am grateful
for all the pretty parts.
May we be blessed to have much love in our life
a wide and diverse array…
the kind of love that we are sure will last
until our last breath fades away.
Psychology, Global Crime
Where is the life?
Where is personality?
Where is freedom?
Where is an independent being?
Where is life?
Where is the person?
Where is the individual?
Where is the life?
Psychology, why cover life?
I want freedom, no criminals, no psychologicals
Just live, just live, just live. Hmm. My life
In God’s world
In purity
No
Psychology
No
Psychology
Psychology life.
Life
Plan of God
God created a path. No psychologists’ kind
Psychology is a despotic being, trying to be over the mind
For power. For money. To rule the lives
I need to live the pure life. I want. No criminals
No psychological crimes
Every day should be like Snow White’s favorite day
Where the jack-o-lantern is grinning, and the mice are at play
A day balmy yet cool, with orange leaves shimmering around.
Where butterflies flit and flutter with barely a sound
The kind of day where singing automatically begins from the heart.
Today looks like it might be that kind of day, I realize with a start.
nobody pours the first drink
planning to smash a face
or throw a chair through a window
or say the one sentence
that burns down a marriage
they pour it because the day was heavy
because the mirror asked too many questions
because silence felt like a jail cell
alcohol isn’t courage
it’s a solvent
it loosens the screws
that kept the monster bolted to the floor
some men turn soft
crying over dogs they kicked years ago
some men turn poetic
talking about God and jazz and women who left
and some—
some discover there was a fist
waiting behind their ribs
all along
violence doesn’t arrive drunk
it was already renting a room
alcohol just hands it the key
the punch comes faster
than the thought
the apology comes later
if it comes at all
bars are full of mysteries
but this one’s simple:
booze doesn’t invent the devil
it just lets him talk louder
and when the lights come on
and the blood dries
everyone says the same thing—
“I didn’t know I was like that.”
yeah.
nobody ever does.
She's very determined
Not desperate
She's not a gold digger
Whatever she owns
She works very hard for
She have a lot of integrity
She always standout in the society.
Whatever love she gets
She never misuse or abuse
She's grateful
So she doesn't become disgraceful
Because she knows the game
Steadily living life according
To her pace not societal race.
She knows what she needs
That's why she never settles
For societal wants
Because every deeds
Comes with a ripple effect
She's very independent
Not a liability
She's always available for productivity.
Where can I find this special kind of woman!?
So much to look forward to
yet, for many, so much to dread
The turkey with all the trimmings
the family gathered together --
to fight over ‘party’ politics
or gorge themselves on ‘football pleasure?’ ...
Is it a chance to praise this nation’s humble beginnings
or to cleave us further asunder with senseless sinning
C’mon, America: Isn't Thanksgiving for praising the Lord
for recounting the finest qualities of humanity ~
Not for watching football, getting drunk or stoned
insulting and embarrassing each other, and other insanity
with one loud pop the electricity went out in our house
we live in an earth sheltered home and keep black blinds on windows
it was an instant cave, dark as coal and quieter than sleep
until the dogs woke up and began their loud, baleful howling
It is eerie in the dark when you live underground
And there is no light coming in; the best thing to do is sleep
Two dogs hit the bed the second I laid down
One weighs one hundred and twenty, the other weighs one hundred
We call them our pony dogs; I petted them both to console them
My husband slept through this storm, not hearing its fierce loudness
My eyes closed and I heard the dogs snoring; we were all safe.
Sleeping in a storm is the best kind of sleeping if you ask me.
May we be blessed to have the kind of friends
who can be entrusted with our sadness…
who will not only share our joy….
but will overlook our madness
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