THE MEANING OF ME SHALL ALWAYS BE
JOINED BY THE GREAT AND SPIRITUALLY
THE QUAINTNESS AND AGES IT HAVE TOOK
TO REWRITE THE PAGES OF SAM COOK
I GRAVELY TAKE CHAPTERS AND LIVE THEM TOO
FROM EVERYTHING IN ME THE SOULFUL THE BLUE
SHALL THE VINTAGE TIMES READ MISTY AND YET
THE LEGENDARY ME FOR I SHANT FORGET
WHILE THE PURITY MOVES INSPIE A HARSH FLOW
PNLY GIVING THE MEANING A PLAN TO GROW
AS HERITAGE IS GREAT AND SO FULL OF HOPE
AS THE GUIDANCE AND STRENGTH ALLOWS US COPE
WHY THE LAZY DAZE OF MISSING HEAVEN ALL GOODBYES
AS THE TRANQUIL BLESSINGS GLEAMS IN THEE EYES
WHILE THE PEACEFUL NATURE CONTINUES TO RISE
AS THE MEANING OF IT ALL TAKES FRONT STAGE
WHILE THE JOURNEY GROWS PAGE AFTER PAGE
WRITTING BY YOLANDA JOY NICHOLSEN
MARCH 17 2005 IN AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
I SIMPLY ADORE BEING A POET
THE MEANING OF ME SHALL ALWAYS BE
JOINED BY THE GREAT AND SPIRITUALLY
THE QUAINTNESS AND AGES IT HAVE TOOK
TO REWRITE THE PAGES OF SAM COOK
I GRAVELY TAKE CHAPTERS AND LIVE THEM TOO
FROM EVERYTHING IN ME THE SOULFUL THE BLUE
SHALL THE VINTAGE TIMES READ MISTY AND YET
THE LEGENDARY ME FOR I SHANT FORGET
WHILE THE PURITY MOVES INSPIE A HARSH FLOW
PNLY GIVING THE MEANING A PLAN TO GROW
AS HERITAGE IS GREAT AND SO FULL OF HOPE
AS THE GUIDANCE AND STRENGTH ALLOWS US COPE
WHY THE LAZY DAZE OF MISSING HEAVEN ALL GOODBYES
AS THE TRANQUIL BLESSINGS GLEAMS IN THEE EYES
WHILE THE PEACEFUL NATURE CONTINUES TO RISE
AS THE MEANING OF IT ALL TAKES FRONT STAGE
WHILE THE JOURNEY GROWS PAGE AFTER PAGE
WRITTING BY YOLANDA JOY NICHOLSEN
MARCH 17 2005 IN AN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
I SIMPLY ADORE BEING A POET
The lines written in happiness are now flames dancing within me,
A leading role that turned me into a ghost on divine stages.
A forgotten radio play, without a director to guide its way,
Piano notes float inside me, echoes from a particular realm at bay.
Is it pleasure or fear that I feel in the depths of my profound being?
The awakening of madness, a mix of cries and deep silence, agreeing.
With trembling hands, I cling to the thin threads of reality,
A paradox opening my path to the labyrinths of eternity.
It's a bewildering paradox I live with every passing moment,
A book written by me, yet burned, leaving cold ashes in atonement.
How long will I wander this road, without a place to rest my head,
Always moving, knowing there's no home where I can be led?
I am a traveler lost in time, a dreamer without a clear aim,
In search of meaning, a longing in my soul that never fades, never wanes.
In the stream of consciousness, a silent song is born, struggles, and breaks,
And in this silence, a melancholic magic, a destiny that never forsakes.
In the shadow of an eclipse, where worry takes its flight,
The burden of strife can weigh you down,
Yet in each moment of pain, in the depths of sorrow’s night,
A spark of sunshine glimmers, a whispering sound.
When loss feels like a mountain, an insurmountable wall,
And anguish grips the heart with a vice-like clutch,
Draw breath, finding strength in the smallest of all,
For even in fear, hope can ignite with a gentle touch.
Through the uncertainty that often clouds the way,
Search for meaning, a glimpse of purpose in the dark,
Though deprivation may linger, and hunger never sway,
A flicker of resilience can light the faintest spark.
So rise above the lack that seeks to confine,
Embrace the light of sunshine, let it wash over the pain,
For in the heart, a whispered promise will align,
That from the depths of sorrow, hopes can rise again.
My hands, too small to grasp a dream in its gentle flight,
Yet too large to capture their attention, to hold them in their delicate thread.
What am I, if not art, just a simple presence without contour,
Perhaps just the frame that surrounds a story, without a murmur of its own?
In the flow of my thoughts, I wonder who I truly am,
If perhaps I've only been a frame, a space too wide, too flat.
My hands cannot keep the magic of the dream that unravels easily,
Nor capture the gazes that fly like birds without flight.
I wonder what remains of me when everything disappears like mist,
Just an echo of unfulfilled dreams, a shadow that clings to my life.
But perhaps the frame has its own beauty, in its subtle silence,
Like a silent witness to art, giving it form, but never speaking out.
Thus, I continue to weave my thoughts in this inner labyrinth,
Searching for meaning, a light, a fragment of the dream I long for.
And even when my hands seem powerless in the face of destiny,
I remain a part of the story, a necessary outline of the mystery.
We are asleep. Our life is a dream woven from shadows and lights,
But sometimes we wake, just enough to know that we are dreaming,
Searching through the folds of the night for a hidden meaning, a calling,
We wake up tired and fall asleep restless, navigating among fading stars,
We toil under the burden of our own selves, seeking relief in the realm of imagination,
Where thoughts turn into birds flying over fields of desires,
And the soul becomes a river flowing through the valleys of endless time,
In search of a moment of clarity, a glimmer of truth in the night,
And in dreaming, we find tender wings that carry us to untouched horizons,
Where dream and reality meet in a symphony of colors and silences.
Sometimes we wake, only to remember that sleep is just another way of living,
A chaotic dance of shadows on the canvas of the mind, a labyrinth of emotions and thoughts,
And in this ephemeral awakening, we glimpse a light calling us towards dawn,
But we always return to the dream, to that realm where everything is possible and everything is nothing,
Where we find and lose ourselves, in an eternal cycle of searching and rediscovery.
My garden plots my demise
Haunts me like a living soul
The care I give is appreciated, yet expected
Each time I weed takes a toll
When it's time to prune
All hell breaks loose
The clods grow stones to throw and wound
The ears of corn hear all that I say
They stalk me, following every which way
The sly potatoes sprout eyes to spy
And the others sharpen their spears to slay.
As I sweat with tools through the rows and rows
I hear the whispered names they call
I know the slang they use , ( crying, "hoe!")
Meaning a loose woman and I'm appalled !
willy be an orca
in an
amuse meant-park
soon
to be ocean freed as
'william'
meaning a "will! - i-am
as a
free brain-down here"
stan sand
In the world of love, a message so true,
With letters and numbers, I say "I love you."
For 1 is "I," 4 is "love," and 3 is "you."
A simple code, expressing what is so pure and true.
Like stars in the sky, shining bright above,
143 whispers through, a message of love.
With each digit's meaning, a feeling is conveyed,
A love that's unspoken, yet never will fade.
One is for the longing, the yearning in my heart,
Four represents affection, a love that won't depart.
Three signifies you, the one who holds my soul,
Together, forever, as two halves make a whole.
In 143, a love story unfolds,
Across the winds of time, our love never grows old.
From the first glance to the last goodbye,
143 speaks volumes, without saying why.
So let this poem be a testament true,
Of the love that is cherished between me and you.
For in this code lies a love that will be,
Forever and always, just you and me.
It is impossible to live at peace with an enemy for whom peace is anathema.*
Anathema meaning “a person or thing accursed or consigned to damnation or destruction.”
In shadows of the night, I ponder deep,
Why does this emptiness inside me creep?
I'm just a girl, lost in this vast sea,
Searching for answers to set my soul free.
The world whirls by, a chaotic race,
But I stand still in this empty space.
I wear a smile, but it's just a mask,
Hiding the questions I dare not ask.
Why do I feel this hollowness within?
Is it the world's noise, or some secret sin?
I long for meaning, a purpose to hold,
In this story of mine, yet untold.
The days go by, a relentless stream,
And I chase dreams, like a fleeting gleam.
But they slip through my fingers like grains of sand,
Leaving me empty, like a forgotten land.
Perhaps it's the journey, not the end,
That fills our hearts, my dear friend.
I'll keep on searching, I'll never stop,
For the answers lie within, at the heart's workshop.
In the quiet moments, when stars above,
Whisper secrets of the universe's love,
I'll find the solace, I'll find the key,
To unlock the mysteries inside of me.
So, in this quest, I'll bravely tread,
Though the emptiness lingers in my head,
I'll write my own story, and make it sublime,
And fill this void with the sands of time.
Yearning, in my quest for meaning, a dream unfolds
A barrier where reality fades and imagination holds
A reflection, an illusion, of a person who stole my heart
I tried to catch the glimpse of her face but the dream didn't last
From one realm of existence to another she runs
Breaking her promise of meeting me upon the setting of sun
Hiding and waiting for me to come seek
But the dream ends before we can meet
In a place where eternal promises are made
I always wait for her under the tallest tree's shade
I wonder if I will ever be able to win this game
And have the opportunity to see her once again.
Find me so that I know there is a heart where I belong
Someone to write songs for and a companion to travel along
Find me before I lose myself in this vast world
Make me yours before someone else does
Flattered... my name meaning a Princess of ancient times,
In the state of Malawa, where temple-bells rang chimes,
Bard, Kalidasa, composed in Sanskrit an epic great
About a Princess and her story of disguise and fate.
Agnimitra, handsome Prince, enamoured by her beauty,
But he was not aware of her true identity!
Thrilled to imagine myself heroine of such a story,
romance, and intrigue - part of a history and glory!
To some, my name symbolises a purple flower,
Which never fails to charm viewers’ hearts, in its bower.
To some others, it represents a graceful supple plant,
My mother thought I was a blessing which her God did grant!
My father exclaimed - she is the “garland” for me,
My daughter, my ultimate joy, a sublime beauty!
Many years they waited eagerly to embrace a girl,
My parents thought - they were gifted a gem purer than pearl.
bloodshed of the kings
until Christ arrives
with mournival of aces
a double-edged sword “The Word”
creates; and obliterates evil
8/19/2022
*mournival - set of 4, comes from the French word meaning a “slap in face.”
Unsoiled white pages attract like magnets
Waiting for words like silvery bits of iron filings
Words and phrases seeking recognition,
Hungering for an emotionally satisfying place
Of lasting importance -- meaning, a message
Not to be erased by this age’s mediocrity,
Worthy of being a literary rite of passage
That will more than merely fill a blank space
Not cold or unmoving like a legal deposition
But inspiring as a glorious choir of voices singing
Unsoiled white pages attract with no regrets.
Written July 18, 2022
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