Nichole Poems | Examples

How Strange

Nichole was proud to own a brand- new car
He showed it to his close friend at the bar
Michael was from country side
He had never travelled wide
All he does is going to the bazaar

"What is the name of your car", asked Michael
"Forgot its name, starts with ‘T'," said Nichole
"Oh my God, What a strange car! 
Never heard of it so far.
Your car starts with Tea, others, with petrol"!

Nichole

I truly love the thought, as the dirt is bare. 
I watch as the new life Springs forthcoming.
To realize,  our mother.
She is alive. 
With all we ever need!

To Gather Together

Happy birthday, Annia Nichole, 
They aim to gather together; 
God's people share a common goal 
Of glorifying the Father. 

Topic: Birthday of Annia Nichole Jimenea (March 26)

Silence

We sit in silence. Two mute souls with the capacity to speak.
You on the sofa playing solitaire on the tablet we bought last week; 
I, with my note pad, scribbling words on a crowded sheet; trying again for
something to mail the rejection man.
  
Bored, you turn on the Match game watching two reruns. Then perhaps
'Concentration' with Alex Trebek. Much to early for the 'Day's of our lives' 
which I video tapped  today. Tonight we'll sit down together, hoping 
Nichole will return to the show. Hoping in silence- each to his own.

Happiness of Life

N-iceness
I-n
C-omplete
H-appiness
O-f
L-ife
E-ndorses

A-lmighty
L-ord's
I-mportant
G-uide
A-nd
T-imeless
O-rders

Topic: Birthday of Nichole F. Aligato (February 07) 
Form: Vertical Monocrostic

Forever Young, Or Evan the Sage

Of all the Little Kings climbing
Hand over foot towards viciously tantalizing, grandiose
Constellations of which whir and buzz as wind up toys,
Glow worm manifestations
Of hanging mobile stars suspended from thread
Woven by The Fates from dreams vicarious
And still-warm brick oven hopes
Nestled sweetly in the ribcages' soft marrow,
My chest, agape, crackling with never quite dried blood,
The wound steaming fresh loneliness--a shrine
To the Stillborn--
Is stuffed clumsily on chubby, greased palms
With fresh wishes on old pennies,
Words teaming with glimpses of goodnight kisses
And soft, innocent breaths stirring upstream like salmon,
By the tenderness of only one Tarot Sage
And my Heart's desert riverbeds
Eagerly absorb a rain. 



"Forever Young, or; Evan The Sage"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad
Wordsmith

Quiet

I wish they taught more about
Heartbreak in English class;
That I would see your face
In stormclouds, when
Bronze from the sunset scribbles
Our names in the sky.
It is happening every day.

I am no prize
In my Rossington-Collins band teeshirt
And deliberately torn jeans,
Sitting on the end of the street-
The place where horizon brush strokes
Abruptly end.



"Quiet"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad
Wordsmith

Bloodless On Mother's Day

There is a glare of stray sunlight
daring to reverberate
through spiderwebbed glass I haven't
found energy to fix
in the span of four years.
It is too much of a mirror,
too tangible a thought,
to make new.
It's lithe fingers, thin and bony, 
and mockingly bright,
steal over embossed cardstock that arrives, like clockwork,
in deepest sympathy.
And a thornless bouquet of pastels laden with
Babies Breath
only draws on blood long lost;
nobody seems to comprehend such an allegory,
or lack there of,
so it can't be carried
over the steps.




"Bloodless On Mother's Day"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad
Wordsmith

Good, Evil, Rage: Me

Six AM is
NOT a 
         Solace:
The ( waking ) hours
Seem
        NO
Better.
Roll over and press then
Panic Switch
(In your
         too
            loose
                  pants and
Flyaway bangs
And nosebleeds)
      Wishing
A  death
Upon the sunRISE
"Because
I
Said".



"Good, Evil, Rage: Me"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad
Wordsmith

Lanterns-Or, Addiction's Self Portrait

A paper lantern of a girl;
Dim halo hazy, stitched thin by needlework.
A precision seamstress of darker dreams--
Freedom is a luxury, not
A privilege.




"Lanterns"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad
Wordsmith

On Spring

Through the fluttering buds, pregnant with
Colourful blossoms in their child green
Cuccoons. Sunlight filters, flittering in a 
Mid-afternoon breeze. It carries the scent of
Ocean tides on featherlight wings.

A spiders web, moist with dew, draws the light between
It's gossamer thighs to refract translucent
Rainbows across quartz crystal strands
To make Love to the rising sun in sweeping
Unison as La Luna; billowing in her silver gown

Shall be the equinox's first and most beautiful
Rite of passage through the seasons.



"On Spring"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad
Wordsmith

Sonnet Iv

Fleeting moments suspended in freezing air,
     One-sided passion burning like a cigarette,
A taste of feigned innocence and feigned lack of care
     Moving to the music of dreams we will soon forget.
So tell me now; kiss the bottle and spin the girl.
     Our lips show off the unsecrets they know about
And greedily caress inspired skin, unfurl
     A thousand fleshy rose petals and what's left out:
Our sins in ashes of our bodies, smoldering
     Coals in retrospect. Dance in the flames that consume
Our thoughts and actions-a distant sense of folding,
     A closer sense of cloud cover: impending doom.
Our bodies touch, they bloom, and quickly they will wilt
Upon the gravestones of the emotions we killed.



"Sonnet IV"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad
Wordsmith

Breath Away

Visual cacophonies: I witness
     Them, blithe and impaired-smouldering like a 
 Cigarette. Phoenix, to rise from ashes
     Is irrelevance; flame is far from a
Necessity to warmth, though I am no
     Prometheus with bruises of the mind.
It has wavered too long, taken too slow
     To only find it has been wasted time
(And the time peices are all unfriendly here).
     They, unreliable and tepid, take
The breath away from me-it idles there,
     Steaming from exposure, cursed and fake.
There lacks a subtle hinting waif to speak
Of all unglories of a Heart that's weak.




"Breath Away"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad
Wordsmith

Saint

I have been at a loss for cumbersome syllables
And dislocated octaves,
Which tumble in lazy metaphors from lips
Smeared with cheap makeup in declarative shades
Of fire engine spectacles, muddy rouge,
Polluted sunset pink,
To mask a cadaver's stitches, preventing
My Heart's restless peaks from bursting forth
Into senselessness.

Where have cognitive examinations flown
Off to, cradling air with hollow bones-
With the flowers, or the cowboys.
Lucidity snatches at April's
Lionlamb air;
I catch falling words on your tongue, like
Raindrops.

Strip my world, proverbial paint thinner
Peeling pseudo-realistic wallpaper
In sunburn fakes,
Of all falsities I've shacked my wrists with.
Paint over my
Red crayon scrawled morale
With You. 



"Saint"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad
Wordsmith

Vini Vidi Vici

I

I came-
The world tasting
Like raspberry candy,
Our orb a snowglobe of which to
Shake up.

II

I saw
Lightening skies,
Dawn breaking over roofs-
I sighed, inhaling the beauty
Today.

III

I conquered
Worlds with my pen!
Filling pages with ink;
Filling minds with words that speak
Of tomorrow.




"Vini Vidi Vici"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad
Wordsmith

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