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Nico Coar Poem
I clutch my breast,
shattered
shards of the once
whole,
rubble our kitchen
floor,
mosaic of smashed
wedding gifts,
failed hopes,
dashed dreams,
ugly mugs stained
hues of love,
hearts drawn thin
as dinner plates,
dining sets burst
spider webs,
sacrificed to the selfish
gods
upon a linoleum altar.
A lone survivor
stares
down upon our battle
ground,
four eyes and
two smiles,
on high, through glass
sky,
two lives,
one wish,
shaken, rattled
not rent,
blue horizons
behind,
I see you, you see
me,
cobbled streets
underneath,
cutting through this
misery,
a photo,
a memory,
faded not forgotten,
dashed not dead,
you and me,
fingers entwined,
dreams alive,
hopes afire,
walking through Madrid.
Copyright © Nico Coar | Year Posted 2024
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Nico Coar Poem
There is a man, locked away. Shackled.
Chilled rusty bars and barb-wrapped fences
apart from his fellow man.
Shunned, unseen and unheard.
Stigmas of a world unknowing of repentance.
Of reawakenings and redemptions.
A walnut gavel, robed fist clenched,
brought down upon hard top of sacred bench,
Its loud knock—a plank walk and a drop.
The man, crestfallen, eyes on toes,
led, tied—wrists to waist, foot to foot—away he goes.
Cast overboard into the dark blue seas of oblivion and doubt.
Seas achurn with the harsh musings of a mind stripped to its core—
layer above layer of guilt,
of unvoiced apologies,
of myriad what ifs...
Backed by time, poor choice, and circumstance,
into the darkest of dead ends,
forced to face the mirror, to look the devil in the eye.
Spine pressed to cold red brick, heart pounding,
temples afire.
Nerves tingling, electric
eels swimming through his veins.
Starved for options, reduced to few, perhaps just two:
To curl, to draw his knees into his chest,
eyelids tight as the vices that brought him here.
Or defy the fight or flight or freeze,
and scrape at the settled dregs of a mind fettered and in turmoil and pain,
too long closed and locked and limited by the fallacies of the white or black.
To find a path, for a path must be,
through the anguish and the agony,
its steps shrouded to the calves in murky haze,
invisible pavers, hidden, but there the same.
To emerge the victor, made anew.
A worthy man, he's me and you.
Copyright © Nico Coar | Year Posted 2024
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Nico Coar Poem
Fulcrum of a Rose
A lambent sight, my morning star,
sweet essence on my tongue.
A mem'ry stirred—those bygone days,
a secret love so young.
That lambent sight, my nostrils seared,
trust wrought of hope and fear.
She loves me so, she loves me not—
I beg I pray, my dear.
I wonder whence this essence comes—
I close my eyes, breathe deep.
From time and space. A higher realm.
A tunnel one-way steep.
One velvet scale, droplets of dawn
falls—spirit rent in two,
Another pluck, my fingers twitch—
mere instants born anew.
I fear to count how many drop—
worse, how many remain.
That smell so sweet, now on the floor,
unraveled till insane.
Red petals, damn filthy petals!
Your right to choose, I do revoke!
I swear it on her name.
Copyright © Nico Coar | Year Posted 2025
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Nico Coar Poem
He's closed the blinds. His twilight dawns.
A midday reverie.
Within his mind, a vision spawns,
awash in mystery.
*
A levee bursts, torrents crash free—
a castle from a dream.
Atop his throne, court bent on knee,
all hail: "Long live the King!"
*
Then suddenly, the hall doors boom.
"A beast! A beast has come!"
As herald wails, and dread consumes:
"The end! The end!" they run.
*
And as he flees, all whimsy gone,
an echo beckons high.
Of beating wings, a chilling song,
a drumbeat from the sky.
*
He steps toward, all nerves afrost—
imagination wild.
A turret falls, asunder tossed—
both home and hearth defiled.
*
The creature belts—a savage shriek!—
black shadow borne aloft.
The king plants firm, through chattered teeth.
You coward! he self-scoffed.
*
A gusty gale, uproots his crown.
Gold ringing on the floor.
Stale, putrid breath, comes choking down.
He'll hide his gaze no more!
*
As four eyes meet, red versus blue,
stark mirrors of two souls.
His greatest fear, now clear as truth:
A wyvern is his foe!
*
One leath'ry wing, comes slashing in.
Its talon rife with flesh.
Unsheathed his blade, a slash akin,
their armaments enmesh.
*
The monster lands, around it whips—
forked tongue a slath'ring sight.
As from barbed tail, vile acid drips.
One prick—a deadly bite.
*
Brass hilt so slick, in sweat-drenched glove,
his lifeline sharp and true.
'Gainst rabid jaws, frothing above—
a witch's bile abrew!
*
A hack a thrust, a dash a dive.
One slip and he's devoured.
A lunge a snap, rampaging eyes!
A fiend by fury soured.
*
When by mere fluke—or was it fate?—
King's cleaving motion fast.
Condescending, full of hate,
the wyvern breathes its last.
*
Like Heracles, the labor won.
hallucination?— No!
A vict'ry yelp, The deed is done.
Now off to sleep he goes.
*
She tucks him in and gently from his fingers peels away,
A plastic sword, a pot-lid shield—which fantasy today?
So free—those fleeting days when visualization knows no end.
Her precious child, who's yet to learn, his kingdom's "just pretend".
Copyright © Nico Coar | Year Posted 2025
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Nico Coar Poem
An isolating darkness looms:
A numb yet tingled skin;
And residues of twilight's gloom,
As walls unseen close in.
This place feels sharp, yet vague and stale;
The clash stirs strife within.
My fingers click and spread—a snap!
So faint—I fear I'm dead.
Insipid airs invade my lungs:
The voices haunt my ears;
Adrift in dreamlike black, undone,
Alone, still lacking fear.
Commanded, guided, commandeered
My soul is tugged then shoved;
My anger swells, for loss so sheer,
No helm, no sense, bereft.
To think, therefore to be—I blare!
The real is mine to snatch;
I’ll walk into the tunnel’s flare,
My exit door unlatched.
Copyright © Nico Coar | Year Posted 2025
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Nico Coar Poem
I limp into the empty driveway.
Four days, two rainstorms, one infected leg.
The coyote's nip itches.
Dry spot where the red car parks.
You forgot me in that park.
My coat matted with thistle thorns.
I hope you don't return just yet.
That you're out searching for your friend.
Copyright © Nico Coar | Year Posted 2025
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Nico Coar Poem
The road drones as I run away,
one eye ahead, one on the rearview.
I squint and strain, blue-white beams on my tail.
Twin beams, staring, keeping distant pace.
You say, "It's been five years and we barely know each other."
My pointed tongue and its egalitarian wit shot back,
"Well, that's half my fault and half yours, dear."
"Half yours" second of course.
It's not that I'm a total jerk. She wouldn't have stayed with a total jerk
this long.
Keep telling yourself that. Every ditched jerk has his own "this long."
I wanna tell myself she just caught me in a bad moment.
I want her to be wrong about this...
Prove it. That's the burden I hold everyone to.
Why should I deserve an exemption? Prove it now!
It'll mean jack if I rehearse. I live rehearsing.
Rehearsing is fake. Where to start? So many choi—
Friday, August 11, 2019. Arco, pump number 4.
Smell of gas in front and lavender over my shoulder.
I feel a tap, sharp and brief, right elbow.
"Excuse me," comes a voice, richly feminine—soulful.
I feel smug eyes on my back as I fumble for five minutes
in search of the hood release of your two-door German abomination.
You giggle as the Serbian mechanic on YouTube makes me look like a fool...
Oil topped off, I hand back the key. Our fingers brush.
I held those digits for a pride-worthy seventy-two hours before giving in.
I'm glad I did. Life changed for the better in ten chicken pecks of nervous man on tempered glass.
You say, "It's been five years and we barely know each other."
The rumble strips chirp. I blink, correct the wheel, foot lighter on the pedal, car behind closer, a sparked memory:
A late-April dinner date, home-cooked lasagna and Safeway tiramisu,
third wheel catty-corner across the table: your twin, Ana.
A beautiful mirror of you.
Alike—beyond alike—in form but not in hue.
I dream of you, you know, during my short lunch hour:
That mole two inches southwest of that perfect navel,
the crescent scar mid-left thigh from that Bridalveil Fall slip,
crow's feet only a purposeful stare would catch, born of a soul destined to smile.
I'll fight any man stupid enough to call that vaccine mark below your shoulder a blemish!
The thought has me boiling—where was I?—oh, yeah:
It'd be a lie to say I know every corner of you,
but the ones I do, I cherish dearly.
In short: you're amazing, and I love you, though I've clearly failed to connect with you.
I swear if that's you behind I'll pull over here and now and beat you to "I'm sorry."
Copyright © Nico Coar | Year Posted 2025
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Nico Coar Poem
It's said, "The world will bleed away."
It bleeds and bleeds—one pint a day.
A blood as bland as monochrome,
as voices in an echo-dome.
The drooling masses lap it up.
And lick the anchor's shiny cup.
With honeyed words that tickle ears.
Or doomsday chants, neurotic fears.
One pint a spew of ink on page;
the next a clip to bait our rage.
More deep-fake, cheap-fake, viral slop,
all gobbled up without a thought.
They swipe until their thumbs fall numb.
Each point-less short a tasty crumb.
And reach into their crinkly bag,
to find a byte with which to brag.
It flows and flows—a crimson hue.
False words—a bitter cud to chew.
When idle hour courts lazy mind,
and sightless ones dare lead the blind.
When wars are waged on field and screen.
Whilst rumor mills redraw the scene.
It's said, "The world will bleed away."
The things I see—I fear it may.
Copyright © Nico Coar | Year Posted 2025
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Nico Coar Poem
He tastes the salt before he knows he's shed a tear
He'd always been a staggering man
Since his Army days known by most simply as Big Roy
Now he's a staggered man
This night, curved and hunched
Bags so heavy and dark under his eyes
They'd just as well be rotten figs about to fall
And splat and stain the ground a crimson pink
The color of the skinned knuckles of his right fist
Driven just now through the kitchen drywall
Droplets of old man blood falling to the oak planks below
Four months and eight days she'd laid there, so still
Like a wax mannequin, skin sickly-smooth
Eerie sounds all around
Synthetic lungs huffed and sighed, keeping her alive
IV bags dripped, and monitors blipped
Nurses in and out, looks of doubt
Big Roy in his bedside chair, a portrait of despair
Doctors turning shifts, side eyes, shoulders stiff
Silent urges day by day, to let her fade away
Big Roy clutching her hand, dangling from a strand
His world narrowed to the breadth of a sterilized room
Bank accounts wiped, his last dollar spent, insurance denied
The final choice was made, not in Big Roy's mind
But rather in a shady, mildewed committee room
The call that signaled Bonnie's doom
And sent her up to meet her King
And sparked Big Roy's spiral down
For he has no business up
Swearing never again, never, ever again
To ask of any higher power a single thing
Now, on his knees on the dusty kitchen floor
Broken hand dripping red
Shivering cold
Here, where memories were forged in steel
Of griddlecakes and apple peels
Of love made at odd hours, and in conspicuous places
And ferocious fights quenched under light of candle flames
Where now he fails to find a reason why
Nor how, nor to what end
To carry forward this miserable quest
And draw inside another putrid gulp of breath
Knowing it will never again bear her sweet scent
Big Roy's castle, visited as he sat in that hospital chair
By gremlin architects with sinister plans
Remodeled in his absence into a dungeon of stone
Iron bars and ghostly moans
And voices of those who once professed to be real friends
They all would laugh, if they saw him now
Big Roy, once so strong and proud
"It's been ten years," they'd say, "you have to move on."
Where to? Fools who never in their lives tasted a nibble of true love!
The salt burns, in his eyes
His head's pressed to hard wood, between his thighs
Back arched high like a spooked cat
He confesses in whispers, down into the kitchen floor
Between the old oak boards and into the land
Feelings and thoughts only Bonnie could understand
Copyright © Nico Coar | Year Posted 2025
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Nico Coar Poem
I sit atop my woeful vantage point
Legs dangling in my bunkmate's face
Limp, like willow branches hanging
Eyes red, dark bags, temples banging
I gaze upon my sad communal room
A sea of men sequestered from reality
Sleep deprived, seeking an escape
Craving it in any form or shape
They told me ten, or eight if well-behaved
My penitence inside this concrete cage
They told me men like me can find a way
To cope until my liberation's day
Easy for them to say...
This tiny speck of what I hope is real
Smuggled in by only God knows who or how
Dissolved upon an orange plastic spoon
Destined to console my afternoon
I stare down at my hard-gotten syringe
A secondhand, diabetic's pill-call side hustle
Locked and loaded—its provenance disgusting to contemplate
Still, three hours outside this fence—all on a silver plate
My dangling legs have failed me once again
Both arms refuse to lead me to my bliss
All four, bound for hours at the veins
Yet not a trace of snaky purple remains
Years of this abuse have managed to collapse them all
I feel the nurse's frustration at that last blood draw
I've tried between my toes—it's no good too
I've poked and probed and cursed, believe me you
And so, as the men around me pass the endless hours
Six-hour workouts, countless rounds of dominoes, lukewarm showers
I'll chase my fleeting, numbing, pathetic reprieve
Just one fortuitous prick and I'll be there
Wasting away on this bunk, not a care
Copyright © Nico Coar | Year Posted 2025
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