Home » Poems » Best » Yolanda Nicholsen » Best Yolanda Nicholsen Poems

Best Poems Written by Yolanda Nicholsen

Below are the all-time best Yolanda Nicholsen poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Yolanda Nicholsen Poem

Poetry and Death by yolanda nicholsen

She'd entered my dwelling, my stalker a complete fatal attraction, mimicking my every move, simply distraught I was ,who could this intruder be, ripping pages on my Elliot Ness desk, pages I'd written I in disbelief this burglar searching through leaf's binderies ,I was frozen with fear, as thee gunmen arrived she begin chanting, cackling, I tried to escape, from the terrace doors I noticed a ladder against the stone way, she wore long dark legs, with giant knees, for climbing into windows and fleeing, her gunman also long legs very 
dark skin, I'd suddenly remembered, seeing her by day ,driving a Hyundai talking loud, boldly amidst the children playing, I'd written several children books poetry my true calling I attended Joseph Medill school of journalism as
a child I'd also met Mrs. Cicely Tyson, she visited my second grade class 1971 after the movie sounder debuted at the Shubert theater in Chicago she walked right up to me wearing a cast and asked what is your name pretty brown girl I say my name is Yolanda King she said well what do you want to 

be when I grow up my knees cross on the gymnasium floor hands folded on my lap just as my teacher instructed us, I said I'm going to be a writer she said indeed you are, do you know you have the same name as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. daughter Yolanda, I nodded yes somehow this created a structure for my dreams, as I sat in that townhome, shaking with fear of what these killers want, pages were ripped shots began, flooding my window I nearly fell down the spiral staircase when this woman yelled kill her she's the writer the poet from Chicago in disbelief, I remembered Martin Luther King Jr I have a dream speech 

I remember sitting with my blind grandmother ,1968 listening to a giant zenith radio hearing a nation cry, King is dead they killed him, I remember being picked up early from school, by black sedans men wearing black glasses rushing me to catholic churches, riot drills sirens hose's my eyes wide shut now here I was, retired writing poetry writing children books, is this the way I will die I prayed, afraid one of my children were hit , afraid to open the door
I looked over the balcony, the gunmen headed for my door waving a gun, this dark woman chanting kill her, as he approached my door, a truck with appliances refrigerator washer and dryer was parked, five gunman emerged from the appliances killing him, I shook as gunfire covered all sound by gods grace the man coming to end my life died at my feet

By: Yolanda Nicholsen 
written 8-19-2024 at 7:56 pm

Details | Yolanda Nicholsen Poem

Epoch Paradox Found

Meeting you here at last grasping 
every thought every meaningful 
gesture I'd wrap myself up in the 
essence of your bronzed glow
slowing lowering my minds eye 
to the depth of your soul capturing
 
this bountiful energy that seemed
to restore over and over again 
mastered to the faint beating of 
my heart mimicking ancient drums 
of an untimely epoch insecurities
hidden beneath ageless notions
 
why I'd opened the doors to a nurtured
love paradox remembered without 
effort concealed with truth a natural 
fruited appetite for passions found
unmeasured an yet we'd balanced
yesterday and tomorrow today

Details | Yolanda Nicholsen Poem

The Ransome Note

What is blackmail catering to one's 
own soul capturing fear in a mason jar 
watching the panting the empty air 
dissolving the beautiful wings extorting 
the brilliant hue manifested overtime
 
clinging to the boundaries of lusting 
to simply breathe shattering hope
craving the harsh warning signs 
the taking of every saved memory
stored so cleverly an yet balance 

restores itself all else left dangling 
surrounded by torn heart strings 
pounding fret as per diem enters the 
solid structure of surety awaiting the call 
of sheer tangible wrath the wild eyes
 
the vacant stare pockets are being ripped 
at the seams leaving only soiled lent 
as a trading post to be equally shared 
in a group setting adjusting the mere 
solace for peace an eager tantrum arouses 

malice and mangled sanity opening 
the door to find your intruder coughing 
up threats that he himself was forced 
to swallow upon leaving ransomware notes 
unapologetically relieved yet morbidly removed

Details | Yolanda Nicholsen Poem

Wind Child

I am the tangible wind 
the subtle breeze whispering 
passionate hints throughout 
uncharted mounds dancing
 
beneath the infamous sun
feeding hungry hearts gathering 
missing pieces holding time 
in place withered by tainted bliss 

I am the rapture magnified 
brilliantly over land and sea 
a multitude of languages spoken 
without listening without hearing 

I am the gully the levy the pulley 
of souls dazed captured and released 
between the meeting of the mind 
kissing the shores time after time

Details | Yolanda Nicholsen Poem

Bach's Cello

your melody sang in me 
the mystic timing arose
 
night time air sending chills 
beneath me the nightingales
 
danced a mild manner ballot 
as the cranes bowed their heads
 
moving me despite the quiet rain
the daunting task the calming pain

Details | Yolanda Nicholsen Poem

Bottled Up

it comes and goes lately it seems 
to linger leaving a few more scars 
in its wake the mastering of self 
the balance of craving the emptiness 
shattered beneath us why must we 
relive old memories collecting 

saddened streams of haste causing 
injury to the pure foundation of 
emotional bliss the beautiful part 
of self that rises to the surface 
to rescue us from complete despair 
awaken to soon we continue to wonder
 
aimlessly into moving traumatic events 
reaching for respite familiar reoccurring 
night terrors offering up our own 
mental self broken by a bleak metaphor 
seeking melancholy behavior only 
finding mirth bottled up to perfection

Details | Yolanda Nicholsen Poem

The Silent Poem

hearing softly

listening aimlessly
 
feeling sad

crying profusely
 
pouting effortlessly

leaving loudly

Details | Yolanda Nicholsen Poem

Coffee

Ground for ground why I never, 
Needed any feedback other than 
The sultry taste, the warm goodness 
Saturating my cunning senses:
 
Within the wee hours of the morn, 
Where dawn sleeps in, catering to
My desirable need for a java rush. 

Poured o'er smooth creamy delights, 
Instant gratification abodes, why I'm 
quite smitten with this mouthful of joe.

Hints of hazelnuts caramelize dazzled, 
By coconuts, wondering how the hell,
The rest of the world is simply sleeping.

Through my sudden arousal for roasted, 
Award winning kaffee, aroma nestled 
To perfection, calming ,comforting noir.

Details | Yolanda Nicholsen Poem

Domestic Abuse and Abuse of Power

After witnessing a murder meant for me after surviving a car bomb igniting my skull crushed my face bruising my brain i received threatening calls from my husbands mistress I'd reported break ins strange behavior from my husband fearing my safety his mistress who worked behind a desk falsifying documents with abuse of power breaking in my home removing poetry actually tried to summit a few of my poems as her own i reported her she was reprimanded my work returned at the time i truly didn't know her real involvement to my husband so i contacted the FBI  she arrived with her

gunman to end my life by gods grace he was killed at my feet the children and i relocated receiving victims compensation how stupid i was really brain dead laying in a blood soaked bed brain trauma in a coma for three days i didn't realize i slipped into a coma every morning my two youngest sons entered my room i could here them saying she's dead she can't wake up with all my might i tried to move my legs were weak but in my mind i was kicking they went off to school only to return six hours later crying she's dead look at her she can't move in that moment i said oh my Jesus god help me please let 

me show them I'm alive i began to cry tears rolled down my cheek my youngest announced look she crying those are new tears cause the blood is dry the oldest son said help me get her up my face was stuck to the pillow by dry blood they each held me leading me to the shower turning on the water i screamed as if i was falling off a cliff mom you're alive drying me i asked where's dad he came in how long have i been sleep he said about three days why didn't you try and wake me i wasn't sleep i was in a coma he said i thought you needed your rest it was in that moment i realized i was in trouble

as i healed he shoved me to the bank more calls my stalker demanding my personal injury funds i accused him he slammed a large brick in my back telling the children it was an accident my back was turned i was afraid for my life because of the murder trial devastated i sat praying writing poetry as hurricane Charlie Lisa Jean and Hugo plowed into my townhome more devastation i was going three times a week to therapy treatment so afraid i needed to get away from my stalker to my surprise she followed us to the new location his home town the abuse got worse slamming doors shoving 

secret meetings threats finally Christmas eve my god i only wanted to toast St. John Paul Christmas homily mass in Rome my husband grew bitter claiming all Catholics are evil he ripped my rosary beads crushed the olive oils enraged using my body to open doors my brain hurt the children screamed he threw size 11 male dress shoes at them putting holes in the walls i begged him to stop he grabbed my arms twisted it behind my back his eyes were vicious i wore wires pregnant for the FBI buying weapons and drugs from junk sick cops his eyes pupil covered the whites i said i hope you don't have drugs 

in this house because i am going to give them to the authorities he put all his weight on my arm waiting on it to pop that's when my bi polar mentally ill son ran over and said let my mother go my husband took his closed fist and hit him in the back of the head the other children held my arm another daughter was hit by the football he threw i was so timid in that moment like i was one of the children brain injured emotionally childlike my younger son called police the Christmas bells chimed he was being removed from the home restraining orders the children and i received extensive counseling therapy behavior we 

were a disabled family living off disability income my husband and his mistress embezzled every dime of my traumatic brain injury claim because she worked behind a desk committing fraud identity theft falsifying documents helping my abuser attack his family  i was just so happy to be alive and away from his controlling abuse however we still had to go to the murder trial easter St. John Paul's death we were flighted out back to Florida so i could testify in a murder trial a murder meant for me my husband and his mistress with employment using abuse of power sending me threatening letters about 

losing my social security for myself and my children or threats that read i better not go back to domestic violence shelter following me to therapy sessions threats in the parking lot i truly lived Jennifer Dulos pain when your abusive husband has help harming you and your children a jealous lover i stayed in my faith leaning on my church family and several counselors who actually drove the kids and i to schools doctors pharmacy i couldn't drive my anxiety disorder won't allow that i spent days and nights writing poetry finally finding a new home he'd moved around the corner in the back of the same 

building the incident occurred i was blessed to find a new place across town i know of the cruel world of being a domestic violence victim like Nicole Brown Simpson abuse of power helps your abuser he only return worse my domestic abuse shattered my soul i believe it was because i am brain injured  emotionally a child when he and his mistress began harming us trying to rip my poetry to feed to his mistress behind a desk at the court house pushing pens pages she believed my poetry could be hers by having an affair with my husband she could use her position at the court house by 

exposing my identity as a confidential human source to killers and dealers using abuse of power to hire a hitman to end my life over my poetry so that she could finally become me after death i remember my husband hitting me in the back with that brick after she called demanding he give her my personal injury claim she began embezzling funds an annuity payment from my structured settlement posing as me while i lay bleeding they pounced thank god i had Most Reverend Arch Bishop Cardinal Francis George Arch Bishop Jerome Listeki for support also Attorney General Charlie Crist I'm Blessed

Details | Yolanda Nicholsen Poem

Depression is not lipstick

Depression is not treated by putting on lip stick 
you stand in the mirror and put on the tears snot 
drooling in your mouth behind the curtains awaiting 
to go out on stage and face an eager audience depression
stings like a bee you painfully feel it you can't hide by journaling 

writing poetry being clinically depressed takes constant
medication to control the chemical imbalance inside the brain
every brain in different although everyone gets sad it's a human
emotion being depressed for life is a cancer that has to be 
treated professionally or the consequences can be very fatal 

millions die every year from suicide sadly homicidal suicides 
no one should encourage anyone in such a state to just write 
a book glamorize depression this euphoric thinking results 
in suicide notes and suicide planning this can be a dangerous 
ticking time bomb without medication why all suicide notes are 
poetic lyrics mental health ptsd are not a greatest hit anyone
I mean anyone in such a state needs to put down the lipstick 
put down the pen stop typing suicide notes do yourself a favor 
and make that call I did thirty years ago I am still taking 
medication in therapy and writing poetry I'm alive I survived 

my own suicide many are not alive to tell their story or just 
write poetry or publish a book don't be a deadline the greatest 
poets are read only after death don't make your suicide note 
a greatest hit on your own life save yourself save someone you
love get help stay own your meds clock is a ticking notebook

by: yolanda nicholsen 
written 2-14-2024 2:07 am.
valentines day.

In loving memory of Virginia Woolfe