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The Owl's Wise Eyes

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Fire

Sunday Morning

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Sometimes I count the way you look at my hair in the wild and green Sunday morning walks at the park. I count the stare.

One blink. Two blink. Three and four.

And when I try to look back, you turn your eyes to the ground. As if the ground has something more important to show you. I blink at your stare in the ground. As if it could tell me why my auburn hair fascinates you so every Sunday morning.

 

© Nicoletta

 

If this poem had a voice, this is what it would sing…

 

 

Photo by Kyriakos Christodoulides

Song: Jolene-Dolly Parton

 

For a Weakened Warrior

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She stared at him with confidence

Too much for him to bear.

How strong you are!

Her words vibrated.

His troubled eyes could barely look up

The bruises on his back

Too heavy of a pain

To start all over again

What a burden.

You are powerful!

She gazed at him with honor.

For fear of yet another compliment

He turned his back away.

His feet heaved across the open door

Her hand a tight grip on his shoulder.

 

© Nicoletta

 

If this poem had a voice, this is what it would sing…

 

Photo By Nicoletta, Model: Mikaella

Song: Under the Milky Way- The Church

The Mask

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Pretentious fool
In this game of rules
You played your cards wrong
Have you no fear?
Karma calling to you.
No answer.
In time the wheel
Will turn
And in return
The play will unfold itself to you
You, the lead role
Will know
What act you played all along.

owl

© Nicoletta

If this poem had a voice, this is what it would sing…

Photo by Nicoletta, Model: Mikaella

Song: The Pretender- Foo Fighters

Flame

 

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he looked at me
with burning eyes
scorching flare

I stared at him
with certainty
fearless dare

desire heating
our every touch
never have I felt
a love as such

owl

© Nicoletta

If this poem had a voice, this is what it would sing…

 

Photo by Charles Newton Price: Black Rock City, Nevada

Song: Unchained Melody- Righteous Brothers

 

Singing Soul

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I am having a love affair
with Music.
You see, I couldn’t help it.
The second I laid ears on it
Something took over.
Passion distorted my every thought
I had eyes for no one else.
The pulsating heat of every note
High or low
Birthed ecstasy into my veins.
My blood spoke with love
As if it was learning a new language
It had never heard before.
I became a poet
Citing lyrics I never knew I had inside me.
Music took over and I let it
Become every part of me
With no regret.

owl

© Nicoletta

If this poem had a voice, this is what it would sing…

 

Photo by Nicoletta

Song: Poets- Tragically Hip

Pulse

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And suddenly

I learned how to write

With an open heart.

The mind

Long left behind

Was drifting

In logic.
And with my pen

Held tight

In the right of my hand

I printed

Words with pulse.

owl

© Nicoletta

If this poem had a voice, this is what it would sing…

Polarities of Self-Discovery

Fearless fire

Burn desire

Bring alight

All my fright

So I too

Smell sweet perfume

Of crimson.

Smudge me ash

With a clash

May all I hide

Soon collide,

With all I dream.

A song

I blissfully hum

In a tune

Of a new

Me.

When all dark

Is through

And what is true

Seeps out.

Then shall

I know

What “I” am

truly about.

© Nicoletta

Adam’s Story

A cramp,

A kick in the joint

Pulsating sweat.

A twitch,

Adam felt the hit

In his limb.

Like an earthquake

Trembling beneath the soles of his feet,

Loss of balance gave him a skip in his step.

Infantility needing to quickly mature.

A soon to be mother,

Birthing his first born daughter of earth.

Oedipal nature,

Snaking its way into mankind.

The first kiss

One of incest.

A fruit so sweet

Bitter by

Dysfunctional inbreed.

A tree of genetics

Poisoned by a serpent hiss.

Humanity condemned,

Generations blindfolded with dark

A century lighted by illumination.

Ideas and creation

A bible of the high arts

Enlightening conscious minds of the future.

Consumerism,

Hands a desperate reach

For productivity.

Capital winnings,

The fat men preach.

His story repeats.

Genetically modified

Parenthood.

Mirrors of light and dark

Co-create.

From the ashes a phoenix rises

Seeing within,

The power of reflection.

© Nicoletta

The Miracle

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The sun is playful with hungry eyes
It transforms African rivers into gold mines
It embraces the reins with a glistening blanket
Leaping the heart of a weakened toddler
He squirms to spread out the miracle
Breathing in life with every attempt
With every move follows the feathered beast
The sun will burn, yet the the hellish eyes
Are set on the feast.

© Nicoletta

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