Her body perfectly blends in
with the night,
merely a silhouette,
her beauty accentuated
by the lack of light.
And though I have tried,
the earth has crawled
into her tiny bones,
the dirt has gotten
inside her fingernails,
and they have pinned
all their compliments onto her,
but I know when I'm gone,
she won't bleed with me.
Oh how can no one see
she'll no longer be a part of me,
how can anyone expect me
to be nostalgic
when I can't even feel
the sting of her golden days
where I bathed in the sun's rays.
I have suffocated her
and peaceful nights are now
but a blur,
and that is how you want me;
*on fire, stoic, dangerous.

.
The heron spreads his wings and preys.
His stony stand a beachhead sloughing
The salt sea, a sepulchered wading.

Leaven the broken bred, unshell
The teeming waters, a fisher of mermen
Unlordly low this lying father,
His wings are palms,

His rock a mount, his wings a bay,
And deafness, tears in the outer shores
And exaulted seas the forgiven waves,

Swells the briny blood and kelp.
Vains are streaming to the fisher king,
Lordy he lands the lying father
His wings are psalms.

A tiny flood that arcs the sky
Marks lord in miniature, a King
Fisher flies, His wings are
The waters calmed.

The otters bask and preen, mermen
Jostle in the laddered rays of the sun
They mark their surf, insouciant play,

Wavering the fisher of men, he sways,
Simply they circle in song singing hours,
Dancing as do the murmuring waves,
Their strokes are psalms.

Morning comes with fear tow...
with what light bears to all unknown.

Had last night forboding dreams...
Hear the water of trickling streams.

  This calls away the night concerns...
to what there is this day to learn.

What riddles does this day in store...
soon thoughts of life return once more.

To hear the distant spring Birds song..
and dawns that bird- been gone quite long..
with the croaking frogs down by pond...

Now back at home where they belong...
these Sounds the Farm's been waiting on.

So smiling in her stoic way-
Now looking forward to this day..
it's time to shelve her timid thoughts- instead sets mind to things she ought

Put on boots this early morn'- as Mother's calf just newly born.
A baby sprung-  internal nest..
now lays down beside his Mother's chest.

Life on Farm starts out Anew with thoughts of hope and joy imbued.   

            All Rights Reserved * 2016 Cherie Nolan

I will walk until I feed the soil with my bones
and I will not stop for food or water
as I do not need these things for where I aim to go.

I will not look back at who I leave behind,
at who will age and crumble where they stand
as these statues do not line the halls of where I aim to rest.

The years will pass beneath my feet like dreams within my sleep,
and names will fade from faces and those faces to the distance.
Of all the places they will haunt not one will be my thoughts.

My soul will ware with each desert crossed
leaving pieces of myself at every corner turned
until I walk on bruised and ****** heels leaving crimson prints behind.

The heat will bake my skin, the rain will wash the dust,
and this coat of skin hanging on these bones will fall;
I will be then just my core, only bones outside an empty husk

Bones are brittle and will break, marrow staining resting rocks.
This last effigy will fail, falling forward with momentum
pointing in direction one last time at where I aim to go

I will then be free.

He gives her a wilting rose with thorns —
Fingers crossed and a wry smile.
She suppresses pain and denies truth.
She smiles and says, i love you
Through a sore palm and bleeding fingers

My eyes feel soft now with tears
It's true, my heart can't beat but it works

You're bidding me goodbye for unrequited love
You're sailing into the world, to find love

Ever wondered why I live without a beating heart
It hurts badly now that you're gone
You thought your love was unrequited?

Feel free and live
With my stoic self, I'll still be alive
Without a beating heart.

she succumbs to her own beauty
the way one yields to awesome fate
and carries it like an accidental gem
that she has to learn not to worship

to watch her you'd think it hurt for sure
with no conceited smile for good measure
her true asernal before which suitors wilt
is the stoicism of her serene countenance

she lends credence to roadside philosophies
based on the assertion that beauty and grace
are accidents of biology and heritage
and takes no credit for such accomplishments

a woman is beautiful even when the straits are dire
and days are darkest in the most depraved of places
she weeps silent tears when her children are hungry
and they gorge themselves on her loveliness and sleep

tomorrow being another day she struggles anew
and conquers hard reality with feminine creativity
and no matter how hard ill-fortune lacerates her
her delectable contours and carriage still shine through

she has no false pride though she's a pearl of great value
and is forever the stoic beauty driven by the calmness
of the aesthetic tremours of her bewitching gait
in the shadow of a moon rising on the horizon

woman you're nature's rival in beauty and depth