Photo by altoarizona.com
I see your dreams clearly
reflected in mine whenever
sunlight parts the clouds...
still strong, undaunted
by our struggle to love
and live as we should.
And when the dark hours
allow us to blend into the night,
I feel you
jogging beside me,
resisting the winds that would
scatter our hopes,
unafraid of the journey
that shall one day set us free!
Yesterday is gone forever,
into the realms of what could have,
should have, or might have been.
Tomorrow is our faithful expectation
of God's continued grace.
But if we are to truly appreciate Today,
then we must accept it as a precious gift
called the Present.
And, whether this day brings sunshine
or rain, pleasure or pain,
we are blessed to share our
trials and our triumphs, our mountains,
and our molehills
with family.
Paul Howard Nicholas
Why are you storing the remains
of departed souls in fertile soil?
How can you fail to see apple blossoms
or acres of golden grain here or
a park filled with laughter
and bouncing balloons
instead of this morbid warehouse
packed inside the Earth,
filled with cocoons that will never contain
anything again?
Lift your sights to the true meanings of
life and transition.
Behold the splendor of the butterfly
in flight, floating so freely
upon sun warmed currents
of fresh spring air,
shedding not one tear over
the caterpillar’s death.
Trouble follows her everywhere
like a patient, re-usable lover:
ready, willing, eager at a moment’s notice to
stray with her into another binge
of uncharted adventures,
high above and far beyond the outer boundaries
of her inner compass.
Trouble lives and breathes to fulfill her needs,
the perfect companion when her stable, secure
world starts to drain away her passions;
when a prolonged state of peaceful co-existence
leaves her stranded in a foreign land where
smiles and kind gestures are obligations
instead of free gifts, and where
too many days of sunshine make her crazy
for some thunder and some lightning and
some pouring down rain!
And so, when she calls, Trouble always comes
to save her from the safety of a predictable existence,
to whisk her away to a more exciting place
where freak shows and fireworks
help quench her cravings for drama,
where clowns and creepy characters
dare her to fall asleep;
where party now/pay later is
the reigning rule of law.
But she never seems to remember that the
trash-scattering, window-shattering joy-rides
she enjoys so much with Trouble
inevitably end with a familiar parting image:
her, trapped inside a framed souvenir snapshot,
pleading with Trouble to leave her alone
in a bleak, black alleyway, flooded up to her ankles
in backwater from the sewer pipes
Trouble crashed her into,
praying for deliverance once again
from the blood-hungry tracking hounds
barking in the distance.
© 2016 Paul Howard Nicholas
Mother America’s Birthday
Being black in America is like being
born from the womb of, and entrusted to
the care of, a deranged white woman who
curses the day she conceived you.
She won't let you starve for fear of what
the neighbors might say.
But she will remind you daily of how
worthless you are and beat you mercilessly
for minor infractions that your white brothers
and sisters commit with impunity.
And she will do everything in her power to ensure
that you remain hopelessly mired in the muck of her
craftily camouflaged, cramped and cluttered back yard.
Happy Birthday, Mother America.
Please get some help.
© 2017 Paul Howard Nicholas
West 6th Street, Port Arthur, Texas, Summer 1960. (Nicholas Family Archives)
Yesterday is gone forever,
into the realms of what could have,
should have, or might have been.
Tomorrow is our faithful expectation
of God's continued grace.
But if we are to truly appreciate Today,
then we must accept it as a precious gift
called the Present.
And, whether this day brings sunshine
or rain, pleasure or pain,
we are blessed to share our
trials and triumphs, our mountains,
and our molehills
with family.
Wishing everybody Love, Peace, Health, and Prosperity!
Photo by Marilyn Phelps
Eleven poems dedicated to those who, by the grace of God, and the love of good people, survive the consequences of bad decisions:
Perfect Balance
With medicated fears/tranquilized emotions
I dance on a tightrope between
darkness and daylight
without a net.
Forward…
Backward…
I have mastered the act,
high above the madness, yet
far beneath the sky.
After the Crash
Two ravaged vehicles sit awkwardly sprawled
on their knees, mortally injured,
unable to face each other.
Hissing, cringing in shock, they glare
at the curious crowds gathering
beneath a high noon sky.
Their broken eyes cry steamy streams of
bright green tears that splash on the pavement
and dribble over pebbles in a race
to the gutter.
Large ribbons of twisted metal,
ripped from their posts,
lie scattered on the asphalt,
reflecting sunlight amid
a heavy sprinkling of shattered glass
spattered with a spray of
alcohol and blood.
Drunk Tank
Feeling too heavy inside a hollow block
of ice…
Days over my head, hours under my feet…
Looking at life through a crack in my heart,
keeping things out that would keep me
locked in, struggling to bounce back
from a head-cracking collision
with a concrete floor,
sticky with the sickness of the dying
and the dead.
Robbery
With my sack packed,
filled by a man who loved his life
more than money, I
jump behind the wheel
of a barely running car, tearing off
into the night!
Loud music booms from my speakers,
blocking out the pleading voice
of the conscience I left behind
and the maniacal laughter of Mr. Payback
lurking up ahead.
Correctional Education
This is where we study
the infinitely intricate structure of the
permanent upper hand,
where the apprentice learns to master
many different patterns of colorful deceit,
where the weak become more aware
of the strong,
where lessons inspire weapons for
a survivor’s defense.
Yes, this is where we study,
striving for the diploma that will
unlock the front door.
Group Therapy: Inside the Fish Tank
An unfortunate group of the highly stressed
make clever commitments to live better lives,
bathing the master’s ear in medicine so vital
to his health.
Under the guise of progress they practice
a vicious game, chewing petty secrets
down to the quick,
cursing the demons they say drove them mad,
challenging others to purge the venom from their brains,
tearing at crusty scabs that shield soft, fleshy wounds.
They yell and swear, a few even cry
till the musty little room reeks with a pungent,
fuming mixture of anger and sweat and
tears and fear.
But the timekeeper outside can’t wait any longer.
It’s time to go home.
Ignoring the hearts and minds nailed to the walls,
he points to the cheap watch choking his wrist.
Business as usual.
Get back to your cells!
On an Island Called Jail
How long will these fireflies of hope
flicker in the darkness, offering so little
in ways to light my path?
How much longer can I beat down the anger
that would easily consume my life?
And what shall be my pace in this race
of the wise, and the swift,
and the unburied dead?
Visiting Day at a Quarter to Three: Terminal Island Federal Prison
Your warm embrace and tender, farewell kiss
lift me into a different realm of existence.
A bright beam of light propels me forward
to a far away place where
nights of pure satin, and unleashed passion
let me touch you deep inside.
I could hold you close forever
in this spinning autumn wind, lost
and yet protected from the empty days alone,
sheltered from the distance between us that
grows with each good-bye…
But reality intrudes to pull you from my arms,
testing my strength, teasing my needs,
taunting my soul with an unfinished dream.
And so I watch you walk away
into the spaces where our future lives…
looking back, a sigh beneath a smile…
so pretty in the sunlight,
so precious in my heart.
A Prayer My Family Once Prayed for Me
Our Heavenly Father,
we come before you to request Devine Intervention
in the emergency rescue of a drowning soul.
The energy of this confused, restless spirit is enormous
but he has taken the wrong river and, at this very moment,
faces mortal extinction, thrashing about wildly
in a whirlpool of lies, cursing the darkness,
growing weaker by the hour.
And, while we do acknowledge the faults and misdeeds
of our wayward brother,
so do we also pray for Your merciful consideration of
his greater self,
asking that You brighten his midnight sky
with even the faintest flickers of lightening
so that his eyes may focus upon the nearness of the shore
and upon the many strong, outstretched hands.
Amen.
The Wild Life
You’ve shown me the pains
of the unpaid rent,
the hollowness of time
wastefully spent,
the crawling discomfort
of suspicious eyes,
the hypnotic power of
rational lies,
the confusion of losing
what never was mine,
the far other side
of a very thin line…
And yet, sometimes...
every now and then...
I miss you.
Act Four
I portrayed the fool, broke every rule
till even I believed the role.
Then I learned the part of the wooden heart
to silence questions in my soul.
Now I pray to be a better me,
never too heated, never too cold.
