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!
Your wife, without consulting you, invites her brother and his husband to spend the weekend at your home.
You have three young sons, ages five, seven, and eight.
What do you do?
(Please post your response in Comments.)
-Paul Howard Nicholas, Natural Light Network
Photo by Paul Howard Nicholas
As we celebrate this grand breakfast
in our new garden temple
let every window be opened,
every curtain drawn aside.
May the morning find us fresh, alive!
Embracing the crisp air to quicken our senses,
absorbing sunshine to warm our hearts.
May our souls become infused with
the enlightening nourishment of Love and Faith
and a deep appreciation for each new blade of grass.
And as we enjoy this cherished reunion
of Earth and Sun and Life,
let us also remember the prayers
that have sustained us in darkness
for they are powerful wings to lift us up
and into tomorrow.
© 2016 Paul Howard Nicholas
Photo by Bethel Heights Vineyard
Pretty Siren
If wise men praise your beauty,
I am one of them.
If only fools find you irresistible,
then I too am among their number.
But if by some chance I
never get to know the source
of your winning smile,
then you must simply remember
me as the one who
will always remember you.
Loving Strangers
The whole foundation was built over cracks
in the asphalt amid swiftly shifting shadows
cast by an intense, champagne-colored moon
and those strung-up, naked light bulbs
gyrating in the wind
over a parking lot on Wilshire.
A drifting man and a gypsy girl
all over each other…
drunk from the nectar of a happy hour’s well,
overwhelmed by the chemistry of a
brief conversation…
reeling from the possibilities of hot, French kisses
in the front seat of a borrowed blue wagon…
entertaining wide-eyed voyeurs with
scenes from a sensual game that
only fools dare play with strangers.
Elusive Lover
Your essence lingers long after
you say goodbye,
especially when my thoughts
turn to the finer things in life.
Echoes flirt with my imagination
as warm, impassioned memories stir
in the morning sun.
Lovely sensuous temptress,
caressed inside and outside
my dreams…
Is it wise to miss your eyes?
Will destiny someday smile upon us
together?
My mind races forward
past a thousand nights shared,
but my heart must take the safer route
of learning day by day.
Halfway House Dick and Job Corps Jane
Sunlight invaded my room this morning,
melting away the curtains that
have kept me blind.
I see you more clearly now,
tripping alarms in the hazy,
mazy halls of youth,
searching for an exit,
no longer certain about the strength
of the walls that keep you
safe from love and harm.
I hear the voice of your inner self,
summoning courage to explore
a more vulnerable climb to
the heights of wisdom and truth.
Be not afraid.
Your sincere prayers for guidance
will be answered by God, good people,
and the Angel assigned to catch you
when you fall.
I know this to be true because I am
recently emerged from
a prison of my own.
Internal Injuries
Falling in love with someone you
really don’t trust
is like attempting to tame a python
after it has you in its grip, or
trying to smoke
two packs of cigarettes a day
with only one lung.
Gypsy and the Drifter
She was taught never to give more
information than she absolutely had to.
He believed in not asking
too many questions.
And even as they shared stunning
Pacific coast sunsets and countless
bottles of premium wines,
the gates to the secrets of their hearts
remained latched with rusty locks.
Vegas Valentine
Every couple needs to
splash around sometimes
in the crystal cool,
palm shaded waters of
laughter and mischief and
warm, wet caresses and kisses...
to indulge a thirst
for the finer things in life,
and to rinse away the residue
of too many days
in the blinding, windblown,
throat-clogging sand.
California Lovers
She liked his car so much she would wait
patiently for days for another chance to
show her friends how pretty she looked,
kicked back, in the luxurious comfort of his
plush leather seats.
He was so crazy about her body,
he often drove through red lights, staring at,
stroking, drooling over her thighs.
But when they got married, the dangers
of living with a stranger soon began to surface
when he objected to doing the dishes and she
refused to wash his clothes.
They fussed and fought daily over who should
and who would give in first.
He offered to do all her work if she would
take over his job of investigating scary noises
in the middle of the night and commit to paying
the lion’s share of the rent.
She only laughed.
Soon, the growing piles dirty dishes
and sweaty clothes attracted a host of
vultures and pests, all with good deals
on a 7-Day Divorce.
But the couple ignored the warnings,
concentrating instead on schemes to
bend each other’s will until
a surge of anger blew their tempers apart,
igniting a white hot shower of insults that
buckled the woman’s knees
and drove the man to get so drunk he
rammed his car into a concrete pole!
When the dust cleared, lust stumbled
from the rubble and collapsed in the street.
In the bedroom, love lay stillborn on the floor,
impaled on a broken picture frame that had
once featured bright smiles.
The man panicked when he saw
the damage to his car.
The woman went into shock
over the loss of power in her legs.
And so they both wandered away,
each with different versions of
the day love died…
he to a lawyer,
she to her friends.
Bird of Paradise
If we crushed our love’s wings in a selfish,
blind embrace,
how long would we remain patient with a love
that could never soar with pride?
If we allowed our love to die,
poisoned by the stings of confusion and mistrust,
would we not soon forget the songs love sang
when we knew each word by heart?
Let us now, before it is too late,
release the anguished love
that has outgrown its jaded cage.
For the time has come to say good-bye
to the life we almost shared.
Jasmine and Jim: Runaway Slaves, 1851
I see your dreams clearly
reflected in my own whenever
sunlight parts the clouds...
still strong, undaunted
by our struggles 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!
Marilyn
You make me feel so fulfilled,
whether we’re alone together or
out on the town.
Your warm, easy smile brightens my days
and reaffirms my faith in the healing power
of laughter and hugs and sunlight shared.
And whenever you express your high hopes
for our plans to live as one,
I understand why you will always be
the woman I love and
the lady I respect.
A Rainy Night On The Outskirts Of L.A.
Silent...
Relaxed...
Cuddled up close...
Listening to the wind hurling
raindrops at our windows.
Sensing...
the force of a trillion joyful tears
crashing into our vineyard,
pooling in low places,
finding ways to seep
deep into the soil where
the soaking
will surely nourish the roots
that will give birth to the grapes that
can turn water into wine.
© 2016 Paul Howard Nicholas
Meghan Markle will not be the first Black woman to become a member of the British Royal Family.
This is a painting of Queen Sophie Charlotte, wife of King George III.
Jack and Rosie Nicholas, West Port Arthur, Texas, 1956
My understanding of the importance of skin color in southeast Texas and Louisiana during the 1950s began to develop early and within my own family. As a young child I soon realized that my fair skinned mother, often assumed to be white, could enjoy certain privileges that would be denied my father, my siblings, and me.
During road trips, for example, when we got hungry, my mother wouldn’t hesitate to walk into a “White Only” restaurant and place a to-go order while the rest of the family waited in the car a block or so away.
The first time I remember my mother doing this, I asked my father why we couldn’t go in with her, or wait in the parking lot.
His answer was that it was against the law for colored people to go onto the property unless they worked there.
“Is mom colored?” I asked, suddenly afraid that the police might take my mother away.
“Sure she is,” dad replied. He checked his watch, then peered in the direction of the restaurant, craning his neck to see if he could spot mom. “But the white folks think she’s white, and as long as they don’t see her with us, they won’t start any trouble.”
I’ve often wondered what would have happened if a white person had followed my mother back to our car. Would a mob have tried to rescue her from a band of “renegade nigras,” or would she have been attacked for deceiving the restaurant staff?
While I’m sure that, in pulling off this charade, my parents were simply trying to obtain a small slice of the “life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness” pie, such an act of defiance during an era of strictly enforced apartheid would have surely incurred the wrath of the white locals.
Thank God mom’s ruse was never discovered, and we got to eat the best of whatever my parents could afford.
My parents moved away from
Port Arthur, Texas in 1967.
They paid heed to the thunderous snaps
of huge RED FLAGS, flapping in the wind,
warning everybody in ear shot that
the cancer of corrupted leadership
would soon suck the life out of a
vibrant community (especially the West Side).
And so they returned to the “City of Angels”
in sunny California where happily-ever-after
is never guaranteed, but much more attainable
than it would be for the trapped, poor souls
they prayed for in the lost city of
“Port Town.”
Dedicated to the memory of my loving parents Jack and Rosie Nicholas.
© 2018 Paul Howard Nicholas
Dinner date with mom, Marina del Rey, California, 1988
You were always there for me
when no one else seemed to care.
You took time to really listen
to thoughts I had to share.
Your steadfast love still strengthens me
whether my battles are lost or won,
your words of wisdom still shine in my life
when clouds block out the sun.
And as I offer to you, mom,
my expressions of love and praise,
I know Heaven too honors you
for your kind and thoughtful ways.
All my love,
Forever your son,
Dedicated to Mrs. Rosie Marcella Nicholas
THIRD LADY: "Boris, the American people are becoming increasingly hostile toward me and my husband. Are you sure they won't find us here?"
BORIS: "Relax. They will be looking for you guys in high rise towers and golf resorts and Kremlin condos. This hut on the boarded up grounds of Trump University will be the perfect place to hide till things cool off. Trust me."
TO BE CONTINUED
-Paul Howard Nicholas, Natural Light Network
Our thoughts and prayers are with the family of Army Sargent La David Johnson, and the families of the three members of his crew (Staff Sargents Dustin Wright, Jeremiah Johnson, and Bryan Black) who died with him in service to American interests.
The only positive about the untimely deaths of these four young men, in the middle of who knows where, at the hands of who knows who, for the purpose of who knows what, is that it forced Donald Trump to acknowledge a simple truth:
"When you sign up to fight to the death in support of a Commander in Chief that may best be described as a morally challenged moron, do not be surprised if things don't turn out well for you."
-Paul Howard Nicholas, Natural Light Network
