Category: Poetry

Northern Light

…this prince among princes was made out of love…

Kjirsti S.NicolaysenLeave a comment

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‘Twas the night before Christmas towards the end of the year

The birth of a child was soon drawing near

One mother, one carpenter travelling far

Ventured ‘cross deserts lit by a star

They sought a warm place to rest for the night

Inn after inn, no room was in sight

“We’re sorry…we’re full” the keepers would say,

Again and again they were just turned away

About to give in, collapse and give up

Heard off in the distance was the sound of a pup

Then bounding right towards the, these knockers of doors,

Was what to their wonder was this friend on all fours

Having the gift of tongues he then said

“It seems that you two are seeking a bed“

Joseph then turned to his lovely new bride,

She nodded yes and joyfully cried

The beauty of anointment was making her glow

And trusting in Him she said they should go

Then Mary settled down, reclined on some hay

Joseph was nervous (fathers get that way)

Just as his worry tried directing his thought

Gloria spoke from thin air “Ye worry not..”

“…this child was made by the angels, the angels above.

This prince among princes was made out of love.”

Then swaddled and laid down in his soft bed

Resting so soundly was His sweet head

With eyes of the deepest, deepest of blue,

The child let out a giggle or two

All that were present could just stand in awe

(Save for the cow as she’d cud in her jaw)

To all their amazement was a wondrous sight

Two turtle doves flew across the great light

Lyrically joyous their song was elated

They sang of the glory to that which was fated

This babe was the king, was God’s only son

Our Messiah was here….he was the One

This story continues to share in the praise

There were three kings, made wise by their ways

One from the north and one from the west

One from the south but none was the best

Each carried gifts of gold, frankincense, myrrh

Donned in their colors, their cloaks lined with fur

Humbled they were, these great kings three

Honored to share and finally see

These visitors had travelled from near and from far,

Had been led by the very same star

That Joseph and Mary and the child that would come

Would all keep time to a very different drum

All who were touched by His great grace

Could not help be but with a smile on their face

Even the wife of the innkeeper Saul,

Realized her strife was nothing at all

Believing the prophet, words said once again,

The messiah was coming, the prince among men

Through the omnipotent ways of God’s sacred kin

A son was now here forgiving our sin

As we all celebrate this time of year,

May you and yours be met with tidings of cheer

And in this season filled with great mirth,

May we always remember the day of His birth.

Stepping into the creek with a pedicure-be-damned  attitudethe cool, cool water and earth shifted under foot lifting weight of my heavy worried thoughts of late and brightend my introspective retrospective melancholy mood…If only for a moment…. I forgot about all the discord and ugliness in the world.It was sublime.Despite an urge to give up or even kicking the bucket so to speak, it reminded me to keep filling it drop by drop.For one drop can begin movement towards becoming more moments like this. It may have been just one drop in the bucket yet,  a series of drops will eventually fill it. We decide with what to fill our buckets. We all have them… some are really heavy… sometimes we have to rest and put them down for a moment. The key is to when once again picking them up we decide what to keep and what to let wash away.

Kjirsti S.NicolaysenLeave a comment

The Cremation of Care

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Where spiders congregate
in forest deep
Redwoods see the trees
Through thickets thinned
a clearing made as glorious
Rings tossed in for dancing fares and
Gadabouts coming out to play
Shucking worlds’ roles of ruling robes
and cloaks of duty’s calling
they exhale forthwith exalted
Heard afar, a to-whit a-woo, oh who?
An owl carving carefully watches
perched precariously
on precipices of wiley limbs
steady talons tight
Wings spanning centuries wider
han ancient groves
Eyes open spying hunger for
growth satiating
Soon upon some say prey
stirring deep in thicket
Overlord is he
of then and now
and then again unfolding
Wisdom now surveyed
Swooping graciously gathering dust
then flitting off turning all to gold
Once upon a time once more
Settling within the
encampment
a branch on high lowered
Below between
dappled path
A creature begins to stir
Rising up through mire
sweet leaves’ erosion
Earth pushed aside
soft and cool and dark
Rich with promise
a creek runs babbling
On and on
about this and that
Overseeing all
whilst hearing everything of
nothingness of
Hysterical masses soothed by
A gathering brood
Collecting lost souls seeking
all for naught and night breaks
As pyres burn
temptation damned
Where spiders congregate
in forest deep
Redwoods see the trees
Through thickets thinned
a clearing made
Rings tossed in for dancing fares and
Gadabouts coming out to play
Shucking worlds’ roles of ruling robes
and cloaks of duty’s calling
they exhale forthwith exalted
Heard afar, a to-whit a-woo, oh who?
An owl carving carefully watches
perched precariously
on precipices of wiley limbs
steady talons tight
Wings spanning centuries wider
than ancient groves
Eyes open spying hunger for
growth satiating
Soon upon some say prey
stirring deep in thicket
Overlord is he
of then and now
and then again unfolding
Wisdom now surveyed
Swooping graciously gathering dust
then flitting off turning all to gold
Once upon a time once more
Settling within the
encampment
a branch on high lowered
Below between
dappled path
A creature begins to stir
Rising up through mire
sweet leaves’ erosion
Earth pushed aside
soft and cool and dark
Rich with promise
a creek runs babbling
On and on
about this and that
Overseeing all
whilst hearing everything of
nothingness of
Hysterical masses soothed by
A gathering brood
Collecting lost souls seeking
all for naught and night breaks
As pyres burn
temptation damned
souls resign their warrior state
Of this hidden earthly Valhalla
Illuminated from behind celebratory
shadows of power revealed
They came to see the moon.
They came to see the light.
Dancing under spectacle of moonlight wisdom and transforming
souls resign their warrior state
Of this hidden earthly Valhalla
Illuminated from behind celebratory
shadows of power revealed their true power.
They came to congregate.
They came seeking solace.
They came to frolic in celebratory manner.
They came to see the moon.
They,
like us all,
came to see the light.

The Duchess of Austin Dell

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Where the folded flower fell upon shadows of watery webs ebbing tide

A single dove settled upon a wispy branch bending it yielding to the weight of her yearning

she sat for a spell then cast her coo-coo-cooing across the creek in state of sunrise scintillating prismatic light in search of her lover

silence first fell upon shadow of bay laurel deep in scent and flowering

then, in yonder distance, an echoing wave through dappled light came her twin spirit’s call through the under canopy of trees older than God

recapitulation was imminent 

Soon grey skies turned gossamer as her wings took flight

Nectarine Summer

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Yes!!! I remember my first one.  However,  I didn’t like it.  Now,  necatarines?  Totally different experience. It was a particularly hot early summer day. We all walked back from a day of sun and playing in the surf at the beach to the local market.  Sandy, hot and thirsty the blast of the AC instantly chilled the damp salty towel wrapped around my waist.  As salt is a conductor, the cool air in the store felt almost arctic. I grabbed a Dannon vanilla yogurt and back in the 70s, we had 4 choices…vanilla/ lemon/ coffee/ fruit-at-the-bottom strawberry from Dannon. Oh, and plain. Thickly sour to my tastebuds then,  now it’s my preference.  They also came in wax coated paper that decomposed, btw. Now? Plastic filling landfill containers, just saying.  That was it. No Nöosa, Yukult, fancy pants greek, low fat versions in rows and rows of choices back then. The yen for fruit came about and I meandered barefoot with evidence of the beach stuck to the tops of my bare feet over to the produce section. I lingered with decisions, decisions.  Besides,  the coolness was becoming comforting to my sun burned face. Then I came to the awe- inspiring pyramid pile of sunrise colored fruit, the golden fleece of fruit.  The heralders of summer. Peaches. Sooooo many peaches. The scent was so incredibly deliciously intoxicating. Yet,  my first existing memory of bite biting into one made me shudder and not from the cold.  The way the fuzz on peaches feels on my teeth is akin to nails on a chalkboard.  At least to me.  Anyway, then…I saw something else.  Necatarines. Gorgeous,  plump ones.  Seeing one that still had a leaf clinging to it [which by the way is a thing of joy for me when I find fruit with leaves still attached.  Is that weird? Don’t answer… it’s rhetorical] it was mine! Reaching for a nectarine the size of my young girl hand, it was heavier than I thought it would be.  Soooooo smooth. . See YA peaches, you’re not for me.  Raw ones anyway.  Biting through the fuzz rubbed me the wrong way. The taste though… yum.   Afterall, what is a nectarine but a brazillian waxed peach?  Yeah.  I bit into the juicy sweet flesh and it was good
Oh, so good.  Been chasing the dragon since.  The first one,  as some may say,  was free! To this day,  whenever seeing seasonal nectarines, I know summer is upon us.  Eat a Peach? Nah, I’ll stick with nectarines. However,  I will listen to the last album of the Allman Brothers entitled ‘Eat a Peach’ while enjoying some stone fruit. 

Out of the Vortex

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🦋On this 3rd day of March in 2016, on a rainy cool day much like today, memories of a very trying time bubbled to the forefront of my mind. I was involved in a major carcrash that upheaved everything. After a particularly difficult day at work, in an attempt to be optimistic I said to a friend, “Today is the foundation of my tomorrow”. Little did I know how much that foundation would soon be rocked to the core.
A few hours later after a lovely dinner with friends, I was driving on a dark narrow winding and slick country road heading home. In order to avoid a huge buck that ran directly towards the headlights, I slammed on the brakes subsequently sliding and slamming with inertia into a goliath redwood. The car’s front end crushed like an aluminum can as glass exploded all around me. The car was precariously close to slipping into the stream below that ran along the road. The engine broke through the firewall on the passenger side. Thank goodness no one was in the car as they may have likely lost limbs. Trying to move it became very obvious I’d lost the use of my right leg. It was bent perpendicularly to my torso in a Gumby-like fashion under my left leg. I recall thinking: hmm, that’s not right. I tried to uncross my legs to no avail. Then I realized I couldn’t move my left wrist. I could see bone and blood mixed up with broken pieces of pebbly blue safety glass. There was glass everywhere….my hair, my mouth, the dashboard, the seats; my eyelashes which created a twinkly yet, painful effect. Windows were blown out and the chilly air rushed into the cabin. Smoke wafted from the front of the car and the constant sound of the whining, whirring engine roared as she was sputtering towards her end. I recall along with that a solid horn blared creating an audio nightmare in cacophony. I had been thrown sideways inside the car and although couldn’t move was thankfully within arm’s reach of my cell figuring oh, thank God I can call for help. Or, so I thought. Alas, no service.
All other sound was muffled yet I could feel my jaw chattering and heard my own voice saying “no no no no no” over and over like an oddly soothing mantra. Then, distinctly, I heard my deceased father’s voice first ask if I wanted to go; I responded with a resounding emphatic: “NO! I’m not leaving!!!” Then, my dad calmly replied: “We knew you’d make the right choice, pussycat”. As time went on, his voice periodically said, “Hang on, pussycat. You’re doing fine. I’m right here and won’t leave you. None of us will. We love you and need you to carry on”.
Time was warped. It was so odd; it simultaneously felt as if it was running at both warp and slow motion speed. I wasn’t scared. At all. Calm, in fact. Until I saw the look on people’s faces. Rut-roh. This must be pretty bad.
It was. I dislocated and broke my right hip, my left wrist and arm, the ignition key jammed into my knee snapping in half leaving part of it embedded in my knee that would have to be surgically removed. Incurring other fractures, contusions, a concussion and an emotional upheaval beyond words. As I was ushered into the ambulance strapped to a board the arduous journey was just beginning.
Hospitalized followed by a stint in a rehab center of epically atrocious conditions that closely resembled a snake pit, I wondered if I would ever walk again. Living in a fog for months, I ruminated if I’d ever be the same. It nearly consumed me. One movement in any direction was excruciating.
They plied me full of drugs but I refused the Norco after only a few days. The pain was beyond words. I wanted to just give up. F&k that, I thought one day, I WILL heal. For what seemed like eternity, nearly a year in fact, I toggled from a wheelchair to a walker to a cane then, finally “Look, Ma! I can walk!!”. Well, kind of. At one point, I could even dance (more of a toddler-like hobble to music) at a local tavern under blue skies to a local band with friends at one of my favorite places on earth brought tears of joy. A particularly healing place for me, it made my heart soar. Continuing on the healing journey, I had to depend on people for everything. At times, I could be rather prickly, to put it very mildly. I was not the most patient patient. That was actually the hardest pill to swallow. What a snarky little thing I could be. A major pain and felt like such a burden; it was so frustrating. Ugh. However, never EVER did I not recognize and ever-so-deeply appreciate all the support that was offered to me. I learned that I can be, well, a little controlling. Still working on that…..um, yeah😉. I do know that by letting go, there is a certain freedom that ensues. One can hold more in an open palm than a clenched fist. What a journey. With moxie, determination, some amazingly loving and verrrrry patient friends, a lot of work (though at times broken into a million pieces and wondering wtf why keep trying), astrong Nordic Celt countenance pushed me through it all. Not only can I now walk, I can dance! I don’t even give a sht if anyone is with me. Although, that IS more fun. 😉
It took almost a full year to be able to walk and to this day I still experience repercussions and am in chronic pain. There are two 10inch plates and 24 pins in my hip and a plethora of screws in my wrist. Every time the barometer shifts, shooting pains run through my body like an internal lightening storm. Can’t now and may never have full sensation in my right hip and foot. Will never be able to have full use of my left hand and will likely have neuropathy for the rest of my life. I deal with it. Some days are better than others. All of them are good, though. At least there is always something beautiful to be found in an ugly day. As for the scars? Well, they are simply tattoos with an interesting testimony to thriving above surviving. Everything for a reason, right? Ultimately, it all could have been much, much worse and it never could have been done on my own. Being of a pretty independent and somewhat willful nature, this was a major hurdle. I was blessed with an amazing group of people and support system. For those of you who were there in whatever way you could offer, I am eternally grateful. Always and in all ways. When having challenging days (like many of us these last few years have been rough, to say the least) I look back on how far I’ve come. That I am stronger and wiser because of it all. That sometimes despite evidence to the contrary that there are still patient, benevolent souls walking this earth. That there is still hope and beauty. The healing process allowed me to realize the importance of kindness, learning forgiveness towards limitations, revealing strength and resiliency beyond imagination. But most of all, it taught me have faith in yourself despite any reasons to have doubt. It taught me to have patience. Well, a wee smidgen bit more than before. Now, THAT is still a work in progress. Breathe, darling, breathe. 😉 Ultimately, the biggest lesson was that, just as the caterpillar goes through a tumultuous metamorphosis to reach her culmination in beauty and freedom, somehow she always believes in her heart of hearts that she will fly among the garden flowers embracing each precious moment she has on this earth. 💕🦋💕

My Creed

…to seek the light during our darkest days

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen3 Comments


No matter how small and secret, each of us is a little mad
Everyone is lonely at bottom crying to be understood
Yet, we can never be entirely understood
Even by those who love us
We may, however, understand people a bit better if we look at us
as if we are children
For most of us never truly ever grow up
We simply grow taller
It is the weak who are cruel
Gentleness is to be expected from the strong
Those who do not know fear are not truly brave
for courage is the capacity to confront the unimaginable
Happiness comes when we push our minds bodies spirits and hearts
to the farthest reaches of which they are capable and beyond
The purpose of life is to love as if we’ve never been hurt
To celebrate existence even after deep loss
To learn today and then teach tomorrow
To continue after defeat
To authentically explore the state of all things human
To understand beyond tolerance
To speak our truth regardless of rejection
To give freely and receive graciously
To connect with our hearts and the hearts of others
To trust in ourselves and instill such in others
To transcend our bullshit and help others to do so as well
To dance and sing after grief and tears
To rebuild after horrendous destruction
To seek the light during our darkest days
Ultimately, the purpose of life is to live, love and make some difference that we lived at all

Rising Out of Ashes: A Cinderella Story

“…beginning anew once again…”

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Slivered moon
on horizon’s breast
resigns yielding easily
to dawn splitting skies of
blue velvety night
bringing consciousness
to graceful mindfullness
and slow, easy breaths from her soft warm thinning shell

Shaking off worn cotton pillow impressions
on warm rosy  cheeks
Wiley tendrils of tussled hair
Shift now reluctantly from their lazy ways position

Catching dreams
webbed but spider free glimpses begin catching onto
her soul’s awakening
a brief flash of fears
gives way as
her eyes adjust
to light again ever so slowly

Mist spills over the leaves scattering upon the ground by canyon birds’ stretching wings then twirling into breezes gentle with hope of the new day

Light tripping into fantastic melding into mother nature’s dancing beyond window pane and glory is this new day

Determined and bound no more to spinning mind the rabbit hole backfilled or a rabid nest of thoughts wing clipped
where once prior with treacled brimstone weighing her down, its hold briefly relinquished now lifting wing in currents free

setting her momentarily able
to exhale in a
deep, deep sigh and reaching upward within a drifting splitting cloud she finds her soul
reaquanting with relief
recognizing,

remembering

recalling


she is worthy of wings that soar.

Gathering up her bones
once more again
to look past self-induced paradigms and prophecies
her mode of survival having been what once
all too familiar, has shorted her sight in hindsight now her eyes wide shut now see

Beginning anew once again putting on rose colored glasses, once shattered and lost, that she
once had upon a time
not too long ago,
adorning them strong, proud, sparkling easily in falsehoods she sees absolute truth absolutely

Hence, another eeking out visions of
the good
in life
in her life
in herself
despite circumstances

Reminding herself
her inner fortitude
Oh
No
oh no one will give her what she needs but herself
Being strong is not un-wise nor weak

her gentle inner nature emerges

cracking through shell.


Slowly seeing clearly
the writing on the wall now on this early days’ break
Tells the truth of the story

in whole not just sum of parts

Waiting no more for the knights in shining armor riding high on white stallions
To save her from herself
Oh, seeing
The charm has fallen from the bloom yet remains a rose as sweet thorns and all


Oh, yes, ’tis sweetly fallen that the lift begins

Where once she sought this white horse saviour to challenge her dragons,
now seeks herself hoping still they ride side by side
into twilights beyond equal measure

Or not


Regardless she will ride, ride, ride

Riding out of the dark forest and into fields of wild lilies she may even see the light is from within
Without doubt
With true herself

As Rome burns in her heart,
Leaving scars so deep you could taste them
The knife now pulled from her back

as it was once said……

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer

Realizing now herself as her own worst enemy

As a large gypsy moth flutters in the breaking light the world now disturbed and unsettled
She relates

Change is constant
Best not to resist
With dew lagging behind as heat of sun approaches
And yearning for cloak of night’s return both realize
Fate’s finger may have been fickle but has a pleasant surprise for them both

Just the eve before
dawnswings danced around  lamp light burning low but steady set carefree, unfettered unaware of burning light

Realizing she has been drawn in, a shift begins to occur

Seeing challenges, more than most could bear, around every flickering beam of candle’s glow, she resists the temptation to crash and burn like she almost did

She offers solace and a soft place for to land in the palm of her hand and ponders a proclivity to suffer though she need not to
Letting the flutters into the underside of sheltering leaves

Whatever happens in this world is of her own devices

Seeing that there may limits only they are up to her

Though at first early dawn tears woke and startled her from slumber a certain peace and ease begins to emerge.

Nothing new under the sun this crazy feeling of maybes and per chances.
To redirect and rise above the danger triumphant is her renewed motto.

Love, of self, will save her from the shackles set up like moats once dreary and dank, she tells herself

Love, of self,  like you have never been hurt, is tatamount to thriving beyond surviving, she tells herself

Love, of self, and others will follow, she tells herself

Take it easy and breathe.
Stay away from the flame yet seek the light, she tells herself. Offer solace with your own hand, she tells herself.

Find the road less travelled, the one that brings you towards yourself, she tells herself.

Stand up for and with yourself and hold your head up high, she repeats over and over and over and again over again until it becomes more than familiar but real

Holding her heart open
She leaps with faith willingly reluctant but earnestly resisting the urge to crash and burn again

Allowing her heart cycles to resign to ash then yearn repair is simply no longer an option

Shifting thoughts like burning campfire coals now slowly, she begins trusting, knowing, faithfully believing her soul is her best guide away from the embers and settling ashes

she sees that she won even in losing

Truth of the Matter

…not to the point of rejecting her own…

Kjirsti S.NicolaysenLeave a comment


Epiphany ensues enigmatically
Truth of the matter
She,
the other she
not the me she,
is the one
not to be trusted
with regards to
Truth of the matter
All this time
Wasted
Accusing
Pointed finger of projection with three right back in her face
Rejecting my light
and the real
Truth of the matter
Of what’s the matter
With all her woeful cries
and cruel queries of
what-have-you-done-nows
and
why’d-you-say-that-like-that
stems from her inside
ancient paradigms
of who she is
And who she isn’t
And where she stands
And how she walks
Not seeing
Truth of the matter
With eyes wide shut
Blind to her own
Truth of the matter
Projecting her
Fears of unworthiness
Twisted gnarled roots
of her withering vine
Choking to a crisp
Attempting denial of
Truth of the matter
She demands
obedience implicit
from others whilst doubting
Truth of the matter
She sits in the hot seat of her own judge and jury
To decipher dialectically
this that and the other ever so slowly oozing
like poisonous treacle
onto a budding bloom
browning the glorious edges of all delicate decency
Attempting to clarify,
Demean and deny
Truth of the matter
Carrying on with fisted glove
Choking the gilded rose flailing and winding twisting wildly out towards others
Thorns and all
Facing not the fears that unravel in her own gut wrenching
Truth of the matter
Her own worst enemy in discovering she has but the most minuscule of
personal trust in herself
In her own truth of
what’s the matter
With her own
Truth of the matter
Affecting full compass
due magnetic north
of her sinking heart
the true
Truth of the matter.
She matters, yes.
Truth is
(And this matters)
Not to point of
rejecting my own
Truth of the matter.

Creekside

“…I release the woes or cares and worries…”

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Summer breeze is reward for Winter’s toil
freed toes delve dipping
into sand once boulders now soft and cool to touch
Purple rocks with driftwood bounty fills eyes as far one can see
Beyond the babble force of once upon gale and rainstorms gathering in deepest pools lending peaceful now to chatter of cicadas before the wake of frogs and half moonlight
Skipping stones across the surface towards otters whose heads pop up like candy gum treats and down again
Sweet and swift the flow of shadowing trees sheltering from a high noon sun and warming skin to the touch
Downstream children splash and chatter about the squishy moss that presses between their toes avoiding logs and rapids
Dappled light tumbles down towards me as I release the cares and woe of worries
A leaf gathers gumption to freely float away taken down by frothy undertow toes quickly bounding up and free from constraints now revel in thriving beyond survival
I am the leaf.

The Sting of Bees

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen

A dear friend of mine has been suffering from multiple sclerosis for years. She and I sat down one day for tea and she described how much she missed the days before this disease took hold of her. As we sat together crying my heart ached for her and could only imagine what she was feeling. This poem is written with that in mind.

***********************

Once upon a long, long time ago supple soft and sweet

muscles now snap crackle and twinge like stale rubber bands

driving her wits to nerve’s end

brittle as over roasted nuts caught in candy

she slams into memories

of swings and playgrounds jumping off jungle gyms

chasing ice cream trucks and silly boys

fancy free from coodies and expectation

needles and pins push her flesh into the eye of a needle

pricking at her arms relentless

screaming from the inside with convection like precision

twitching wakes her from elusive slumber

shaking off the down quilt that suddenly turns cement

holding her body captive once again

swarms of bees nip at the nape of her neck

travelling to shoulders consuming like wings of fire

such it is for her

if only dreams came true to fly free

feeling safe in her skin again.

Big Minded Little Town

“…patience is generally not my virtue…”

Kjirsti S.NicolaysenLeave a comment

Dwelling along the river town with some like minded bohemians, dreamers and little fish with grand hopes I find human behavior curious

Regarding various out-of-town gadabout’s minor cruelty and indifference to the size of ponds they come to splash about in disredarding efforts of hospitality slightly shocking

Patience is generally not my virtue

but here among the kindly locals

standing in queue at the local market, shifting from leg to leg

doesn’t ever really hassle me in this land of revolving open doors

Calmly staying in the moment watching people and keeping my cool

when most submit tenaciously puffing themselves up

to the me, me, me, me-ness

of this crazy world now-ness

clamoring to claim the day their own huffing

Mine mine mine

Me me me

Gimme gimme gimme

Now, now, now

wielding steady breaths instead I surrender to the serenity that can be found in the

How it is

There it is

What it is

And just breathe

Relating to the cashier

Her mundane day after day after day

Along with the callous contact from others

Their confusion between service and servitude

As if she is but a shadow

Rendering her a cash cow, if you will

Dismissing her humanity for sake of their rush-rush-rushing

Her eyes hold a certain bored sadness now

Resigning to her condition once vibrant

Fathoms from her ballerina princess dreams

Complacent now talking of paper or plastic

Hindering her true calling of dancing on a stage

Musing of what life she may endure after closing

Perhaps a mother of three with one in her future

Wondering where the shoes will come from

Or maybe an ex-con just trying to

Make it out of the game……….barely

Waiting on you while during your search for exact change

She asks if you found everything alright as the manager

Hovers near by with keys and a quasi dead smile

Knowing not of her true calling during the night after the day-to-day

Wielding a clipboard with lunch breaks and sales ploys

Maybe her days off are spent as an aspiring artist

Reconstructing her life out of the boxes

From long lost loves’ letters

Rekindling her soul inspiring a fire

Moving the dust bunnies to the back burner for now

Until just yesterday it seemed

She wandered unfettered

Alive then fate thrust her into the first job she could find

And damn, she wishes it were different

Understanding that this her reality now

We stand en masse with whine and complaints

Tapping our heels and staring at our watches

Chattering on our cellphones without consideration

Declaring: This Is Long ENOUGH

Why don’t they open up another checkstand for us to stand???

Easily overlooking the humanity of this human before us

We cannot ever see her broken heart

When time is of our essence

And she is of no real concern save giving us change and the proper receipt

Each of us should really

Decidely

Slow

The

Fuck

Down

Let us for a moment with benefit of no doubt

Imagine it were you in her uncomfortable shoes

Clamoring for a life just this side of existing

Beyond basically surviving, yearning to connect

Longing for a life beyond making change and small talk

Possibly, to truly have a happy day, reach out a bit

Stand calmly in line gratefully knowing you’re closer to out the door than she

Take time out of your way and look in her eyes

Empathize with her involuntary human bondage

Ask that clerk, “So, how is your day? Really?” waiting for her answer

You may even not only really brighten her day, but yours

Really.

Seasons

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What? You mean you did not hear

Nature’s span, as with man,

has four seasons to the year?

Ovid Met. XV 199

When the grass was taller than eyes could see

and frogs easily jumped into ponds

and crickets competed with fireflies for attention

and frosty snow was good to the touch

with red, wet, happy hands

When stars above soared a million miles

and there were smiles on every man-on-the-moon

and imagination bloomed like poppies wide and bright

and fearlessness with anything told we couldn’t try

with unadulterated mischievous joy

When freckled faces captained pirate newspaper ships

and danced along with Puck and elves

and innocence staid off sorrow

and angst was an unknown word

with no need for sorrow

When we, who never knew hard, never guessed worse

and bullied our way into the universe

and glad oh-so-glad traded our prized possession, Time,

and in return thought an endless train of tomorrows

with disregard to limitations and lamentations

But then our plans resolved

into a reduction of our former selves

we thought no more of pirates, ships nor elves

one by one hope becoming blurred

in memory’s fading mist,

when decisions changed our visions

as our dreams became revisions

of our once intended way;

when at night we heard a whisper say:

“Have you lost your way? Lost your way?”

But that, oh all of that, that was mere digression

in the midst of our obsession to chase down time

heavily burdening traditions, social mores and blind driven ambition

we whittled away our dwindling day

across a darkening sky with dimming comets

Now ghosts lurk in the shadows of the grassy fields plowed to the bone

Now all those dancing princes-to-be fall weakened by water-logged ships

Now all the crickets found frostbitten in driven snow

Now the road less travelled is tired and worn and there’s not plenty more of it to go

Retracing our steps from room to room and more rooms oh, god so many rooms

tracing the steps of those who stepped before then after us, too

vaguely mumbling muttering as we near, nearer near more even near our last door

“Is this all there is? Is there not more of what was before?”

What appeared as orbs of light and waves of sound is diminished into blinding ebb

What came to us once playful colorful kite now seems a clumsy laden lead balloon

What dreams were made now lay softly gathering dust upon highest shelf as we gray

hanging ten overfold in the half hopes

they return again as toys in soft happy hands

Now like old murderous crows gathered on a widow maker

Then and again gossiping and scolding the younger birds on the scene below

Now our faces turned to furrowed fields wearing on like Sisyphus’ sister

Then turning to our hands with maps of blue fine sand slipping between our fingers

As the winds begin to bluster babbling setting chills to the core

realization sets in of a we learnt and won and lost and ignored,

The final question is,:

“Will the life in its sum of its parts,

of all learnt and won

or ignored and lost

turning water to wine,

sweet outweighing bitter

be enough to heal in generations to come?”

The Storm Before the Calm

“…the tears begin to dry…”

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Falling like a house of cards under thumb of gentle breeze
From murderous crows spanning talon and wing
Flocked from nests once nigh on high now low
The Red Queen saw heart and soul scatter to the floor
Shattering up pieces of her distant past
Her blood begins to boil as the tears begin to dry
Through thick and thin she cursed the days blessed and sweet
Was a upon a time a man, a prince among men once
now straddled upon a tarnished throne
Where once thought sage of tried and true
Near a hearth once warm and safe
She found him now mere mortal man
As she adjusted her crown

Hallowed Ground

“…still showing life…”

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Scattering charred leaves gather in private at the base
of a scarred fairy ring of trees

Grieving over great loss broken in two

to the tune of millions the earth sheds tears

as she says goodbye
to some of the most ancient of

Mother Nature’s creation

Dislodged woodland critters convene
in a grotto that miraculously maintained

a shred of water to quench

their parched and frightened bodies

offering a bit of solace and relief,

if only for a staggered breath or two

Meeting up around the bend

a soft breeze rolls up along the ravine
tired of fanning flames

now rests momentarily among the broken forest

Offering a bit of hope a sparrow
flits and fluffs its feathers
on a remaining branch

still showing life

despite the raging flames unfloundering below

As it sings its saga of the recent days

from a bird’s eye view

Breathing out and in
catching occasionally

A staccato exhale,
she sighs

Another day begins
yielding a growing hope

The Memory of Waves

“…rising up resilient…”

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Once a time ago, not so long ago

along sandy seashelled shores

when happy hands built seashore castles

where merry mermaids happily

came out to playfully congregate 

their hair made glistening with sun and wet seaweed twisted on conch shell combs

playing a game of ring toss 

with surprised starfish

This day arriving cloudy with a spot of grey

she closed her eyes

braving it all recalling blistering sands 

rising craggy up from between her toes 

skin crawling trying to get above from out beneath emotional waves’ ebb and flow

As she gathers speed towards the water

A deep buzz unsettling her head relentlessly gnawing away beneath surface of freckles and old tan lines from last summer’s rompings

Misty salt water comes bubbling up popping with foam seemingly in willingly surrender

breaking the rising waves by a seagull 

retrieving its wiggling supper in clenched beak

Toggling towards the sky rocking the boat and dislodging anchor unsettling discomfort a canoe without paddles in meandering float inches aimlessly towards the horizon of unknown destinations

Digging up the abyss

Where once so buried

Now feelings rise

Cresting whitecaps

Throwing mist to her eyes

Bursting towards the surface

Like a breaching whale 

She holds her breath under water now

count down to nearly three, something gathers

from the gallows of her soul

gumption….gritting teeth….she pulls up through the ocean’s rim and sees her reflection 

Then like a gale force sudden she rebels the

Tritons of circumstances stabbing at her like greedy man-o-war stinging at her flesh 

raising it into crests pushing up resilient

Causing the blisters to erupt

Emerging exposed

Salted wounds open and raw

Tumbling, stumbling at first nevertheless 

forging forward 

Now inner truths exposed

Like open oysters 

exposing pearl

ready to heal

Preparing to once more

play along the shore

She rides the wave

Pluviophile

“…breathe in the new day…”

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen3 Comments

Ploviophile

When falling out of sleep
and the land of gentle dreams
faint thoughts of despair for the world growing in me
the previous night turning me over
begin to fade as I step outside
to breathe in the new day

Like an emerging wave
from far away at sea ebbing
I think back to mere hours ago
as I lay awake in the night startled but not surprised at the least sound
inside my head growing
in fear of what my life
may have been or may be,
or even isn’t

Turning it over and over like a cat’s cradle yo-yo, again and again
hanging from a thread, spinning
I go deep in my mind’s eye dreamily
and lie down with wet leaves
where the wooded crane
surveys his beauty
on water’s reflection
nearby the company
of a great heron feeds languidly aptly taking
startled fish down in one swift gulp
I realize how quickly
all things can all change

Coming into peace
among where the wild things are
who do not tax their lives
with forethought
of grief nor ego
I come into the presence of once still water disrupted now by torrential rain and a nearby waterfall swelling down the hill
feeling it cool, soothing as it surrounds with persistent sound and determination
to rush to fill the stream below

I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for dusk with their light
shedding night cloak
hidden by storm clouds and heavy canopy of trees

For a time
I rest
in the grace of the world
and her perpetual nature
and am free

Good Friday Bad Day

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With waxing gibbious full moon nearing, I realized the influence it actually has on all of us. In spades. Today drove me crazy. Being the type that yearns to figure things out and somewhat of an introspective spiritual sort (perhaps some might say a lunatic at times) I found myself in a tailspin by the end of this day feeling dizzy as a Dirvish. All of the day’s challenges, although somewhat benign compared to many others out there, I was brought to my knees in frustration with a sprinkle of sorrow. Everything I attempted backfired with hiccup after hiccup. Nothing (and I mean no thing at all) went smoothly. It became overwhelming and at times darkly humorous. Had to laugh when I couldn’t even eat a piece of toast because the knife slipped from my hand, fell to the floor splattering an apricot jam butter blend everywhere then slid under the heel of my slipper shoving goop onto the underside of my foot. Wtf. Srsly. What. The. F&$k. Finally, I had a private meltdown of sorts. This finale to the whole succession of failures over 14 hours during the course of the day from 5am until 7pm, this last obstacle to just having a decent day buried me. I sat down with a thud on the sticky floor and just started bawling. So stupid, I thought. Everyone has a tough day sometimes. Pull up your big girl panties and snap out of it. It’s just a piece of toasted sourdough bread. Sigh. Get the f%$k up. So, brushing off the sticky crumbs from the sole of my foot, I realized it was ultimately worthy of some serious soul searching, so to speak. It was either that or blow a gasket and we all know that’s neither fun nor pretty.

I had to dig deep in my mental toolbox this time to tend to some seriously smoldering-to-the-surface old wounds. The kind you ruminate on, that wake you up on the middle of the night. The oh no, missy, you’re not going back to sleep. Sorrrrry. So what, it’s 3am, you might as well brew some coffee and brew your boggled brain a bit more, kind. The pop-into-your-head-any-
moment wounds; the memory of them anyway. The kind that cut. Deeply. The get-out-of-my-head thoughts that if you’re not careful will consume you. So…..let’s flip the switch, I said. Find a healthy cathartic distraction. In doing so, I indeed found a few that helped: solitary meditation, prayer, music, cutting flowers for Easter, crying and the turning to the oracles. Oh, and deep box breathing. Lots of deeeeeeeeep breathing while looking at the moon rising in the darkening canyon.

I love the moon. It proves even in darkness we can have faith that light will prevail. That life has its cycles. Call me a lunatic. A few of you may already. Whatever. At times we all are. We are all human. That’s okay. Some people may make fun of or avoid others they believe to be lunatics. That’s okay, too. Personally, I believe many who have been considered lunatics throughout the ages ended up having a deeper understanding of and/or creative perspective on life. Actually referring to the etymology of the word, lunatic is Middle English: from Old French lunatique, from late Latin lunaticus, from Latin luna ‘moon’ (from the belief that changes of the moon caused intermittent insanity). So, maybe being a lunatic occasionally isn’t all that bad. Some may mind if others go a little bonkers from time to time. However, to keep my sanity I had to, just HAD to, think: some good may come out of all of it. My addage is: those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind (nod to Dr. Seuss). I’m simply sharing and stating the facts about how I got through this particularly rough day with tools at hand. Maybe it will help someone else someday. So, go ahead and call me a lunatic. Anyway, I digress. The moon and getting through the madness.

This evening’s twilight on verge of impending full moon proved obvious impetus for a drawing from my moon oracle deck. Interesting draw. [see pic]. The two drawn -‘reveal what needs to be seen’ and ‘find a balance’- loosely said: speak your mind but watch your tongue and tone. Find the right space and time. Fitting. Also drew from my Angel deck-Trust. There’s a suprise. Ha! Anyway, bottom line what was revealed to me is: be more patient with and trust in yourself, your process, your life and speak your mind with truth, decorum and faith.
As for the dice, I use them as numerology to bump up feedback via signals and signs trusting the luck of the draw, so to speak. I threw twice. First, a seven then a three.
Seven is a number of completion; initial flip of the bones indicated closure to something was on the horizon. Then, tossing a three is representative of the birth-life-death cycle, the mind-body-soul connection, the three acts of a typical story-beginning/middle/end. Wherever the number three shows up in your life, it’s also generally an omen of creativity, communication, optimism, and curiosity. The combo essentially meant: stay the course despite obstacles; there will be a transformative period but in the end the experience will likely prove impetus for knowledge and growth. The reading gave me solace and calmed me down. With that,
I crawled into bed, pulled the quilt up close and my kitties closer and tried to let go of the shitshow that was this day. Putting it behind me and looking forward to tomorrow and surrending to the process of life’s cycle, I was able to finally settle down and exhale. Afterall, like the moon, even in the darkness I can have faith I will rise again and see the light. Blessed be.

Fully a Woman

“…edges once ruffled up by life…”

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen3 Comments

The thick cool winter is deep, slow and steady

and like it,

she is becoming the woman 

she’s always desired.

Weathering inner

storms that once resembled tornado alleys

delighted now by new touch

feathery and softening

edges once ruffled up by life 

gently easing and into a smoothed out version

by laughter that’s known bitter

but simply got better.

Content with Rapunzel hair

greying at the temples,

with no longer need for towers,

enjoying an acquired taste for her body’s new softness in places where once firm enough to bounce any quarter 

quickly flipping

her embodiment of woman 

thriving now beyond survival

Embracing the embroidery of scars running across finely freckled sunkissed skin

as merely tattoos, 

only with better stories

of a deeper meaning

worn gently badges in testimony

to being well worn but alive

She is becoming a woman who

knows she’s a warrior 

not a worrier

fully pledged standing in allegiance in fact,

that whatever comes,

she will endure.

She is becoming a deep worn

weathered basket

handled well, willing to carry anything with grace and gratitude despite how heavy

She is becoming the woman she’s longed for;

the comforting lover 

strong and tender,

unyielding and unconditional 

The grown up daughter

who still blushes at surprises

that tumble from her own lips on occasion but stands by what was said with conviction despite minor tettering on occasion

She, becoming illuminated, brighter with each full moon

and sunrise with each cycle of the days knowing that every moment has at the very least an inkling of light despite darkness

She is becoming,

this woman she’s wanted,  yearned for,

who knows she’ll continue growing

who knows she’s more than sufficient

who knows she’s precious,

and knows she’s rare 

who knows she is plenty,

plenty enough to handle but refuses to be handled with any unnecessary roughness

who knows that her kindness will never again be mistaken for weakness,

that she is a glittering warrior queen and despite falling will always again rise 

she is becoming the woman that is plenty enough just as she is.

Fallen Venus

“…loving and bare dancing naked…”

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Stop piling it on, he said in cloak of shallow insecurities in obvious attempt to find his own needle in her haystack

all the while the threat of a breakdown grew in her like wildfire in her belly holding back tears with a Cheshire grin

Hot and cold, he was

One moment loving and bare dancing naked in silvery headlights of a waning moon

Holding her close against the furnace of a body sheltering her from the crisp winter’s cool air

the next shuttering out her light with a wearing down worded just so and digging deep and salty in to wounds yet to heal

creating darkness for fear of blind faith and truth that she may die of broken heart and misgivings

Stop being so sensitive, he said while her nerves frayed like an old sailors rope tangled as she scrambled for a lifeline of empathy and compassion

Stop feeling so deeply, he implied as he slipped into the next room quietly

as if her fear of death towards doom really isn’t that big of a deal as he fluffed up the pillows

Calm down, he said

As the postdiggers bore their holes

Spitting out chunks of a wounded heart and reflections of wasted time

I’ll leave these promised treats here upon the woodpile forgotten to taunt you in your discovery, he implied, with promises of love burning within her while she whirled and spun in an emotional stew rare, raw and naked real getting closer to going home to god as a wounded goddess

As darkness consumed the light she scrambled for the resonant peace of mind she sought hoping he’d see clearly while he fell into slumber oblivious and angry at her fears and wounds that were clearly not his to judge

Cowboy Sexy

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shaking off dust on Stenson felt,
wiley and wooly,

feather ruffled but holding fast
lingering churned earth falls in plumes
kicked up by straddled bulls
meanadering now cowboys saunter in
to a bar room floor creaky,
pitched and worn,
gathering folk from near and far
lean in to bartenders weary from long hot summers and ornery gadabouts

turquoise laden,

his eyes blink slowly,
showing off lashes

longer than rope
meant for gathering virile stead
who pine for pastures and willing and obviously able,
he asks if the seat is taken

Anger Under Toe

“…working on the inside…”

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pulling in like a snail to shell
wet, sticky, dark cool and safe
harbored resentment built from pain cringing in salt

to the wound
stinging all over

working on the inside
melting and waiting to burst with beautifying release and liquidation of pent-up emotions gathered over years of sliding among nettle fields
staggered by the broken paths lagging pauses linger just before jumping
in towards tomorrow’s hope for solace and retribution

Wringing Out the Old and In With the New

“…this year may very well be one of authenticity…”

Kjirsti S.NicolaysenLeave a comment

Dearest all,
Yes, feeling optimistic yet, cautiously so. With that said:
As we roll into another year, a bit of unsolicited advice. Be careful not to place too much responsibility or hope on this new year while we all are just barely recovering from 2021 in a state of rebound from this last year’s upheavals and tribulations. 2021 was a clusterfuck, if you ask me. Some great moments but hey, a boatload of the otherwise. I, like most of us, made it. Thriving above surviving and all that. We got through. Some….with flying colors; others….barely; sadly for some…not at all. But we did. You, me, those reading this…we….got….through. Truth is, it’s only been a few days between 2021 and 2022. I know we all may have resolutions for a year more calm and stable than 2021 but let’s be sure not to apply too much pressure and overextend ourselves to anticipate 2022 to be entirely different. Quite frankly, that’s just too much to expect, likely impossible and may set us up for major disastrous disappointment. We are likely will be faced with the same issues from last year. Carrying over, we may be resolving some stuff but I strongly doubt all of it is, um, done simply because the clock struck midnight on a cold winter’s eve. Despite wishes to the contrary, time is not compliant according to the constructs of our minds and generally not very obliging to our hopes and demands. It does what it wants, waits for no one and yet, we can be a slave to it. My advice is this:
Take one day at a time, an hour or minute if that’s all you can handle. Remember to take deep breaths and best done if you can get out in nature more. Hold yourself in a loving stance, be kind – to yourself and others – you never know what others may be dealing with each day. Try to be a bit more understanding beyond tolerance. Allow space to heal from the wounds from the previous year. It was a fucking doozy, man. Seriously. We owe our selves a break in not applying too much pressure, bullshit resolutions and expectations higher than we can achieve. Of course, pushing past a comfort zone in order to grow is a good thing but not to the point of torture. That will only lead to feelings of failure, self-defeat and shame. Don’t do that. Take time to heal, to process, to get your head right. Explore deeply enough to discover what it is you truly want this next year to look like. Then, act on it. Don’t be pushed into rushing into this next year with unsurmountable expectations by others’ ideals or the ruminating babble in your head. Locate your voice (emphasis on YOUR, here) and speak up with confidence for what it is you want but without stepping on others to do so. Remind yourself blowing out someone else’s candle/light won’t make yours any brighter; just lonelier. There are many stars in the sky for a reason: collective light. Give your heart, mind, body and soul a chance to flush out all you had to contend with this past year. There was plenty. Then, with a fresh rejuvenated perspective, go into 2022 with the full force of who you truly are. I believe this year may very well be the one of authenticity. That’s how I’m going to roll, anyway. Love you. All. Happy New Year, everyone. May it be a hellava better than the last. May it be filled with love, light, good health, prosperity and overcoming any obstacles with grace and ease. 💕🦋🎊

Dove and Hawk

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen3 Comments

When we, as a society, decide to choose gratitude over avarice, love over hate, understanding over and beyond tolerance, compassion over indignation, offering a hand up instead of hand outs, opting in versus copping out, loving more and hating less; when we start being more humane and less insane, we may finally realize that the left wing and the right are on the same bird. When we raise our voices instead of our fists, when the hawk speaks for peace and the dove raises her voice, when we, as a society of human beings, stop clipping each other’s wings, when we stop shooting each other down (both literally and figuratively) we may very well become a bird of a different color. By working together we may find we can soar beyond the horizon. Have a beautiful day, people. Peace be with you. Peace be with us all.🤍🕊️🤍

The Quiet Ones

“…medicated methods devised on Sundays…”

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💭

There is a certain severity
in the sounds of silence
In vaulted ceiling kitchens steamy
Between floundering words bouncing around
Echoing even in thin air flaring flailing falling flat on deaf ears’ ringing
As the cloth rooster calendar from 1966
Hangs on in pecking pose persistently still on the wall clinging to the past

Speaking volumes with broken tongues and bruised delicate egos
A language of vulnerable protection sacrificing
Like a sheep avoiding shearling fleeced
At an early age
She learned silence was indeed a golden lamb

Hiding behind mama’s kitchen apron strings
Holding her tongue until it blistered like oven hot snicker doodles waiting to blister an eager thumbprint lingering and wafting thick with heavy perfume of burnt cinnamon sugar and sticky wicket conjuring memories settling deeply into the tiny flower papered walls
and crevices caught in knotty pine wainscotting eagerly waiting for release

Underneath the kitchen table, the one with a cigarette burn no one speaks of, little pitchers with big ears hide like ghosts lingering between question and answer busy body sessions

Suddenly the adults hush as the rubber jax ball is dropped bubbly thudding
the rug ready to be pulled at any moment once again topples the milk into tears
with a splat, splat, splat

Then tumbling in a cool stream on wormy pine plank floor
She feared her hiding place soon divulged would merit corner punishment for eavesdropping adults

Wishing to find words to wake up the nightmares out of her mind, running through the backyard jungles shaking off stinging sumac and thorny roses from the choking grip on worry beads and
medicated methods devised on sangria Sundays they said would work for her one day
If she only sat up straight listened behaved quietly

Something begins shifting now between the unspoken
Exchanging glances and the knowing clicks now fading into memory
Serving
Slowly
Steadily
Realizing when the rug is pulled out from beneath her the power to turn it into a spinning ballroom floor is within her being
Stirring, softly falling into defiant grace

Meekly stepping up firstly,
speaking up seconding her instincts to rise from ash and dysfunction
enough is enough,
With just enough
Silence between the notes
She finds herself singing
To the beat of her own drum banging slowly gaining speed

Stornetta Bluffs

“…gathering up stories of gadabouts and misfits…”

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen1 Comment

Should he be shattered,
this Bone Daddy of a man, serving high spirits with short stories as long impetus for your therapeutic recollection

Bellying up barring none

a weathered wobbly welled barstool you settle reluctantly into its
softened cradled shape
wondering how many asses sat before

hoping for
happily ever afters
over shattered dreams
A bit uneasy,

slightly queasy
you settle in regardless

Gravely voiced skull and bones tattooed, the barkeep quickly sizes you up and your poison preference
as if another round
of liquid gold courage
and friendly conversation

will soothe your
soul’s savage beast

Gathering up stories of gadabouts and misfits

as the sun seeks the horizon
tumbling in from the cold
the keep steps it up another belt notch
to help you get a heat on
with the others mingling
down
and
out
He stands watching ready to set anyone free at moment’s notice detecting any action deemed misbehaving

His blade travels casually
along the skin of a juicy lime
popping it’s skin
deep
deep
deep with one fell swoop
narrowly missing tip of thumb as he stares you
eye to eye, man to man
cutting cunningly into your soul swiftly as current
events easily peel away layers with each pour
he will erase your fears and sorrow, if only for a moment

He smiles with a wink dropping a lime wedge
plunking into your tequila
it sinks
relieved
at the bottom of the glass
no longer subject
to cut of the knife

“What ails you?”, he asks with mild interest getting to the deep bones of your
soul seemingly
offering a safe place for you to rest under a spell
Looser tongued now
“Concubines and mystics,” you tell him immediately with regret

Now he has you

by the balls

You glance out the door contemplating freedom returning to rough road running along overgrown blackberry bushes prickly and ripe
travelling towards pending demise

on asphalt

and potholes

and gravel

under your iron horse

Instead of running yellow you stay for the buzz and warmth in from the rain you sit still keeping your head down and eyes towards the glass
in weak effort to avoid tongues wagging and weaving
a tale of intrigue reluctance with this

Bone Daddy of a man holding court
offering salty dog peanuts
on a silver platter

You find him getting the lowdown of your heart
You merely sought a snug harbor for the evening
from the tempest of life
Face the fear, you think while
huddling deeper into the dimly lit room nostalgic thick and heavy with the perfume of thwarted dreams

“She swore she knew me and would forever”, you mumble bravely adding
“I can’t recall her name
but the lines upon her face seemed so familiar.”
With but a whimper of her name on the tip of your tongue you add,
“I can still taste her…”, you tell the tender tenderly

Just as the glow of spirits fills you to the brim
your recollections become clear as mud
She had had you long ago
behind closed doors
once before along
this tricky road of dreams
But that was when your eyes weren’t closed and heart cloaked in false vibrato

Light flickers in and out
from the cracked window overlooking
craggy shore and mist kisses jutting against jetty
as curtains of waves part into the sea
feelings crash and slide
into a gauntlet of froth

She stood steadily
waving at your back
as you’d refuse to look
just out of line of sight watching you drift away that evening long ago
yet, so close now
you could feel her then
eyes bite holes
in the back of your head
“If memory could only serve as well as you”, you say to the bar keep

“Ah, yes, I recall. Her name is Mathilda”, says Bone Daddy,
“…and she says she knew you well.”

The Cremation of Care

“…they came to see the light…”

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen1 Comment

Where spiders congregate
in forest deep
Redwoods see the trees
Through thickets thinned
a clearing made as glorious
Rings tossed in for dancing fares and
Gadabouts coming out to play
Shucking worlds’ roles of ruling robes
and cloaks of duty’s calling
they exhale forthwith exalted
Heard afar, a to-whit a-woo, oh who?
An owl carving carefully watches
perched precariously
on precipices of wiley limbs
steady talons tight
Wings spanning centuries wider
han ancient groves
Eyes open spying hunger for
growth satiating
Soon upon some say prey
stirring deep in thicket
Overlord is he
of then and now
and then again unfolding
Wisdom now surveyed
Swooping graciously gathering dust
then flitting off turning all to gold
Once upon a time once more
Settling within the
encampment
a branch on high lowered
Below between
dappled path
A creature begins to stir
Rising up through mire
sweet leaves’ erosion
Earth pushed aside
soft and cool and dark
Rich with promise
a creek runs babbling
On and on
about this and that
Overseeing all
whilst hearing everything of
nothingness of
Hysterical masses soothed by
A gathering brood
Collecting lost souls seeking
all for naught and night breaks
As pyres burn
temptation damned
Where spiders congregate
in forest deep
Redwoods see the trees
Through thickets thinned
a clearing made
Rings tossed in for dancing fares and
Gadabouts coming out to play
Shucking worlds’ roles of ruling robes
and cloaks of duty’s calling
they exhale forthwith exalted
Heard afar, a to-whit a-woo, oh who?
An owl carving carefully watches
perched precariously
on precipices of wiley limbs
steady talons tight
Wings spanning centuries wider
than ancient groves
Eyes open spying hunger for
growth satiating
Soon upon some say prey
stirring deep in thicket
Overlord is he
of then and now
and then again unfolding
Wisdom now surveyed
Swooping graciously gathering dust
then flitting off turning all to gold
Once upon a time once more
Settling within the
encampment
a branch on high lowered
Below between
dappled path
A creature begins to stir
Rising up through mire
sweet leaves’ erosion
Earth pushed aside
soft and cool and dark
Rich with promise
a creek runs babbling
On and on
about this and that
Overseeing all
whilst hearing everything of
nothingness of
Hysterical masses soothed by
A gathering brood
Collecting lost souls seeking
all for naught and night breaks
As pyres burn
temptation damned
souls resign their warrior state
Of this hidden earthly Valhalla
Illuminated from behind celebratory
shadows of power revealed
They came to see the moon.
They came to see the light.
Dancing under spectacle of moonlight wisdom and transforming
souls resign their warrior state
Of this hidden earthly Valhalla
Illuminated from behind celebratory
shadows of power revealed their true power.
They came to congregate.
They came seeking solace.
They came to frolic in celebratory manner.
They came to see the moon.
They,
like us all,
came to see the light.

The Last White Butterfly

“…lending grace to the garden…”

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen1 Comment

Clinging to wavering bud
early dewy nectar lightened her wings
felt weakened by
travelling briskly from
Northerly cold against cuts of branching
pine and needles through
whence she came easing out
if not for just this very minute’s reward
Fluttering already towards the end
her last few hours clouded
by quest for liquid ambrosia
Holding steadfast
to her yen for living
Such vibrato, instinct and gentle beauty
her wings translucent from noon day’s sun
Casting valiant caution to the wind
she recalls easier days amid cocoon
No wasps ready to strike her down into becoming nothingness again
Cicadas shadow the canyon trees
in cacophony threatening
her short existence
Nary mind once a crow swooped down on her fragility for a mid day snack after pecking orders on last night’s garbage
Shuddering away from thoughts
of being picked apart alive
by forces stronger than she,
she, oh yes, she
perseveres
regardless
spreading her wings
settling softly to her fate
of her impending exit one might call doom
but she finds the most she can
in her brilliant although brief life
Instinct calls her past the nefarious thorn finding bloom to her comfort and salvation from what was into just being
Mindful of her needs tho delicate enough to avoid over consumption she sets sights among hummingbirds hovering
in crown formation over violet buddleia called by her namesake
She may not survive long but she making best of her short time upon the terra among the flora fine and true
Surrendering to her fleeting life embracing each precious moment
Lending grace to the garden.

The Little Sparrow

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Afraid of her own nest
yet, terrified to leave it
nestled in dis-entangled twiney branch and downy discarded feathers
she picks at the surroundings of her beating broken mending heart by finding crumbly morsels of discarded sweetness.

Shuttering light springs into action bouncing off leaves newly green priming for bloom as the pecking order is unwittingly decided for her

She wishes periodicaly there were other wires and vaster

skies of different
ways conjuuring her full throttle a cappella to sing in rising dawn’s celebration

Apologizing for ways of the wire that nature made intended her to be without asking her opinions or suddenly seeing
there is no longer need
for her to apologize for the nature of her shadow.

Dolores the Daffodil

“…just be mellow…”

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Dolores,

such a patient Daffodil,

sat in waiting

deep upon a hill.

As Winter chills

slowly eased,

there she was, well….

quite mildly pleased

in knowing to

just be mellow

she’d soon burst into

bright sun yellow.

Waving bye-bye

to frostier days,

she would herald

coming warmer days.

Her lessons she gives

to one and to all

Is:

always get back up

after you fall;

Even on the coldest, darkest day

light will always in all ways

find a way

to reappear before our eyes

bringing us out of demise;

If, in the right circumstance,

we’ll find the right music and get up and dance;

To let us know

our love will grow;

despite the layers of manure,

we can always, always endure;

with patience

and a dose of love

we’ll always find

a reason to rise above.

Hunting Red Riding Hood

“…there was a time when trust was prevalent…”

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Settling down softly in a nest of waving prairie grasses the lamb knew not she laid among wolves.

Above her, the carrion

carry on above in searching hunt

with their wingspan death stance

waiting to descend and dive in

to yet another diminshing dinner surprise demise.

There was a time when trust was prevalent and the power of true love lent itself to endless possibilities.

Then, upon falling in love with what was thought to be a rockhard diamond proved nothing more than sand in an hourglass.

Tricked into having faith that no harm would come, the lamb now found herself now to be consumed in one fell swooping gulp by the ravenous wolves.

There were no survivors.

Sacred Heart and Ashes

…she finds solace in the sanctuary…

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Running along the precipice of her insides turned out

seeking the vestibule to the outside

looking to the inside

looking out

looking in

Bringing together

from the outside in

heaven and earth

Through stained glass and shadows

with clasped hands and opening heart

with a gateway of vast space in between

her and the she she once was and the she she is becoming

still together she finds solace in the sanctuary

Laying one foot then another foot before then after the first foot then the second foot following then leading then criss-crossing cool cobblestone and crossroads

Venturing closer to authentic religion

she finds her warm skin dappled in shades of grey

towards the threshold of god

Seeking no more than the spirit in her heart and transcendence of her bullshit

She stepped past paradigms and procrastination finding herself in

realms righteous and pure beyond rulers and coloring her own between-the-lines

Of  her self

Of her whole soul naked and raw and innocent

She unveils the taste of magdalena’s blood on her lips

Parted gently drinking in truth from these sacred walls

Like the beating of her own blessed heart pumping in her chest steadfast

She sees her part in the collective spirit

as the totality of the some of its parts but one whole

with all the sum of its parts but less than whole

Wholesome food for thought, she mused

Wholesome, indeed, of thy wombed and blessed

purging poison now in the shattering light healing

With all of its wounds scars and mysteries unfolding baring naked to the world and all divine intervention altruism towards the self fuels the altruism towards others

She sees that in healing herself the path towards healing others is truly beginning

Finding the steps a bit uneasy at first in letting go the wind whispers

on the nape of her neck as angels dance upon her shoulders

With the flesh wound still raw she begins to heal as her soul releases its self-proclaimed shackles and cross she has tethered and nailed herself upon

Dropping to the floor a chainmail effect echo landed further up along the buttresses she cries up and clearly

As the humbled warrior princess finds solace in the sanctuary

far from the beast of angst

If only for a moment she lets go

Again lifting her spirit in exultation and humility

One foot in front of the other then another yet one more

The one that begins it all.

With that said she then began….

To become a salve with ingredients of experience

she must first boil to the point of ineffable flame

Flying higher than horizons seeking misty mornings and redwood crossings bearing her bare soul

Nothing is what it seems upon pushing through the door to the other side

Where did all the knowledge and humane humanity

now gone from the state of humanity?

Oh, humanity what hast thou done?

Connected to her days of life and those of others she pumps her fists down upon the pulpit resonating smartly

Narcissistic cravings to be greater then god innocent and pure, she hears them say

the disconnection unfolds as she realizes everything….everyone….including her Will have her day to die life everlasting is what it is

Shot down with a broken hearted arrow hummingbirds laugh and tangle fast among the billowy buds of crimson and light nesting in her hair

Crossing the sun rays of lofting ideals and liberty to soar to heights imagined in mere dreams beyond her philosophies

Something catches her eye and she is temporarily blinded to the sound of her own beating heart gilded lily lifting her spirit soaring past butresses and containment

Diving down towards earth wings shuddering and unsteady in the wind

She finds the earth tumbling closer and closer into terrifying depths

Go out on that windstream and find another current

For this one seems to be dragging her to no end

Find something to laugh about

To feel lightened about

To feel good about

Cross that in between apprehension and fear of and jump right in

towards self-fulfilling prophesy

Finding what appeals to her she slowly

She ever so slowly

She begins touching white and purity of heart

following its sound finding solace in solitude saved for herself

Perhaps she will begin to loop her heartbeat into those of others and be better off

There will be an uprising of epic proportion

The time has come to wave goodbye to the shooting stars, the fizzle has begun.

There requires of us a greater level of forgiveness…..no, not forgiveness for that implies that there has been some wrong doing

That there has been some fucking over with prayers seemingly…..at first…thought unanswered although no can still be an answer when yes simply won’t do

That is not necessarily the case in heaven here on earth

It is more a matter of choice of personal perspective and less of dithering didactic dogma

To see the weary and dizzying answers clarifying her eyes like bright sunshine streaming through the stained glass when the dimmest light exists

less of being forsaken and more of being fulfilled in what is meant to be

Making her own bed she has an epiphany as the rose petals settle in holy water

The choice she makes to get up and out of bed or rest in it for eternity is entirely up to her despite that age old customary timeless religion

It is a choice to greet each person she crosses paths with in a respectful and loving manner

It is a choice to treat herself in like manner

She settles into her own thoughts discovering that through the mire and treacle there is still something to have faith in, to finally see the sought after sacred heart strong enough

to sustain her eternally resides from within

Herself

 

Sense and Sensitivity

“…I knew inside was likely a zoo…”

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen1 Comment

Through all that’s been going on, all things considered, I have been handling everything pretty well. Most days are filled with pleasant activities like baking, cooking, reading, writing and/or editing old poems I’ve written, lounging with the babies (of the fur variety), speaking with loved ones and enjoying my space. However, the other day, well, not so much. Rut-roh. Marketing time.

Having to venture out and go into “the world”, I prepared myself. Mask? Check. Long hair up and wrapped? Check. Gloves? Check. Hand sanitizer and spray bottle with rubbing alcohol to wipe down grocery bag before it goes into the truck? Check. Nerves settled with Rescue Remedy? Check. Ready to venture past the security of home? Check.

Arriving at the full parking lot I knew inside was likely a zoo. Afterall, it was Good Friday and many needed stuff for Easter dinner. Or the weekend. Or whatever. There was a general air of Orwellian confusion in an semi-orderly fashion. One way aisles were designated, bare shelves, people in a daze and looking scared. Families were dawdling in front of the Easter candy display. Most blocking the way for others to get by. Donning my gloves I had an itch on my cheek where the N95 mask sat (I have one from the fires here last year). Don’t touch your face. Don’t do it!!!!

It was obvious to me that some people were being complacent and not complying with the PPE orders here. Lots of bare faces and hands. Pushing her cart aside just before the in-store Starbucks and gathering her groceries up from the metal basket, I saw one woman take off her gloves and just throw them letting them land like a retired condom with a unceremonious splat. I spoke up saying she might think to just take them with her and dispose of them later. She responded with: I don’t want to touch them again. They may be contaminated. Um, okay.

In addition to all that, there were just waaaaaaay too many people inside rendering it nearly impossible for proper social distancing. Living in a tourist area where there are a lot of vacation homes, it appeared many folks were out here for a “visit”. We locals can tell out-of-towners in a heartbeat. Well, there are quite a few still venturing here to, um, get away. I won’t go into how wrong that is because I may blow up and I am trying to maintain an even keel.

With all that said, I remained fairly calm and was able to keep my shit together for the most part. After gathering necessities, the next step was to proceed to the check out lanes. The lines spilled down the aisles like limp tentacles reaching towards the back of the store. Following the social distancing guidelines, markers on the floor were spaced out so that each customer was supposed to be separated by the length of two shopping carts.

This was all fine and good but with so many people in the store trying to get down aisles to finish their shopping or for the lost tourists to find whatever and wander aimlessly, we all had to maneuver in order to adhere to the guidelines. It was like an odd game of opposite bumper cars. Don’t touch me, jimbo, I won’t dance. I stood in line for 45 minutes feeling nervous shifting from leg to leg and practicing a mantra of “just breathe, this will soon pass”. One man yelled at me for standing in front of the ice cream he wanted. Another huffed when I asked politely if he could stand back a little. Jeezus, it’s not a big deal, he mumbled under his breath. Uh, yeah it is, asshole. This is all a big deal.

My turn was coming up. After the cashier wiped down the conveyor belt, I finally put down my small order of groceries. I started to feel like the room was closing in on me and could feel my heart beat gaining speed. I wished I could just grab everything and leave. I wished I could have hugged the friends I happened to see in the store moments prior. I wished this would all go away. I wished I had taken a larger dose of Rescue Remedy. My glasses began to steam up and I could feel tears begin to well. Choke those things down, woman. Big girl panties time. Don’t lose it in HERE! Stay calm. Breathe. All I could think was: get me out of here. Finally the order was tallied up. I took out the plastic and tried to pay but the card wouldn’t take. I tried it again several times. Slide…..beepbeep…..slide……..beepbeep. Again, try it again I know there is money in there. Still my effort to pay was to no avail. My glasses were fogging up like an outdoor sauna window during a snowstorm and it was hard to see the POS. Sliiiide….beepbeep. Finally, the cashier asked what kind of card I was using. I looked at it and realized it was my insurance card. I was trying to charge my groceries to Kaiser. Something snapped. As tears welled in my eyes and I felt ridiculous, it took everything I had to not burst into tears. I fumbled in my wallet for the right card. Apologizing to the cashier and those behind me, the cashier gently said, “It’s okay hon. We are all a bit dazed these days.” The woman behind me putting her groceries on the belt BEFORE the cashier said to (they are wiping down the belts and payment terminals between orders), a tourist, said: “oh, for crissake…hurry up.” I just gave her a WTF look over my mask then said, “Welcome to river time.”

Finally reaching the truck in the parking lot with my supplies bundled compactly in one brown bag, I let go and began to just cry. Softly quietly cry. It was a release and a relief to finally let go of all the tension that had been building for days. On the ride back home I finally felt the anxiety lift and had to chuckle about using the wrong card. It is kind of funny….in a omg-I’m-a-little-out-of-sorts-when-will-
this-end sort of way. Moral is: laughter heals.

Panic or Peace of Mind: You Decide

“…there is an elephant in the room…”

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen1 Comment

Most human beings are typically more comfortable with and prefer certainty. It allows us to feel safe. Covid-19, or the Corona virus, has us all living in a state of uncertainty. Humans are hard wired to react to stressful situations in a myriad of ways. Inevitably, some level of discord and imbalance in both the mind and body ensues. We like status quo and when it’s challenged, we often react rather than respond. When faced with stressful situations we generally have three main reactions: fight, flight or freeze. Each reaction affects us in different ways but they all have one commonality: not only are there physiological effects of stress there are changes to our brain chemistry. When we are stressed, we all know levels of cortisol spike among other physical changes. Sometimes it manifests in the body in various forms but it always affects our psyche in both the short or long run.

Obviously, the physiological aspects of this pandemic are serious and not to be dismissed. This virus is causing distress, unrest and a great level of dis-ease among humanity. However, we need to also give our minds some TLC.

The CDC, media, and other sources are telling us we need to distance ourselves from our normal day-to-day situations that may harbor the virus. Social media is exploding. We have traded hugs and handshakes for elbow bumps and sanitizer. We glare at people who cough. We are taking precautions in putting a moratorium on social gatherings, washing our hands consistently and closing down schools, major attractions and events.

Although this pandemic is beyond being unpleasant and truly unsettling in of itself, there is an elephant in the room besides a devastating virus. Not enough is being said about the psychological effects. We are all nervous, some terrified, quite understandably. Some are having their PTSD triggered while others are falling into depression, dissociation or general angst. Others may be experiencing different ways of thinking or behavior. We are all being psychologically stressed out. Swinging on the pendulum of extremes, some are succumbing to hysteria while others are almost in a state of denial or it’s-not-all-that-bad. There are those that are clamoring for supplies or hoarding bottled water, pasta, a plethora of toilet paper and fighting over the last bottle of hand sanitizer. It gives us some assemblance of order to be able to do something.

It’s understandable that we are scared. What we have to also look at is that in a state of panic, fear creates havoc in our minds during this kind of freakout. We are stressed and it is obviously adversely affecting us in the short run. We have no idea what the long term effects will be.

As humans inherently feel a need to do something; some more and some less than others, and this situation is broader than we have fully fathomed. Some feel helpless. Feeling helpless can often lead to hopelessness, hysteria and can wreck general discord. Though not a psychologist, I can guarantee there are going to be serious repercussions to our psyches, bodies and our society as a whole.

This pandemic can make or break us. It is testing our capacity to understand and accept our vulnerability and our own mortality as humans. It is a chance to revaluate what’s really important and truly valuable to us. That it is our time here on earth with friends, family and loved ones that really matter over the crap we collectively call our possessions. It is also an opportunity to show more compassion and understanding for our fellow man and womankind. It can even be a time to take a moment from the bombardment of bad news and find something light and beautiful, or dare I say it humorous, elsewhere in our lives. It is a time for patience and faith that we will all get through this dilemma.

Personally, although playing it smart in several ways, I refuse to be caught up in the pandemonium and live in fear. I will continue to keep up on the news without letting it consume my day. I will smile and wish you well when we cross paths. I will wash my hands to Happy Birthday, use hand sanitizer and reluctantly not offer hugs. I will weigh out whether or not to join small gatherings carefully. I will keep up on my vitamins, electrolytes, eat right, exercise, take walks in the woods and rest properly. I will do my best to still be smart, safe and hopefully continue to be healthy. I hope the same for all of us. I will keep calm and carry on. Meanwhile, does anyone want to see my TP fort?

Seaside Seasons

“…inspiring the cresting moon to glow….”

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen

Taken to feather soft downy

Fog rolls over the estuary

Flocks of seagulls take wing

Asking nothing of the sun

Moss hangs yonder from aging pine casting shadow on aging ground

Mounds of grasses turning emerald with patient envy  in their wait for winter’s slumber to awaken

As waves beyond rock from out to sea in metronome time

A lone heron rides the cresting air in search of resting tide

The air is shifting from summer’s heat into brisk humidity as days shorten yielding to darker times

She dips her broken wings in ebony ink writing

to cover up her scars

sending pain up to heal in the heavens as angels sang

her story lightening up

ancient constellations

Inspiring the cresting moon to glow


with envy in her brilliance.

California Zephyr

“…shaking ruminations loosely…”

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen

Eyes gaze upon low riders on tracks winding and unknown vagabonds coming out to play bending precious pennies in hopes of fortune
graffiti sprawled across the silvery trails of life
trying it all over again
she eeks change
in her cozy berth
slowly
gathering
gumption
whistling plans once flawless and innocently lost
trekking off beaten paths from the curbs of dark as coal dust hitting the ground running
no boss here but death from an old life transforming like a wet butterfly
fresh and fancy free
rails and rods known to the conductor of tracks deep once in driven smoggy snow
jumping up lucky tired from
danger shifting into the crystal obsidian abyss finding solace in heart
shaking ruminations loosely and raw dropping
never stopping the toss down of internal strife
shaken from reservations and feats hurdled she breaks free heading up the road along the coast pacific
at meandering speed towards loving the end of the tunnel regardless of the light
eyelids heavy and raw from tears beginning to see a glow after darkest moments
riled and ready her life was then sitting upon the shelf patiently waiting for
her to only unveil herself to
new gracious hosts with welcoming arms she discovers new home sweet home and rebirth.

On the Verge of Bloom

“…you are a bouquet of various color…”

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen
Sometimes we are on the verge of blossoming into a thousand flowers.

But we don’t waver in our discomfort of being seeds.

We are waiting. We are thinking, ”Maybe tomorrow. I’m quite busy right now doing the same unsatisfying things I have been doing for years. Yep, pretty busy. The sun will not bring me out of my shell”

Or maybe we are afraid of what will happen if we open up. We are afraid to leave a bad situation because we’ve forgotten what a good one even looks like for us.

We’ve gotten so used to a life surrounded by unhappiness that we’ve convinced ourselves it’s normal. After all, everyone else’s life looks like this, too.

Somewhere along the way we stopped believing in our own strength and beauty potential. We think we’ve lost it, or maybe it was never really there. Perhaps we will never be beautiful.

And worst of all, we’ve let someone else define who we are for us. We’ve lost who we are so we’ll believe whatever anyone else tells us, even if it makes us smaller…angrier. So we stay inside our shell.

There are not enough voices telling us the Truth. There are not enough voices to get through the mist that has gathered around our belief in ourselves. There is not enough nurturing to thrive.

Right now, let me be that encouraging Voice.

Right now, let me tell you: You have turned inward. You have been silent when you should have spoken up. You have hidden your dreams, your light, and your power. You have become fearful of your potential not manifesting. These things are not true. These are things you have believed for far too long. They are not who you can be.

You are your Dreams.

You are your Light.

You are your Power.

You are a bouquet of various color.

You are a Miracle waiting to happen.

You are a Blessing waiting to be bestowed.

You are an example of Truth waiting to be spoken.

You are a thousand Blossoms waiting to explode into colour, fragrance, delight and joy.

Don’t let anyone hold you back.

Yes, you have been buried.

Like all good seeds destiny it’s time to burst forth.

It’s time to open to the world, to the Sun and to your self.

You are on the verge

Of something

Astounding

BLOOM

Through Eyes of Wood

“…oblivious to the thorns…”

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen

Under canopy of creaking redwoods older than god
Branches swing tumbling to the forest floor
Deafening silent clouds hang high above the forest floor cast dancing shadows playing tricks on the eyes but opening imagination
Softly steps a single doe making way safely for her spotted fawn
Brambles of bursting blackberries provide haven for a herd of foraging rabbits oblivious to the thorns they bound through here and fro
Huddling in nature’s glory….
There is a peace here among wooded unbeaten paths.
One magical and true revelation appears:
This
Is
Spring.

The Lightness of Ebb

“…beckoning her soul towards ease…”

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen


On high upon craggy palisades

deep with enchantment

in vegetative trance

warm from weeding steadily

with back towards sun and busy happy hands rich with earth

distant rumbling waves ebb

and bound

beckoning her soul

towards ease.

Here and now

Inhaling….exhaling….

steady as she flows

riding crests of waves’ tempo

constant ruminations and mundane stressors of daily life, slip and ebb easily away persistently.

Soothing deep exalted breaths,

they are,

these waves

casting hook, line and sinker

easily an epiphany revealed

reminding her to dive in deep into this velvet green vision

and labor of love.

A veritable gentle giant

force of nature

is this ocean drawing breath,

snoring softly like a sleeping lover upon shores where sealions bask and bark

under mid-day sun calming toil and tribulations

now easily turning up seaglass held momentarily to the sun like gems tumbling kaleidoscope fashion within the curling foaming sea.

A lone lizard scatters bravely abrupt as she walks amoung tufts of yarrow and coastal rosemary ready for the bloom any day now

then settling on a nearby stone warm and rugged, it

gathering rays

rests peacefully again.

Winter has yet to yield fully here as a lone ruby breasted hummingbird zips across her earshot searching for bottlebrush nectar dizzy by the touch of probing beak.

A lone ranger butterfly briefly settles on stone buddha Boulder larger than God hanging on to the last of the enlightening shore

sitting still in motion

keeping good company

in sacred space recalling this once-upon-a-time

angel of a being now in heavenly good graces watching over now land of legacy and recapitulated kindred sons and daughters who still frolic and marvel in these gardens made of driftwood dreams and soft sand.

Under canopy of cloudless sky

Winds whipping up hair and shawl

she once again finds her breath easily in steady waves lifting all woes from previous days

And no longer biting her lip,

she embraces this seaside moment.

Gypsy Rose

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There were sparkles a’plenty

There were high lights on shine and sequin with feathers fluffy plumed ready

There was play and romp and strutting air kisses

Sultry smooth hot and mixing with the curtain

A slurry of applause

Oh, and yes, yes, yes, yes hoots and whistles

Rising up at the the watering hole stages set velvety

Rocking the house rolling into the night

Ladies getting caught in a situation

Between a velvet chair and a hard place

Landing softly

Feathers

Fine lace

Fans now

Fanatics

Bosoms and hot bottomed girls

Everywhere

My, my, my…..girls, girls, girls

The air steamy with hot kiss jam

From strawberry lips luscious sweet

Another round

please-oh-please ladies

Coquettes in a vamp

With cherry blossoms popped and blooming

Causing quite a stir

Down here in the tender loin

the feminine wiles wild and free

Shake loose peaches from limber felled trees

Interpreting a delectable art in the ways of a woman’s form,

a beautiful form,

a beautiful form indeed.

Suspending Storm

“…thick with ready rain…”

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Sounds of the river waft up around skaters pulling rail in the skatepark near
Skies earlier crisp blue above winged crow
now ominous as its murder
Heavy air thick with ready rain awaits the thundering herd from greying clouds
From seven rounded corners of a far away island along the pineapple belt a storm brews ready to plump the sky electric

Something’s Fishy

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen1 Comment

 

Crashing into the wrecking ball of whitecap force the eagle finds itself in a quagmire

Deep into the water the salmon dives hoping to elude capture

Finding instead lure sharp it hooks into the skin deeply

Leaving gash beyond repair

Waking into release of drowning taken promises of riding the waves

Over the tides ebbing free from tossing tides and nearing turmoil spawning nevermore

Drowning is avoided narily

Gasping for air once again she realizes she nearly choked on hook of line and sinker

Disappearing into the froth of the river taken down to the crash of shore against skin and stone

With golden sands as far as the eye can see

Freedom from the shackles of lured anchor hearing the seashell’s siren song

Poseidon sets the rules with wielding triton and pricks of destiny letting this one get away

Phantom Dreams

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Under eider down
and lofty hopes among croaks of river frogs
at day’s end
while safely sleeping soundly
our ancestors come to visit

Shifting in dream’s quirky state
through weight of quilted veil figures emerge softly focused
with familiar faces

Far, far away from flesh they are
now only in picture frames
hung on walls of polished wood

Gilded lilies in a vase nearby
pay homage to the cycle of life
upon the mantle of burning oak
coals from embers that once shone bright now fuzzy but still clearly authentic only different

Mere memories now of the hugs and kisses as Gravenstein begins her bloom and mama thinks of pie

A certain stillness stirs under
the waxing moon casting shadows of what once was
separate reality wiggles in
with eyes closed a vision appears
two brothers twin and weathered ball tossing to and fro above the yard’s vast blackberry patch beyond harm or foil

A swift breeze hence a wind-chill
from beyond tombstones and treacle sticky steps up a spine unsuspecting
giving goosebumps a run and hairs on end though fear is not an option here as there’s no room for incubus within these bedroom walls only peace

Apple of Thine Eye

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oh no

he thinks it’s his to raise

what will i do

mother knows the truth

saying i had to deal with it

but it is meant to be

and i’m only settling in on sixteen

and have yet to gadabout the world and fall in love

beyond our bucolic backyard with apple trees

and a worn out tire swing hidden beyond a hill

the faded roses trampled now under grass

by an old grey dog biting at the thorns left over from his romp

I yearn to see more life than just within these four walls

rendering more or less sorrow from dazed wine and cheese gatherings

Hung along the banisters like wilting grapes in early winter

wallpaper walls softly fade waiting for repair and a stroke of fresh paint

like the old carriage out on the neighbor’s lawn along the way i yearn for more

how will i let daddy know that this growing being within my walls carrying high

will not just fade nor go away

it will bloom soon manifesting steady true as the rising sun

i just hope he understands

that what happened that one night beyond his watchful eye

and saltpeter filled bebe gun denied

my clandestine lover slipped in one night

in through the window battenburg curtains billowed and adjusted

then his slipping under covers speaking in whispers

Recapitulation rendering seed into blossom

this girl emerging into woman wise far beyond her years

now climbing the rungs to heaven holding soon my own bundle of joy

he will teach my young as my youth slips away how to build another swing

out of another old tire and spin her around until she is dizzy with giggles

and flushed smooth cheeks as her emerald eyes twinkle in sunlight

i hope he finds with this child of mine his second youth

bathing in glorious laughter, love and light watching his kindred spirit grow

i may soon bring a little girl into the world but he will never lose his in me

i hope he knows that there will never be another love quite like him,

he will always and in all ways be the very first apple of my eye

only now soon, as I witness, he will have another one to cherish

well attended another apple of his eye

Rearview Christmas

“…laughter jolly rolled easily…”

Kjirsti S.NicolaysenLeave a comment

Once upon a time
years ago in youth
Evergreen and fancy free
strings of lights
Thrived magic

When cookies and milk
Left out one special eve
turned into presents
opened wildly abandon free
Just past dawn
Excited smiles
and giggling glee
with warm soft happy hands
Ribbons
unfurled like ticker tape
Paper once smooth rested assured in crumpled mass
Its job well done in keeping surprises and secrets.

After earning angel’s wings
in purely driven snow
children’s faces sticky
with marshmallowed cocoa
Hands grasping cool peppermint sticks
shaped like shepherd’s crooks
Brought in misfit flocks
If only for this day
No one thought of arguing over the last piece of pie

Wide-eyed looks continued
on quest for cookies spicy ginger sweet
shaped like dolls
Arms outstretched
as if seeking hugs
with red hots for buttons
raisins for eyes
and frosted messy smiles

Laughter jolly rolled easily
Off tummies full and round
out in yonder yard along
picket fence stood strong
Lent support to
Berry-less blackberry branches
turned wiley thicket
during winter’s spell
A bird feeder danced
whirling easily
to and fro from fruitless branches of an apple tree
its harvest a recent memory
like a lovelorn dirvish
in chilly northerly breeze
A cardinal darted
back and forth to and fro
Feathered wing
spanned wide
in less time it took
to breathe a breath of awe
Gathered feast in bursting beak he lifted quickly
to sky with seed swag .

Yonder stood
a snowball man
One-two-three globes atop each other capped off by
Borrowed woolen hat
and eyes
of chipped up charcoal
Gazing into forest where
Reindeer wait to frolic pulling sleigh hoping this time would last forever.

Tiny Angel

“…comfort and joy.”

Kjirsti S.NicolaysenLeave a comment

 

        As the scent of giving thanks barely fading

 

 the pagan festival of winter begins

 

Yonder breaks and timbers a mighty evergreen

 

crack, tumble and falling gently

 

upon clouds of driven snow with a flurry

 

Sugarplum fairies and nutcrackers sweet dance

 

We frolic with our wide-eyes lit by stars

 

twirling ’round and ’round garlands green 

 

holly and the ivy adorning branches

 

testimony to the cycle of life

 

Appearing on high rests an angel

 

winged light and gossamer hair lifts silvery

 

within her arms cradles are our dreams

 

holding with goodwill and peace to all

 

Patient and silent on this night

 

willingly guiding us to the light

 

Leading us to regain lost hope

 

during this season of love

 

offering a cup of wonder from which to drink

 

quenching parch with fine mulled cheer

 

We raise our glasses to the festival of light

 

creating another memory of

 

comfort and joy.

 

Removing the Mask

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She missed the mornings when hello was the first thing on his mind

the soft dawn breaking just beyond the tall redwoods seemed so dark of late

With the shadows resting without dancing
in heart shattered left in pieces on the wormwood floor

overcoming the light temporarily

She thought of how in earlier days his hands could hardly get enough of her

Now, it seemed, he fumbled mumbling

and played a role wearing masks

Gentle good graces finding ways lost longing lasting

Crashing onto the forest floor like

shaken pine cones loose from thimbled gnarled branch

outstretched for something more than the less of late

Ebbing far and few between now

those hellos seemed empty and forced

She found sitting now on the deck of her abode alone

save for the birds and sleepy bees with wings pollen sticky

heavier among hum of season’s first pounding rain

her lover though laying near and resting

miles away drifted by the pushing of her erratic mood pining for balance

the way she once was before after beginnings honey and moonshine

riding this sea of sorrow with its steely coldness upon her skin though culpable in palpable discomfort though oh so familiar this boned handling cutting like a well forged buck knife with stains and divets

Taunting her happiness like a jester in court near curiously laughing to himself, a bluejay sits screeching and cackling watching over all of this just a joke of all jokes

Only she was no longer laughing

California Zephyr

…beginning to see the light after darkest moments…

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Her eyes gaze upon low riders on tracks winding wiley as unknown vagabonds come out to play bending precious pennies in hopes of finding stories fortuitous deciphering
graffiti sprawled across will offer answers to the silvery lined trails trodden and easing tribulations of life
like them, she is trying at it all over again
eeking out change
in her cozy berth
slowly
gathering
gumption
whistling plans once flawless innocently lost
trekking off beaten paths from the curbs’ worn edges

Dark as coal  hitting the ground running wittingly unfettered
no boss here but death from an old life transforming

like a wet butterfly spreading wings
fresh and finally fancy free
as the conductor of tracks deep once in driven smoggy stained snow
jumps up rocking dog lucky tired from the once before
danger shifting out of obsidian abyss finding solace in her broken but mending heart
shaking loosely and raw skipping a beat
but never stopping pursuit of healing from the toss down internally
shaken from reservations, fouled fickle fortune hurdled she breaks free heading up the along the coast pacific observing sunsets after watching the moonlight cry all night

meandering  towards loving the end of the tunnel regardless of her
eyelids once heavy and raw from tears beginning to see the light after darkest moments
riled up and ready her life to release the old pain of the old tracks made by her choices

discovering, finally, along this journey towards the end of tunnel light
a new home arriving in herself illuminated

Wallflower Muse

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Twilight settles below grand canopy of ancient trees shifting dangling light as a gathering brood in plaid flannel and weathered Levis with a taste for song and local wine returns

Planted firmly on well worn whitewashed porch swing shifting with the breeze coiling ready to strike
she observes quietly, softly
admiring how it seems easy
oh so very so easily
do others ever so easily find familiar in all of these faces and exchanges swapping stories about this and that
so and so in a laissez faire way in a language, though pined to, tried to,
she rarely could relate but nonetheless understands

Going on and on about
such and such swapping stories about the everyday mundane things of that and this talking about everything but their soul’s true desires, quests and yearnings

Continuing on and on,
over and over
chattering, laughing like squirrels stealing seed from the birds they
hum and buzz about neighbors and business of the who’s who, the what the what’s and my-oh-my why and the did-you-hears about the happenings of others almost anything else than sharing their authentic selves, really
Yes, that would be
all too real
all too revealing thus

Along the flowering wall she sits, drinking it all in casually and writing in shadows comforting yet still a bit envious of their easy connection as pen scratches in the green butterfly journal

Flashing in a moment the story further unfolds telling all clarified by quiet observation as light catches garnet wine shadows
she finds amusement that their business is no serious matter for her as she is almost invisible safely owing no one an explanation of her story

Embracing enchanted forest surroundings she finds instead soothing solace in surrendering to smithing words as a trade off in not always connecting like they seem to sometimes, usually, oh-so-so easily do maybe someone will hear her voice

Among woods flickering shadows and hidden gardens somewhat muted yet still strongly boned up along trellised terra cotta accepting her precious presence finding herself pondering the perpetual satellite state she’s attained

Setting sights higher than lingering like a lounge lizard wrapped up in small talk and idle chatter
the shedding of her self-induced mental shackles begins the next chapter

Hunkered down, ready and astute she begins
putting perspectives to pen
unleashing thoughts cathartic and finally free

A poets soul, has she,
celebrating she does
still yearning to dabble
in a world of this and that connecting in that way they all seem to do so easily very easily so yet discovering
stones settling cobbled beneath her feet
setting her path towards
her true light calling

Clearly beaten by an all together different drum
she is finally becoming comfortable with that
banging her drum soft and steady onward for the course studying her own life
preparing to share it with the world.

Call Waiting

My damn phone is attached to my hip pocket like white on rice

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen5 Comments

My damn phone is attached to my hip pocket
Like white on rice
It’s like a drug or a small child or even a puppy training on a leash pulling at my hand.

Watch me.
Look at what I can do.
Look at me Look look look look at ME
Feed me.
Touch me.
Play with me.
All the time.
Allllll the time.
Sucking me into an electronic hypnotizing vortex
I avoid all eye contact with humanity.

On this contraption every damn day. Annnnd night.

Mesmerized by its blue light and power over me
Like us all
I stare LOL-ing in stitches for hours upon hours transfixed
Looking at my life

on this screen in Helvetica or times
it is comic with sans

We are all blah blah blahing on blogs
bragging about our lives without living them

Panic sets in when we lose sight of it.
OMG!
Where’s my PHONE??????

Like some
peeping-tom diary
Auto correct whore twists my words into pretzels
While I remain a
slave to its charm

It is a sham set up by the government under the guise of connectivity
Tracking me down like an entranced
antisocial media zombie
I have been sucked in
by the dark side
of its glow

It seems to me since this device was invented intended to connect ironically we have forgotten how to communicate.

I am slowly becoming less me and more iPhone.

Put it down.

Say goodbye to it
if only for a day.
An hour
if that’s all you can handle. See what happens
as it sits far away
from riding up your ass.

Turn to the person next to you and say hello.
And laugh out loud.
Take a memo to yourself and declare I am “ME” again damn iPhone.

Cost of Freedom

…because of boys to men we have this day…

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen

Beyond the Mason-Dixon line magnolias fade from bloom a mere memory as the brigades grow dividing and shaking the houses’ very foundation to the core

Fields of grasses yeild under heavy button boots with ragged soles as young boys march on and on unsteady with shaking hands and faith nearly broken

A portrait of black and white, of wronged and neglected rights, dogma chasing dogma simmering tensions coming to a point surrendering to many a sacrifice and melee

Laden heavy with worsted wet wool and leather plackets sticky with sweat and hidden fear staying only for a moment then fleeing into bravado for sake of freedom

Air heavily perfumed with the sickly sweetness of eluded hygiene and day’s old mud clumping together as if safer in numbers and heft

Long honed hard cold steely bayonets brush against icy bark cracking off limbs tripping breech loaders temporarily out of the arms of babes into battle bombardment

Windows of widowed souls left watching from afar from behind ratty lace curtains as the boys dart and dash from beneath matted hair scanning the hillsides for any brief encounter with sanctuary for just awhile

Barking marches ordered under guise of peace all the while tearing them to pieces boasting colonels act as braggarts often must do, bullying valor to stand at attention with intent masterfully trained untarnished standing their ground righteously relentless

Pining for days gone by, these young bucks, for the recent past of warm hearth homesteads, motherly touch and hot home cooked meals

Now, the young wide-eyed innocents take direction unquestioning authority for a cause

Humanity quickly stripped stark and bare stippling into piles as the stench of burning hair and flesh rises up through the air thick and heavy trampled under foot

These young bucks brawny beyond belief committed to the cause of their uniformity although you would never know it by the look in their eyes

With peaches and cream on freckled faces still plump with baby fat they yelp a rebel yell and descend into their innocence lost

It seems to them that it was only yesterday they surveyed the family acreage scattering crows from off the corn harvest under the pie-eyed moon

Pyramids of hay bales lay curing on the fields hiding needles and swooning ladies with button down shoes and small brimmed feathered hats

Or perhaps they were just herding cattle coaxing a lone rogue calf back to the barn after a lazy grazing day and crossing rivers but, nay, this fresh hell was reality now

After the smoke and dust settle circling carrions on high exposing their hungry underbellies and soot black wings intent upon

Yonder pile of boys, buttons, boots and bloodied uniforms lay refuse to get up ever again

Truth of the matter is life has been disposed like rubbish in hoards

Handcuffed to honor, death hangs thick and heavy on these hills

All for the sake of freedom

The dogs of war handed their lives to them only it was on a tarnished platter

Duty, honor love and war do indeed have costly price few choose to pay readily

Lives short-lived in the name of life

Because of boys to men we have this day

Ours is ours to live on and on

Because of them, that is,

Yet for many, that was their last, they have no more days

We owe homage to those boys of honor; they became men for us

We are free to live our lives because they gave up theirs’

We indeed have freedom but aye, at what cost?

The Last Act

…he will trample you until you enjoy it…

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along shores of ancient woods where fairies dare not tread and rambling rivers merge a high hot wind circles the tent like a noose

a black rabbit flies out of a hat on the wrong cue coaxing two ravens out beneath a long black cape screaming like Valkyries into startled crowd

the magician pretends this a part of the act his weathered honed bony finger distracting towards the skies like electric pinwheels in dark dry air as hairs on your neck stand up

the poles pull muslin taut and loose again snapping like a whip arousing your interest as winds whisper into a howl calling out the magician’s true moniker – Odin

for an instant, his eyes catch yours paralyzing you and you know the jig is up, concede to his unwavering gaze you must; there is no other way to survive his wrath but to submit

he has never been more daring…….racked in chains and padlocks submerging into deep dark water bubbles lifting to the surface writhing to get free you are hooked into his war

his iron clad chains emerge from just below the surface raising his body unblemished as you realize his fury in the wave as the crowd reaches a frenzied state beyond reproach

Someone from the back of the tent cries “FIRE!!” as the pyre sets ablaze he remains still…….. Valhalla is calling this warrior home and you are but his royal ancestral sacrifice

there are no survivors; he will be with you always calling you by your true name

he is the shadow of your fears, bad debt, the deafening silence at the end of the phone

he is the glass slipper, the loom, the thorny red rose, the terrors of your night

he is the mirror on the wall cracking with unsettling truth

he is the horse hoof with iron foot and he will trample you until you enjoy it

 

he is the unspeakable and the only language you will ever understand

White Witch

…so familiar this battle with darkness…

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Casting spells

into the belly of the hill

on bristly dragon charred broom

shifting shadow selves aside

as wet leaves stick up

in momentary protest

of dark disturbance

her gaze focused diverting deeper

into the canyon’s crags

those damn worms

in her brain rearing

had camped for

far too long deeply rooted

as she began emerging

once again unease settles in

so familiar, she thought,

this battle with darkness.

Find the lullaby

Find the lair of serenity

Find the lesson

Find the light

Bit by bit

Epiphany hit

it has all been about

Finding

Family

Pins and Needles

…she could feel herself emerging transcendant…

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With timid breaths awakening she eases precarious legs

twisted like fiery flywheels pining for borderline gait

arms nearly ready to once more hug again in unison with her heart

when not so long ago laden with plaster purple thick and pin burdened

digging sluggishly exposing the rawness of her skin

Feline warmth times two nestled into the downy swirl of quilted breathing

a steadiness slowly emerges calming her savaged fragile shell

Reaching down with her good hand touching fur

she realizes recapitulation in this recuperation

this

is

life

triumphant

Where once

in not so distant past

her security within her own body eluded her

by eyes of needles and tingling threads

inserted deeply into bone

clawing chewing at her insides like hungry belly bulging rats

She could almost feel whole again

Torn and mending flesh scars prove evidence of her survival

eyelids a bit blurry heavy with taunting weighted tears

still she saw past the bed covers’ downy horizon

despite tossing about twisted from last night’s terrors and dreams

Just this side of being on the outside her window she watches impatiently still

undulating branches bring back reality with the weight of woodpeckers as

ancient redwoods keep sentry saluting her moxie every which way with wonder

she marveled at the glow of how amazing this day actually is

in its simplicity in its testimony to life’s perpetuation in perseverance

Part of it all, she realized, she was part of all of this earthly world

her body may be broken but her spirit remains bright

though a once solid foundation beneath her cracked and split

she could feel herself emerging transcendant

Where once quicksand sucked at her into a vortex

she was rising above the not-so-sweet treacle and brimstone grind

she found herself wittingly able to pull herself onto the rolling chair

take it for a spin knowing she would once again dance like before freedom fell

Easier this then on that blessed day, horrah-horray for this vessel’s cracks, she cried

for in those cracks she found the light more easily welcomed

Piracy of the Heart

…the stinging honey of your piercing lips…

Kjirsti S.Nicolaysen2 Comments

You talk when you walk with your swagger and depth

Speaking phrases with your boot flapping feet walking down the road

suggestive of another way of being with you

 

As if the chattering of the parrots above likely jealous of your walk

as they can only but fly away in a flurry of wings breathless

to the stinging honey shouldered from your piercing  lips

 

Dripping sweet nothings easing into my world ever-so-gently

coaxing into caring lying as if a treasure trove awaits

Your cadence is cacophony across my ears rendering false melody from my heart

 

The whole wide human race has never seen the likes of you

Getting on with your giddy-up gadabout ways and easy saunter

You think you pulled wool over eyes and created a safety net

But the piracy of your ways shines through the dark cloaked heart

from the cool wet darkness of where you truly dwell

Rough Road

…her blood began to boil…

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Falling like a house of cards under thumb of gentle breeze,

the earth now pushed aside and fronds of fern

ripped up from the ground like turnips

From murderous crows spanning wings and talons

flocked from nests once high now low

The red queen saw heart and soul scatter to the forest floor

Picking up the pieces of her past her blood began to boil

Twisted into a human pretzel, her hips on fire, she bled cutting

Through thick and thin she cursed the night where once was blessed and sweet

Turned metal twisted and her body into a wounded mass

A hearth once warm and safe

She found herself now a broken woman, mere mortal in her fate,

Face to face with her anger over it all

Afterall, it was she who was in the driver’s seat.

Miss Mosh

Dance, little sister, dance

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Stomping on in dervish manner in leather and laced martens to driving groove

Playing doctor nursing spiked hair pointing cutting sky high and angry

The mosh pit grinds to a screeching halt with gaped mouths and curious furious stares

As a little sister punk-ette all in pitch black and chains from ear to toe shining with thorn rosey cheeks from the steamy heat of body to body

she approaches the monstrous mash with thunderous bravado smashing in like juicy grapes plucked from twisted vines

Starting in with steady stance stunning the Holsteins of the night until she wants to go home

Twisting into flesh like a corkscrew music pulses and throbs deep plucking

out note for note beat for beat

Chains and cat-o-nine tails flick up towards cracking sound barriers through

limelight shadowing out the glow of beaded sweat and spinning bodies

Bested and staid smokescreens shiver on stage with mics badgered with gutteral

As the cacophony settles into syncopation peppered with salt to a wound

amplifying sound into melting earwax like frost in sun

Ruining again angst strapped up shoots from tips of boots laced

leather taut as the pain subsides in her head as the pit grows wilder

Dance, little sister, dance

The night is yours and you are young

Mama Wasp

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The memory of wasps is considerable

Think of the way
just days ago as
combed tight content hexagons
were forcefully swept
from the upper corner of the portal
Wing dander, barely opaque veins dismissed
with bits of yesterday’s news and strips of old receipts

their thermal paper blackened by the heat
flew zigzagging into streaming sun rays like violent ticker tape strewn

Prying away dried cases
straight away swiftly by whisk and tippy- toe reach
one dusk the papery hive fallen from its grace
leaving but a few white eggs scattered on the deck
like soft tombstones

Now
on this succulent sunny bright morning
she returns to the abandoned hive
to the pile of bramble cut and fit to be tied
a mother wasp rises up from the shattered shell
and goes for her eyes directly