POEM: History In The Making (daily prompt)


I am moving forward,
Although I was hit in the head,
I feel ignored with the unsaid of her head,
Along with a big tall guy ignoring my plea,
Fearing that he will pretend not my understanding,
My understanding of the real world of weird,
I am moving forward.

I am moving forward,
Through time and space and life,
Including how every many others suffer,
However many others know how to help themselves,
Thinking of my life as well without really thinking,
I am thinking of my life and wondering if it will change,
I am moving forward.

I am moving forward,
Forgiving myself will be a daily occurrence,
Living with something hurting my feeling for no apparent reason,
Nightmares mixed with bad dreams and thinkings,
Remembering the days with apprehension and stomach sickness,
I am irritated that I can not speak the middle ground,
I want to be able to be personable in order to get help,
I am moving forward.

I am moving forward,
I got a new apartment and a new agenda,
I know there will be movies, computers, and cooking,
Living in ignorance and thinking it bliss,
No knowing that psychological issues stem from the darkness within,
Thinking that I can get through this without explanation,
I am moving forward.

I am moving forward,
Meeting others and thinking of myself,
Irritated and hurt and lost and confused,
Annoyed and mean and angry and wounded and abused,
Special people and things and places and things,
Moving along a path of uncertainty, dysfunction, and rudeness.
I am moving forward.

Nowelle (c)

This is a daily prompt from: http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/from-the-top/. It states the following:
From the Top – Today, write about any topic you feel like โ€” but you must reuse your opening line (at least) two more times in the course of your post.

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POEM: Can’t Stand Me (daily prompt)

Can’t Stand Me

I like myself.
Myself is kinda cool.
Watching myself is sometimes like watching a movie.
Listening to myself is sometimes like hearing a trapped friend.

I have an old video of myself,
Public speaking in college was fun,
Enlightening to my shyness,
Thinking of three speeches was creative.

I wore a tan and white sweater,
That sweater exclaimed that I’m poor,
I figured my hair was looking good,
Told me that nobody really cared.

I have this microphone that I use,
I record fun things for it to repeat back,
It repeats my voice and interests,
I listen to nasal but interesting me.

Sometimes I watch the video to remember,
How far I’ve come in being me,
I relate to it in the nervousness,
I can understand the joy of myself too.

Sometimes I use my microphone for fun,
I push the button and exclaim something,
Listen again to remember my thinking,
Playing around and enjoying life.

I like myself.
Myself is kinda cool.
Watching myself thinking dynamics.
Listening to myself and having fun.

By: Nowelle (c)


This prompt comes from The Daily Post. The daily prompt can be found at http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/cant-stand-me/.

The daily prompt is as follows:
Canโ€™t Stand Me
What do you find more unbearable: watching a video of yourself, or listening to a recording of your voice? Why?

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POEM: My feelings on canvas

My Feelings On Canvas

I know that there are some people who can’t comprehend,
The parts of me that do not understand,
And then I try to understand that some people do not understand,
Why people can’t understand why others can not understand.
This seems so easy to understand and I want to understand but then I try to understand and then I feel again!
I want to get these things off my brain,
Off my skull,
Off my feelings,
Off my soul.
Do you know how you can get enough of this stuff off my thinking?
How do I scream without instead of sinking within?
I do not understand how to get these things off my stuff.

By: Nowelle (c)


This is a prompt from http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/frame-of-mind/. The prompt states as follows:
Frame of Mind
If you could paint your current mood onto a canvas, what would that painting look like? What would it depict?

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POEM: As A Child, I Wanted To Be

As A Child, I Wanted To Be

When I was young,
I used to think,
My hands were good,
To clean the sink,
but now I think,
I’m so much more,
than being someone,
you can adore,
a chore,
some more,
like painting,
art, history, and things,
when I was young,
I thought my chore,
was showing you,
because you couldn’t see the door,
of opportunity or leaving,
instead of giving and receiving,
i heard your heart bleeding,
majored in psychology,
in my mixology,
mistakes and pornography,
co-dependency and independency,
majoring wrong because I didn’t know right,
full of fright and spite and might,
psychology bored me,
i just knew that you and I were wrong,
fixing me a pleasure,
easing your pain was my life,
no spice just nice,
so wrong and not right,
counseling is toxic,
my child didn’t know better,
psychology non-inspired me,
English challenged me,
but diagonal thinking,
upside down family,
sideways joints,
and flip flopped envy,
subsided when I taught students.

Fulfilling and interesting,
creative and fun,
loving not fixing,
finding joy in the above,
like a dove of peace,
life finds a way to say,
fluttering it’s wings noisily,
“continue to love what’s you!”
I encouraged and I cared for,
I enjoyed the creation of teaching,
Fulfilled the longing children’s faces,
Played games, water balloons, and grammar,
Organization, planning, and learning,
controlling, functioning, and blooming.

If I were 18 again,
I would tell myself to listen well,
to the voice inside that knew,
the desires for creation,
the love of children and people,
teaching interesting subjects,
facing fears better than hiding,
fulfillment better than holding on to it,
and I’d tell her DON’T do it again,
but Mom didn’t tell me,
she failed to help me see,
my desires within about life,
to inspire me about myself,
to tell my child she could be anything,
struggling to understand what was wrong,
to live and breathe in what was right,
pushing my might to towards my unknown self,
majoring in psychology,
sleeping through my books,
understanding certain looks,
majoring in rolling joints and heartache.

At 38, I know myself more now,
20 years later and counting,
so I’ve heard from countless others before me,
NOW I know me,
NOW I’m wise and can see,
that silly choice,
that dirty mistake,
those Psychology classes,
practically failed enough to retake!

Goodbye Social Work,
Hello to my life,
no more strife, and unkindness,
but hello to me and the sunshine of goodness,
small business,
teaching students,
selling cute clothing,
holding art classes.

Go hold your own hand,
I take this stand,
that I’m not your mother, your sister, or brother,
I’m Nowelle and I want to live,
back off and let me breathe,
take your blame and shove it,
take your recovery and flaunt it,
recover and move on already,
I am heavy and beautiful!
I am lonely and fulfilled!
I am enjoying this poetry,
Although my legs are a bit chilled!

Off with the head of codependency and boredom,
Hello good people and choices,
my success, backyard pool and cat door!
Real estate ventures and Victorian houses,
plans for trips to cool places,
and my Hawaiian vacation with snorkeling included.

Nowelle (c)


This poem is written in response to the daily prompt stating the following: Futures Past – As a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up? How close or far are you from that vision?. The prompt can be found at http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/futures-past/

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POEM: Still, I rise (Tribute to Maya Angelou)

Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou


Today Maya Angelou died,
blessing my life with more understanding,
issues of life and death,
fading into the background of history.

She blessed me once with words and imagery,
rising above with womanhood and shifting hips,
nose up and words out she stated herself to be herself,
raped as a young girl in the blackness of her life,
rising to occasions that I’ll never know the tune to.

Did you rise like water as the sailboat rocked without permission,
did you rise above the hatred of your colored birth and that segregation?
Did you rise above those thighs with upward drawn chin,
Voicing the strife of life and the spice of life all at once.

Diamonds are meant to be admired and asked to touch,
you stuff and stuff and stuff and stuff… stuff stuff stuff
don’t call my stuff a muff, or tough, or any vulgarity in plurality,
And still I Rise. My thighs. My eyes. My lives.

I’m a white stallion with a beautiful mane,
Flashing my hair along with my pain,
Dashing along to another location,
Hey God, do diamonds remind you of this horrid menstruation?
Get Your hands off me too!

Still I rise and breathe and have my being,
I rise to Your call because my choice was stolen!
Leaving behind days of suffering and fear,
I rise.
Bearing rejections scares and violated being,
I rise.
Wisdom, independence, passion, and pride,
I rise.

Maya, your poem encouraged me that day,
Rising from the ashes of my families actions of shame,
I enjoyed the sternness and encouragement of victory,
Twisting my life around shared feelings of loss and action.

Thank you Maya Angelou for rising above.

Nowelle (c)


Maya Angelou’s famous poem “Still I Rise” can be found here: http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/still-i-rise. She died today at the age of 86. CNN wrote “A literary voice revered globally for her poetic command and her commitment to civil rights has fallen silent.”

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POEM: Me As An Adjective

Me As An Adjective

“Poetry by Nowelle”
The name of my blog.
Poetry a noun.
Nowelle a noun too.

Thinking that names,
Say more than we think,
A noun or an adjective,
Like dishes in a sink.

My name it implies,
I was born on this earth,
I hate doing dishes by the way,
Does my name imply that,
Describing my personality,
By letter placement locality?

There is a spiritual world,
It shows what we think,
But does it describe,
my current kitchen sink?

Do you hear that I’m tired,
That I lack my 2nd degree,
That my cat name Lily,
Said hello to me?

I can sometimes see hate,
Or education or interest,
Creativity or lack thereof,
I wonder sometimes if they are in love.

Writers and bloggers names,
The subject of this prompt,
Adjectives versus nouns,
Describing who I am.

Poetry it describes,
The way that I feel,
The thinks that I sense,
The state of my meal.

Did I have brocolli,
Junk food to boot,
Washing my plate,
Or just taking the loot.

Am I just rhyming,
Or does this make sense,
Living with Mom,
I need a big fence.

I hate doing dishes,
Pastrami well done,
Eating my sasuage,
At quarter to twelve.

Don’t bring up hell,
Let’s not go there now,
Subjects of life,
Describing where I am.

Poetry by Nowelle,
My blog of thinkful thoughts,
Thinking I’m hungry,
While understanding my food.

Analogy conspiracy,
Come to me little words,
Show my world,
Unwind this trapped bird.

If my name were described,
I’d have to twist it to say,
Nowellistic like fantastic,
or well wonderful and more.

Pieces of artwork,
Telling stories of life,
poetic justice in action,
Costing so small a price.

Outward again,
With subconscious within,
Relaying my feelings,
Thinking influencing my writing.

Poetry by Nowelle,
Admiting no adjectives,
Who said I’m to blame,
Oh dear and here we go again.

Did you know I have a sister,
In the placement of my words,
Did you see that she loved me,
But withdrawing in order to speak.

Speaking without talking,
Is strange and darkening,
Englightening would be weird,
When words suffice much better.

Poetry by Nowelle,
Says what it implies,
That I’m writing poetry,
I’m a chick named Nowelle.

So feel free to read the content,
It will stay like this for now,
Loving the simplicity of it,
The artform of poetry and me.

Nowelle (c)


This is written in response to the prompt at http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/name-for-yourself/. I forgive that there is too much orange to concentrate and focus on the daily inspiration for life. ๐Ÿ™‚

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POEM: Easter in SF

Easter in SF

Street cars,
Weirdos walking,
Twisting turning,
My heart yearning,
Round the bend,
Afraid to go again,
Processing the process.

Nowelle (c)
Written: April 1, 2013

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