poems by James B Nicola

Weeds

 

Movement swells to decadence;

Popularity takes tolls,

Drains a flood of reverence:

In his grave the Founder rolls.

 

Scripture sanctions sin and stress

Where the Great Religions go;

Rights of Man turn Brutishness,

Renaissance turns Rococo.

 

Revolution bangs her drum

Beating movements left and right.

Till a Restoration come,

O, beware the acolyte!

 

 

 

When I Sit, When I Lie

 

When I sit my tush

quite happily

keeps me on the ground;

 

when I stand,

the cushions

of my feet.

 

And when I lie,

my front or back

or sides

 

buffer my mass

to save me from being

swallowed by lonely Soil,

 

so nostalgic

for my inexorable

return.

 

But when I sleep

my skull

can’t hold my dreams.

 

Tushless, footless,

sans sides or back or front,

buttressed by mere weeds,

 

sleep cannot sit;

dreams don’t stand still:

both swirl in fitful starts

 

then sizzle a magic path

in an instant to the antipodes

like a drill-nosed mole

 

or soar to the moon

the stars

or even You.

 

 

 

I didn’t look up

 

I didn’t look up

to see the cloud

that’s not there

anymore

 

and now I

never will—

I never

can.

 

But one brand new

is apt to brew

tomorrow.

 

 

 

The Poem about a Flower

 

I never said I

wouldn’t write

another flower

poem, but

that I would try

not

to,

since you said you thought

it wasn’t right.

 

Uh-oh,

too late.

What

to do?

Where to go?

Right’s a thankless virtue,

no?

 

Oh,

go ahead and remonstrate,

go round me, or go on

if you’re really

mad

and it’s a going

kind

of hour.

Who but me is really going

to mind?

But is it really

so

bad,

since the thing is really

about us?

 

Or if there’s nothing really

to discuss,

don’t speak

and I’ll be gone

in a week

or two

like a flower

as you know. . .

 

or in an hour,

like you.

 

 

 

Just Too Much

 

you’re just

too much

that’s what

you are

and now

that I

know what

you are

you know

I know

what you

are and

that’s just

too much

too much

too much

too much

poems by James B Nicola

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