The art of kindness

Look into smiling eyes
A passing stranger turns
Standing ovation from adoring fans
The fallen ballerina
Met with roses as she is carried off the floor
Things happen

Outstretched hands helping
Broken cane
Useless against the uneven ground
Titanium hips strain
Only nine
The elder stranger need not carry her bags alone

Chivalry not dead
She lays shaken on the path
His brother
His friend
A warm coat and strong arms
It’s only 5 miles to the next ranger station
The cellphone would have been easier

Wounded and scared
Lone soldier behind enemy lines
A family risks all
A young man goes home

English is not universal
Young tourists
Cold and lost
Gypsies score a banner day
An open home and open hearts
Warm meals
A shelter from the rain
Stories without words till morning
Hugs a universal gift of thanks

Being alone
Holidays are for the living
And the loved
A neighbors word calls out
Actions of the many benefit the one
She will not be alone this Christmas
As her soulmate watches from above

Et was just a movie
She was only from Ohio
15 year olds do crazy things
Hormones and boys drive us crazy you know
Dad yelled because she got a C
Mr. Rodriguez flew her home from Miami
He owned a dry cleaning store
Flying was his passion

Fire burns uncaring
Tired fighters of the blaze
Sleep no luxury
A warm meal makes its way to exhausted bodies
Night after night
Homes lost
Memories gone
But you saved our pets
You saved our lives
Life all life
So much more important than things

The Encounter

The awkward moment when you realize
You have been staring at her across the bar for what seemed like hours
Her smile
They way she moves
Eyes glistening in little twilight sparkles
The faint lights meant to capture the bottles lined up along the wall
Falling into the corners of her smiling eyes
Moist lips hint at the cool libation as the glass pulls away
You notice her swirl the drink in her mouth
As she stirs the flavor across her tongue
Oh to be a Martini
That glass of Chardonnay
The subtle charcoaly undertones of good whiskey
A liquid kiss upon her perfect mouth
Her head turns
You quickly look away
You don’t want her to notice you are looking
Not yet anyway
Talking to some guy her attentions refocus
Did she notice my eyes locked on hers
Who is she talking to
A friend
A lover
A husband
You scan her hands for clues
Those beautiful long thin fingers and black painted nails
Questions race through your mind
“I have to know”
That question sticks in your mind
Peanut butter thoughts not easily washed away
Your hands drawing the glass to your lips
Very slowly
Like some cheesy scene from a movie
You peer out as you sip and look out over the glass
Pupils up in your eyebrows
Safely hidden behind your curtain of iced warmth
A sensual moment of fiction and reality
Lights warm along the shadows of her face
She has green eyes
You swirl the drink in your mouth like her
Slow moments of clarity taste like passion spreading on your tongue
She turns again
Eyes connect with questions
You do not turn
You do not flinch
The excitement of being caught fills you
A well of anxiousness or is that fear swells in your stomach
She leans in to her friend, lover, husband
Whispers in his ear strike daggers in your chest
They are together
But you cannot look away
Liquid courage or something else
You pause for a second
Tallying the evening’s drinks
Not drunk
Not blinded nor tainted
The captivation is all her
If only she were gay
If only passing glances in a bar were not expected
If only her vision was as clear as yours
She draws back from her friend, lover, husband as he walks away
What did she say
Her left hand now slowly raising the glass to her lips
No ring
The silhouette of her hand vibrates against her black leather coat
Her eyes looking up across the room at you
Your butterflies take flight
Your eye reaching out to her returning gaze
She did notice
Her glass slowly lowers exposing soft moist lips
And a smile

As She Sleeps

Blow out the candles
Dry your tears
Look up and hope there’s still one for you
Look up and hope she’ll think of you
There’s nothing you can say, nothing will do
She’ll never look your way, you’ll never see her smile
You have to lose it all, to gain everything now and then
Yet I wish I was alone than without you right this day
You’re slipping through my fingers as I look at you while you sleep
Wishing that moment would never end but all I can do is weep
Promises broken, why won’t you see my love as a token, look at my wound that’s still open
It was over before it started but please don’t let me go right this moment
Think about what you’re doing leaving me in this cold bleeding nest
They can say all they please yet they’ll never know what hides behind these gates


This is a beautiful poem written by a friend of mine. She is beautiful young woman, singer and songwriter, with so much passion and energy. I think she is much more talented than she believes herself to be. I am honored she agreed to let me post her poem. I hope too get her to write some more. To my friend. Thank you <3


The Ecstasy of Moments

That morning she came to me
Wings brilliant as the sun
Stained glass arms swimming on air
Delicate and fragile

Her touch gentle on my skin
Slowly, Gracefully she moves with my hand
Slow purposeful steady beats
Her delicate body on mine

So beautiful so warm
On the wind erratic and driven
In hand poised and inviting
Wings dancing as I breath

She flickers and turns
My thoughts focus in the moment
No sounds but mine
My pulse visible as I pause

Imagination aroused
Such small wonders tantalize
Goosebumps rise in a shiver
Her delicate presence tickling my skin

Seconds feel like minutes
As I focus on every vibration of her wings
The warmth of the moment lingers
In wings that do not feel

If only she knew
The fleeting passions she inspires
Dreams of flying on her wings
Life’s greatest art in motion

Vespers turn to gusts
My mind begging to hold on
Just stay a little longer
I close my eyes capturing the moment

I call out with one last gust, “stay”
My hand shakes
Her steady perch no more
Blown free she is captured in my thoughts



Explore my mind to find
The woman behind these eyes
Fierce and Strong
No cage will hold me long
Set out
Upon the world
Forging my path
Nec Sorte Nec Fato
I am not just a thing of beauty
I’m not just a girl
Memories and more
Not just human
With love never poor
Funny and fabulous
I am not like the rest of us
Like you
Like me
Like Her
Like the artist canvas
High upon the easel
I am many things
I am many people
Proud and a mother
Stand behind me
Stand before me
Stand with me
And never against me
Or I will mow you down
I am woman
Hear me RAWR!

Twitter: How it helps me as a writer and poet

I was recently asked to write a short comment about how Twitter helped me ( @NikkiDreams )  as a poet. My new friend Tony Riches ( @tonyriches ) over at The Writing Desk: Writing, thoughts and useful links for writers got more than he bargained for I think. Well simple request kind of turned into an entire blog. I have so much to say about this and to understand how it helps me you really need to know a little about my past as far as that is concerned and how I evolved to this point.

I first started writing about 3 or 4 years ago in my early 40’s. Before that I have never written or read much of anything. I hated English and literature all through school. In fact until 5 years ago I had not read more than maybe 15 books my entire life. As a Fine Arts major at East Carolina University in North Carolina I continued to loath English, writing and literature until I had one amazing and inspirational class during a summer session my “2nd” junior year. It was “Old English”. The teacher had a masters in it along with a few other degrees. Books like “Beowulf” and “Njal’s Saga” blew me away. I still have the books I bought for the class to this day. The teacher even spoke old English and read poems and stories from that period. That planted the seed in me that took another 17 years to grow. but I was captivate and truly inspired by what I read and learned in that class.

17 or so years later while going through a very difficult, painful and metamorphic period in my life, I started writing. Blogging actually. It was a cathartic and healing experience I started to enjoy immensely. My writing began to blossom and so did my appetite for reading. I have read more books in the past 5 years than my previous 40. I started writing more poetry offline. And eventually started posting it in between regular blogs. Almost overnight I found a new creative outlet that appealed to me as much as my other artistic pursuits in music and illustration. I posted and people responded. That fueled me as much as any visual artist receiving favorable reviews about their work.

Then came Twitter a few years ago. I went a year without using my account. Then I started cross posting poems and linking them on Twitter to reach more people, faster. Twitter is a hugely viral way to get instant feedback and provide expose for more people directly to to your work. I use Twitter more and more as a tool to get that exposure and instant gratification, as well as just make some great frineds online. Amazingly I have only recently realized and taken advantage of using Twitter to educate myself and find other resources. Connecting to other writers of all types has really been a blessing not only to see how they write but to find great resources. The first Twitter poet I satrted following is Samuel Peralta ( @Semaphore & his blog Semephore ). Jessica Kristie ( @jesskristie & her blog )  is another wonderful poet among several I follow.  One Stop Poetry ( @Onestoppoetry ) is also another really wonderful connection for Twitter Poets.

Interestingly enough the art of writing micro-poetry on Twitter is great practice for writers. You really have to think sometimes to get an idea across elegantly in so few words. And there is almost no better outlet for stream of consciousness writing. I do that all the time on Twitter and Tumblr with short poems and bursts of creative ideas. It makes you think in a much different way. If you are good you can successfully break with accepted grammatical rules that actually work better in poetic formats. While this is my opinion, I have found the best poets not only break with tradition on a grand scale they even make up their own words as part of the art. Fitting everything in that 140 character burst of writing forces you to do that more often than not. And it is good for creativity. The AP and Chicago style books and my High School English teachers may cringe and disagree. But what is art if it does not break the rules and create new ones.

All those micro-poems, lines of Haiku, creative thoughts and “Twitter Poems” have helped me learn how to write better. Often, those little bursts of creativity are seeds for larger and more complex ideas that grow into full poems. One of those little bursts on Twitter actually evolved into a full screenplay that I am writing. And the coolest thing is not only the instant feedback, but the reminder is always there in your timeline so you can ignite that larger idea on paper, in a blog and hopefully as a published work later on. They are like little notes to myself sometimes. If only my spelling and editing skills were up to par. Yes there is always room for improvement. My very first published poems on other sites were the direct result of using Twitter as my own creative outlet and yes, cringe, a marketing tool. But hey, nobody is going to read your work if they don’t know about it or how to get to it.

So that is my story and I am sticking to it. Twitter has been a major reason my poetry has blossomed not only in exposure but a catalyst or rather inspiration for my love of writing. I have connected with some very extraordinary poets and writers because of Twitter. And I look forward to many more great connections. You can expect to see me on there for as long as it is a relevant and useful way to get exposure and grow as a writer. I expect it will be around for quite a few years.

And the Inspiration never ends.

For a Moment

I thought I heard your name
Turning to look I saw the pipers race across the beach
Edge of the advancing surf
The choreographer in their daily ballet

Long sheets of liquid glass coat the shores
Revealing deep blue skies in the warming sands
A whole universe reflected at my feet
For moment I thought I saw you staring back at me

Morning walks on the beach
Are like the confessional of the senses
Long forgotten memories peak out cautiously
From their cool dark burrows in our minds

The odd wave crashes mightily near the shore
A vision of childhood awakens in the concision
The foamy smell of salty air unlocks a lifetime
I look up seeing playful figures form in the blowing spray

Rushing water erasing footprints
Toes sink into the quickening sand
Water teasing my ankles biting cold then a familiar coolness
For a moment I though I felt your hand in mine

Notice how time slows as we shuffle in the surf
Organic patterns and ripples form around me
Timeless art renewed with each new wave
Pictures in my mind shifted by the years

My mind wanders with my eyes along the horizon
Pelicans gliding effortless over the contours of the sea
An excited dog bolts out across the beach
Playful thoughts returning to the present

I sit below the dunes a broken reed at my feet
A collection of shells arranged in a smile at my side
Left undisturbed the beach will reclaim this spot
The same is true for memories of you

The Emptiness is My Art


I struggle to make peace with you
Your bony withered hand
Clenched in a ball around my heart
Time drags on along quiet empty shores
Your faded dying skin
Wrapped like worn gauze around my bones
The warmth of feeling distant in my mind
Your wretched smile
Trapped in mirrors before me
My eyes blackened in the gray of living
Your stream of whispers
Silencing the music in my ears
Memories peeling off my papered walls
You tear my soul
Discarded shreds of life from colored pages
Beaten down a crawl at snails pace
You impeded my stride
Iron balls weighting mortal thoughts deep
The sands no match for your gale
Each grain etch and scars a constant reminder
A endless symphony of monotone chants
This is your destiny
This your tragic way
The torch of cold lifeless flame
Burns brighter each loveless day
I struggle to make peace with you
The emptiness is my art
Your charge to care for always
We are bound forever cold
My lost and lonely heart