We weep
Where he sleeps
Bleeds between sheets
Begs “help me, help me”
Helpless
We help less
Flesh presses flesh
Greedy tenderness
Every edge ends
Seeds beget stems
Trees bend
Shredded hems rend
© Nichole Q. Perreault
Every Edge Ends
Nothing But A Moon
Inspired by “Half Moon Makes Full Halo” by Jakusho Kwong
The moon is nothing
but a moon
Cold and colorless
Her gravity barely holding the feet of men
to her dry and dusty shores
Barren
She wheels round and round the earth
On a path she didn’t choose
While gazing down upon that celestial spring
That spinning womb that
Gives birth to trees and snakes
and little league
The moon is nothing
but a moon
Reflecting only another’s fire
She doesn’t burn or even turn
Her head
Part of her always hidden
Always facing away
Her far side1 never seen
by earth-eyes
Half-shadowed
She still kindles trees and snakes
and valentines
The moon is nothing
but a moon
And yet
Her being
Just her being
Is weight enough to stir the waters
Call forth hidden springs
Just her pushing, pulling
Presence
Steadies the spinning womb
Midwifes trees and snakes
and birthday cakes
The moon is nothing
but a moon
And yet
Even on her far side
The sun still shines
Limning mountains, filling craters
Silvering sands that
None will ever see
In her hiding place
The moon is gleaming
Bearing beams of love2 for trees and snakes
and cups of tea
© Nichole Q. Perreault, September 2020
1The moon has a “far side’ not a ‘dark side’.
2 The Little Black Boy by William Blake
Header Photo by David Dibert on Unsplash
Belong
You can’t fly a kite without strings
But you can watch it spread its wings
Soar and dip, gently fall
Swoop high over the garden wall
You can watch her spread wings
Your love was just an offering
Leaning there on the garden wall
You let go of all you are
Your love was just an offering
Like a nightingale song, or a church bell’s ring
Yet letting go of all you are
Something slowly fills your heart
A nightingale song, a church bell’s ring
We can’t hold on to anything
But let the star-wind fill your heart
And with open hands, belong
©️ Nichole Q. Perreault, August 2020
*One night, while searching for inspiration for a submission to my monthly poetry group**, I paused to meditate on the Jess Franks calendar that hangs by my bed. Butterflies have been on my heart a lot lately, but it was her two line poem that really caught my attention. BAM! Suddenly the spring opened and there I was at 2:00 a.m. scribbling away. Jess’s art is great example of how inspired creativity is like a mountain spring, or a deep well, a gift that keeps on giving.
**As part of our poetry group prompt for August, this poem loosely follows a form known as Pantoum, a poem of any length, composed of four-line stanzas in which the second and fourth lines of each stanza serve as the first and third lines of the next stanza. The last line of a pantoum is often the same as the first.
Inseparable, Free
(a paraphrase of Psalms 23, 73, 91, 139 and Zephaniah 3)
Where can I go to get away from You?
Where can I run, that You are not already there?
If I go up to the heavens, You are there
And if I descend to the depths of despair
Even to the grave, there You are
You are with me when I am flying high, soaring through life
But if I land in an unfamiliar place where no one knows my name or speaks my language, still You are holding on to me
If I grieve and weep and wail with bitterness in my heart
If I stand before You like a brute beast, acting without understanding
If I throw a tantrum like a spoiled child
Or hide under the table trembling in fear
If I shut You out like an angry teenager
If my body fails me
Or my mind becomes weak and I cannot even remember You
Nevertheless, You are with me
Your right hand will hold me fast
You have shattered glass to rescue me
Shaken mountains
Torn down walls
To get to me
To set me free
As the song goes, “You don’t give Yourself in pieces”*
So I won’t give myself in pieces either
and “You don’t hide Yourself to tease us”*
So I won’t hide myself from You
Actually, not even darkness can hide me from You
You see through every darkness
Even the darkness of my heart
Even the darkness that hides in darkness
You see the real me
The spark of my soul rests in Your heart
Untouched by human hands, my being hides in You
I will rest in You like a baby bird beneath the shadow of her mama’s wings
Even in the presence of my enemies
You will feed and nourish my soul
You will sing to me with joy
We are one
You and me
Inseparable, free
Your love will never let me go
©️ Nichole Q. Perreault
*Song lyrics from “Pieces” by Amanda Cook
The Dream
You are the dream He dreamed
He dreams
the song He sings
when the whole world sleeps
You are the whisper in the wind
wonder hushed
on angels’ lips
a secret He keeps
You are the gift He gave
He gives
the life He lives
in the depths of the deep
You
are the dream
the act, the scene
You
are the masterpiece
penned without ink
You
are the ballad
sung by the trees
You
are the mystery
You
are the dream
©️Nichole Q Perreault
Playing Potter
Photo by Ricardo Mancía on Unsplashtrapped behind these
one-way eyes
inside
the lies we wear like make-up
spread thick
slick
with a spackling knife
layer slapped
on layer
we play Potter
with counterfeit clay
covering lines and
carving new ones
making mud masks
that bury us alive
that harden
into barrel helms
heavy
on our heads
necks bent
beneath the weight
of myths we can’t remember
shoulders hunched
around our hearts
a blockade
gazes fixed
on fingers
we can’t even look each
other in the eye anymore
Would it matter if we did?
© Nichole Q. Perreault, July 2019
This poem was written in response to my poetry group’s July prompt “differences”. The first line popped into my head and inspired the rest of the poem.
Ocean at Night
I listen to the sea
As it beats against the earth
My mind a soft resounding
No words
No words
No words
No words to make you hear
Unless you’ve heard before
Wide-mouthed waves devouring
The shore
The shore
The shore
The shore as mute as I
While the roaring ocean pens
Her prayer of ceaseless pounding
Amen
Amen
Amen
© Nichole Q. Perreault
‘Ocean at Night’ was written in response to a prompt in my poetry group, in which were to focus on onomatopoeia, which led me to thoughts like “How do you describe the sound of ocean waves crashing on the shore to people who’ve never heard it before? Is there any description that does it justice?” My answer was this poem.
Perhaps the Heart
How do you capture the sky
a sunset over the ocean?
Is there some enchanted glass
I can hold in my hand
whisper and watch
as the satin tapestry
of seascape
hanging before me,
gilded blue and molten
shimmering
rippling,
gathers at the hem
and slips
like a cool drink
past that vial’s lip,
the bottle’s neck
funneling
fabric into
folds of sunlight
wave upon wave
pooling
rising
until the last frayed corner
bends
the last thread
dips
below the rim,
filling the crystal flask
with fireball pink
coppers and golds
luster and light
of the night’s first star?
How do you capture the longing
vast
infinite
wonder
fear that tingles in the toes
something like worship?
Is there a vessel
glazed
in magic
for what these hands
can never hold?
© Nichole Q. Perreault
this Christmas whispers
this Christmas
whispers
from behind a midnight sky
trembling
on crystallized air
a wrinkle in the starlight
like the tinkling of tiny bells
we fell
once upon a time
now we fall
and fall
blazing, burning out across
that inky wall
still Christmas whispers
among the glaring of
the screens
the clanging songs
that drag their feet along the hall
tradition on repeat
the dead-eyed throng
into the silence of my heart
empty as the space
between the stars
this Christmas
whispers
wordless whispers
like snowflakes
lay a blanket down
upon barren ground
a heartsong
a homesong
love letters without ink
this Christmas whispers
breath that flickers flame
pats the chair
says come sit
beside a fire you didn’t build
warm
like cinnamon
and mugs of tea
this Christmas whispers
rest
be
wonder
breathe
this is enough
you
and Me
©️ Nichole Q. Perreault
Bound & Chained, Yet Somehow Free
The Lady of Shalott by William Holman Hunt inspired the following poem, written in response to my poetry group’s December prompt: “Write a poem about a picture or photo that speaks to you.” I fell in love with Hunt’s The Lady of Shalott when I first saw it at the Wadsworth Atheneum in Hartford, CT, where it is on permanent display. During a little pre-writing research I learned that this painting was inspired by Tennyson’s ballad of the same name.
It was the colors
And the hair
The wildness
That made me stare
The way the canvas
Still, but moves
Lady bound
In chaos loosed
How flaming shadows
Crown her head
While feet dance
In light instead
I’ll write a poem
Then, I thought,
Remembering
Her of Shalott
But as Hunt creates
A window
To a room
Inside a window
Where a mirror cursed
With magic
Reflects that
Window tragic
So my words devise
A poem
Of a picture
Of a poem
Enduring art, a
Clumsy rhyme,
Both by Tennyson
Inspired
Until today, I
Knew her not
The Lord’s Lady
of Shalott
Now, knowing what I
Know of both
I still like
The painting most
To gaze upon her
Fiery hair
Tangle in
Her web-like lair
To let his pallete
Color me
Bound and chained
Yet somehow free
©️ Nichole Q Perreault
Lightning Bug 
