I want a man who calls me darlin' Whose roots touch mine Not the same soil, but the same shade Close enough to drink from the same ground water I want a man who has two hearts One for each of mine Art and dirt, or roots and sky Close enough to speak the same dialect of difference I want a man who takes me dancing Whose steps match mine Who lets me come and go in rhythm long developed Close enough to flying to call it the same name I want a man who calls me darlin' -Elena Nola
Blue Moon
The moon rose yellow against a Confederate sky Like some wasted sun, its core collapsed, Anemic light a harbinger of change. But dying sun is brilliant moon; It shone brighter than reflection, A ring of white around its edge entire, Almost a corona. Almost like it burned. ~Elena Nola
Wings of Fire
Wings of fire Let it burn, let it burn Let it burn away what isn’t me Walk through life Let it burn Walls ignite Let it burn, let it burn Let it burn away Reality falls Let it burn That cage is gone Let it burn, let it burn Let it burn away what isn’t me -Elena Nola, August 2021
Sicily
Perfume poem thirteen, Sicily by D and G.
Originally published in Conscious, the zine, 2018.
Summer smells of Sicily Soap and sand and soft focus lens Glimpses of the world through sighing gauze The languid light of lingering sun Below the horizon but still kissing the sky Clinging to the blue with lover's loathing of farewell And to the air a flower opens Its swelling sweetness tension in the dusk A breath of life renewed with day's decline Too gentle to compete with harshest heat But counting down the rays till soft can shine Perfect moment plucked from time Like ripened fruit still warm to touch Awaiting what comes next While yet complete within itself The stillness between two memories Perhaps the strongest note of all
Sonnet for blackbird
Originally published in Conscious, the zine, 2018.
She furled her wings in gravity's embrace And watched the blue horizons meld - no line Between the sky and sea, one world erased As water covers blackbird in its brine. Surrounded by aquatic life she longs To be a fish, because it's all she sees. Forgetting flight, and wingbeats' subtle song, She rides the surface, banned from swimming deeps. Nor fish nor fowl, she struggles to relate To either them, or self, or life: a ghost. She cannot see potential lost but hates Her muted voice and salt-caked feathers most. Facades decay and warp as they suppress; The strongest parts will always manifest. -Elena Nola
When the deluge falls
It's been so long I've wondered Would I even recognize the rain? But the signs are unmistakable And waken primal knowings. Pores open up like plants The scales of our hair sip moisture And stand tall in attention Our noses know the smell of rain Ears can't unremember thunder Our skin flinches with the electric shock As lightning scalds the sky The sucking void of warring winds Winds the breath up in the chest The tactile call and response Between barometric change and body Forms precious proof that what's forgotten isn't gone It's merely biding till the time And when the deluge finally falls You can't remember That you did not remember -Elena Nola
900 nights
One hundred fifty nights ago I counted the time between, The week the star-tellers told me to; The answer, then, was 750. They warned me not to count again. I should have listened, Because now I know 900 nights have come and gone Since last I felt the rain, And though I'm drowning in the numbers, There is no water here. -Elena Nola
“Siren’s song in a bottle”
I am very pleased to announce that my poem “Siren’s Song in a Bottle” is included in the Summer Solstice 2021 edition of Eternal Haunted Summer. The issue is available now – go forth and read!
This poem is part of a trilogy I wrote from the perspective of a siren…what might have been the words to her song that were so irresistible? What secret longings in the hearts of men did she whisper from a spark into an inferno?
Or was she speaking with them in mind at all? Perhaps it was just the truth of her own soul that set their…um…passions ablaze.
What would a siren do if she had no voice but that of ink? Would her magic still work? Would it still lure in what is hers?
Destiny
What is that you're holding? He asked as her fingers Covered silver charm My fate, she said, with irony A map I cannot read But nonetheless must follow -Elena Nola
From Time
PERFUME NO. 28, NARCISO RODRIGUEZ FOR HER (EDT)
From time to time I like to skip ahead Into a life I don't yet live Like picking up my journal And reading pages bare of ink Within the blankness there is everything All possibilities contained therein The things will be, the things that won't The paths that I can't even see Time is, by nature, nonlinear Our form is all the limits us To clarity of hindsight Some day a man will burn for me Musk and flowers stoke the flames I'll wear this then, to feed his fire Today, to free myself from time -Elena Nola
Elena Nola, Poet 