A Man Who Calls Me Darlin’

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?

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