The Ghost in Me

The colors in my head are vibrant. I’m not quite sure how to replicate them on canvas or in words, but I want to interpret them through my soul. I find the vividness exhilarating. Brilliant hues, purple, blue and yellow. Greens are filling the skies with splashes like voices scattered through my heart; the light is shining. The inspired craving of excitement and longing but, also fulfillment. Once I find this key, this bit of time that I can perceive and project there will be a new meaning to my life. It’s like when you close your eyes and the shapes behind your lids move like a lava lamp, growing, and shrinking. Bright then gone to black to be replaced by something new. Yellow perhaps. The dance is impactful, and I hold it tightly to me knowing I will need to let it go. There is silence, and yet the music plays. There is sadness yet, I feel a growing joy. I can’t explain it at all, but I know somehow I need to share this gift, this internal maze that is the essence of who I am. The bright colors under the surface, the light pulsing in an effortless means to escape. The truth is there, within the walls of my mind, flowing down to my heart, to my stomach, to my toes. It runs like a river in and out, up and down. The blood pumping, racing yet still, with moments of contentment. Finally, I find it, slowly coursing, inviting me towards it. A ghost, reaching for me in fuchsia with purple edges gleaming. I know I cannot resist. I lie down, comforted, surrounded, and hovering within myself. I am finding love. The melody spins me. I’m dizzy with delight, calm. I am ready to grow, to break free to release the light, the colors, the gifts, to share them outwardly with the world. To know who I am and where I stand. It is in this release that I will find myself.

The Book

As she swept
the book out from
her lap so came
her secrets
spilling.
Words,
sounds,
movement;
all interpretations of
desire
trickling down the binding
and arousing
her spirit.

 

I love when I see something and the words spill forth in pure inspiration completely out of my control. This poem came to me after seeing a provocative image a friend posted on Instagram with the note…”Many interpretations…all accurate.”  Thank you, Vesta

Namastè
©NicholeDonjè

Little Moments

It is not our role in life to save those we love. It is our role to be there to support them when they are ready to rise up and save themselves.

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Artist: Bob Dilworth (painting segment) http://bobdilworth.com/

Namastè

©NicholeDonjè

To Love…

To love is…
to hold not only the fun but the fear.
to listen.
to find security in what you do not know;
In what you are willing to learn.

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Namastè

©NicholeDonjè

And Again We Fall…

And again we fall…

Down a spiraling staircase into
the abyss of
loneliness we
continuously choose to create.

Knowing
there is more but
often choosing less.

As if happiness is,
undeserved.

As if we think
without suffering, there
is no life.

It is selfish to
think that
personal suffering
makes life more
meaningful.

It is loving,
connecting and
sharing that
honors life.

It is in loss we
learn to appreciate our
gifts reminded of
our precious fragility.

What is hard need
not be painful

What is learned need
not require sacrifice.

Choice is not
sacrifice.

It is
embracing the
gifts put before us.

It is
honoring our
individuality, and
living to more than
exist.

It is
recognizing
opportunity, and
opening one’s heart to
give not only to others but
to one’s self.

So that we
may fall …into
our lives.

Namastè

©NicholeDonjè

Bookstore Poet

Metamorphosis

Reaching toward indecent exposure
My body writhes inside.
Gasping with each incomparable breath,
Waiting to exhale with no relief.
Heat relieving pressure
Where hands play conforming to my shape.
Bodies melding in the molten fire of one being;

A metamorphosis.

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Artist: Bob Dilworth (painting segment) http://bobdilworth.com/

Namastè

©NicholeDonjè