The Postcard – A Late Arrival and Love’s Revival

(Written upon request of Weekend Wordsmith’s “vintage postcard” prompt.)


The Postcard –
A Late Arrival and Love’s Revival

A single postcard, nothing much,
A simple note to keep in touch.
One stamp, and it is on the way
Without much room, not much to say.

Yet this epistle carried more,
For he had promised, long before,
To hold her visage in his view
Long after he donned Navy blue.

They waited at the boarding gate,
Both vowing boldly they would wait.
The ship embarked on its campaign,
And disappeared upon the main.

This proven vessel took a hit
And vanished in the briny pit.
Her love remained without a word,
Although in time, his memory blurred.

She wed and bred and raised a child,
But ne’er forgot the way he’d smiled.
He’d promised her that he would write,
Before he sailed that autumn night.

One morning, as she combed her hair,
Which tangled silver, fine and fair,
The letterman brought her a note
With picture of a Navy boat.

She flipped the picture over fast
To read the writing, there at last.
In just six words, he’d spoken true.
“Coming home early. I love you.”

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Hearting Up – A Story of Origins

(For Poetry Train and Two for Tuesdays V)

Hearting Up –
A Story of Origins

Her life began
in bubbles and brandy,
joining chocolate-caressed strawberries
and velvety lemon sponge cake.

Before she was born,
her senses filled
with sounds
of ancient melodies,
strummed on
ethereal violas and cellos.

And yet,
no kin
may recreate the sounds.

As life arose within her,
emerald English ivy
climbed the walls around her,
trailing in every direction
to shield her infant skin
from the sun’s white-hot rays.

The clan, nomadic hunters
of medieval artifacts,
welcomed her arrival
with music and madness,
which soon evolved into revelry
and fairly shook the snow
from the mountains above.

Always seeking
a forbidden secret within,
like a banished boon,
she learned to walk
in the quiet hours of the night.

Somehow, she sensed
the safety in silence.

Her search ended
atop a cracked rock,
beneath the shadow
of a chipped wooden cross.

There,
in the ever-growing darkness,
a single light
penetrated the unseen corners
of her hidden heart.

Family lore
entwined her soul
for years,
as yarns were spun
in colors of truth and falsehood.

Knots and tangles
beckoned her
into the mesh,
but still she struggled
to pull away.

Faded family photographs
boast of unanimous smiles.

Printed memories
belie the buried blames
and swept-up sarcasms
of every act.

Only the glossy images remain.

A string of well-worn pearls
and a tarnished cameo brooch
beg to share
what human flesh cannot.


Love poetry? Click here to visit Linda Ann Nickerson’s poetry and humor blog, Nickers and Ink.

And be sure to check out Simply Snickers, a brand-new weekly poetry prompt. Try your own hand at poetry, and come back (to Simply Snickers) to comment with a link to your post.

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Free and Clear – Verses Penned on Control’s End

(Upon request for Sunday Scribblings.)


Free and Clear – Verses Penned on Control’s End

“The words of truth are simple.”
Aeschylus
(525 BC – 426 BC)


I just don’t get it; I’m confused.
You leave me much less than enthused.
The mind games, puzzles, run-around
Have run our simple ship aground.

Confusion is your favorite game;
You lob your fireballs of blame,
Slip pointless promises my way;
I can’t believe a word you say.

My dialect, you reconstruct;
My intellect, you interrupt.
But truth still triumphs, as it shows,
And everyone, your secret knows.

You trumpet your ideas extolled,
Presuming to be self-controlled.
But master of none more are you,
Although you claim to own a few.

For tyranny, rebellion breeds,
And intimacy then recedes.
Can any throne be worth the cost,
When you consider what you’ve lost?

Love poetry? Click here to visit Linda Ann Nickerson’s poetry and humor blog, Nickers and Ink.


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A Familiar Way – A Rhyme Opaque on Memory’s Wake

(Written upon request of Writer’s Island’s “Deja Vu” prompt.)

A Familiar Way –
A Rhyme Opaque on Memory's Wake

“Memory believes
Before knowing remembers.”

William Faulkner
(1897 – 1962)


There’s something strange behind that door;
I think I’ve passed through here before.
If memory serves, ‘twas long ago,
When time elapsed not fast, but slow.

The handle looks familiar here,
And I recall the atmosphere.
Does danger lurk behind this wall,
When I shall enter from the hall?

Will others welcome me within,
When I shall recollect again?
I cannot tell from here, so far,
But wait, the door is now ajar!

The threshold beckons, “Step inside!”
My curiosity is tried.
And so, with déjà vu, I see,
That I’ve been sleepwalking, home free.


Love poetry? Click here to visit Linda Ann Nickerson’s poetry and humor blog, Nickers and Ink.

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The Living Word - Limericks of Love

The Living Word –
Limericks of Love

In the beginning was the Word,
The Holy One, with Name unheard,
Until He formed the creatures all,
And Adam too, with names to call
Each living being, as it stirred.

Then man became consumed with pride,
Mistaken, fallen and tongue-tied.
Until he saw his own ill route,
Partaking of forbidden fruit,
With sorrows ever multiplied.

And so the Word was clothed in skin,
To enter earth and die for sin.
And silently, He gave His life,
Thus conquering both death and strife,
So hope for all begins again.

How often are the words untold
The ones we value more than gold?
We blather on without a care,
With idle words we ought not share,
While truth is being undersold.

In the beginning was the Word,
The Holy One, with Name unheard,
Who bought us back from our own ill,
And still, He honors our free will.
May His Name be preferred.
c2008 by Linda Ann Nickerson

(Written upon request of Mad Kane’s prompt on “poems on poetry” or “poems on writing.”)

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Words of Life - A Trifold Haiku of Life Told True

(Written upon request of Mad Kane’s prompt on “poems on poetry” or “poems on writing.”)

Words of Life –
A Trifold Haiku of Life Told True

What is poetry?
Images, metaphors, words
Or a work of art?

Hearts poured on parchment,
Lives shared, through spirits expressed.
Never-ending truth.

What is poetry?
Untaught, but experienced.
Poetry is life.



Love poetry? Click here to visit Linda Ann Nickerson’s poetry and humor blog, Nickers and Ink.

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Fortunate – A Limerick Display for St. Patrick’s Day

Fortunate –A Limerick Display for St. Patrick’s Day

“I cannot keep silent, nor would it be proper, so many favours and graces has the Lord deigned to bestow on me in the land of my captivity. For after chastisement from God, and recognizing him,our way to repay him is to exalt him and confess his wonders before every nation under heaven: For there is no other God, nor ever was before, nor shall be hereafter.”

St. Patrick 
(285 – 361 AD)

The Irish are lifting a glass,
To cheer every lad and each lass,
As the leprechaun jigs,
In-between wishful swigs,
May your joy be beyond all trespass.

But a pot of gold is just a start;
Lucky clovers may soon fall apart.
When God welcomes us in,
As His own special kin,
Our security comes from His heart. 

As a shamrock contains leaves of three,
May we remind ourselves constantly,
Of the three-in-one God,
In whose Presence we’re awed,
Who created and then set us free.

All His saints are beloved, ‘tis sure,
Every one knows God’s grace will endure.
On this day of the green,
May His love intervene,
And protect you from evil’s detour.

Whether Irish or not, never mind.
Any grouping or sect, intertwined.
If you stand on His Word,
Then your sainthood’s conferred;
And your citizenship’s reassigned.

If you know you are held in His hand,
You’re a member of His sainted band.
And forever as one,
We will worship the Son
With a music not known beforehand.

So raise up your glass with a prayer
To thank Him for His divine care.
As we drink of the vine,
We remember the time,
When the Lord bought us back from despair.

c2008 by Linda Ann Nickerson

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. 

And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going” (John 14:1-4).

Inviting Writing

Inviting Writing

Good writing evolves like a dance,
As well-crafted phrasings do prance;
With penmanship fine,
A skillful design,
And meanings beyond the first glance.

A writer composes a chord,
A topic from the smorgasbord -
A few simple notes,
And maybe some quotes –
Impossible when one is bored.

For readers adore a buffet;
Creative words urge them to stay –
A phrasing intact,
Either fiction or fact,
May keep them from clicking away.

c2008 by Linda Ann Nickerson

Upon request for Sunday Scribblings - "smorgasbord prompt)

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Bring Spring – A Haiku Bouquet for a Brighter Day

Bring Spring –
A Haiku Bouquet for a Brighter Day

Tugging twigs and thorns,
Digging in my garden beds –
Spring, come to my yard.

Frozen frosting melts;
Gloved fingers ache with cold.
Sun, come warm the earth.

Crunchy turf gives way,
Welcoming the brand-new growth.
Life, begin again.

c2009 by Linda Ann Nickerson

(Written upon request of Mad Kane’s prompt on “yard” and “garden” and Haiku Friday.)

Zoned Out – Roars About Chores

(Written upon request of Mad Kane’s prompt on “yard” and “garden.”)

Zoned Out –
Roars About Chores -

Spring cleanup elicits a groan,
As Mother gives each a yard zone.
She passes out rakes,
‘Mid our belly-aches,
Then goes in to answer the phone.

Such chores are a yearly remake,
A dirty job, for pity’s sake!
A Saturday gone
To fix up the lawn,
With garden work; gimme a break!

But all of us do what we must;
We stir up the leaves and the dust
To fill up each bag,
Or parents will nag,
And social lives will be a bust.

Love poetry? Click here to visit Linda Ann Nickerson’s poetry and humor blog, Nickers and Ink.

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Pasture Pals - for Wordless Wednesday (Friday edition)

Here's this week's entry for Wordless Wednesday. Photo by Nickers and Ink.

Pasture Pals

There's something poetic about two foals,
Sharing a pasture, as kindred souls.

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Flat Broke – Freedom’s Clash with the Absence of Cash

(Written upon request of Three Word Wednesday’s prompt on “apartment,” “began” and “numb.”)

Flat Broke –
Freedom’s Clash with the Absence of Cash

A young world-beater signed a lease,
Pursuing freedom and release.
He found the perfect three-room flat,
Picked out a roommate, bought a cat.
He held the whole world by the tail,
Until his checkbook chose to fail.

In his apartment, sorting bills,
His hands grew numb; he suffered chills.
The landlord’s statement stopped his breath,
And he began to wish for death.
The rent had climbed above his means,
And he’d run out of magic beans.

He sat and sulked, without a clue,
And then he figured what to do.
He’d see the super, face to face
And plea for an extension, grace.
He went downstairs, this cashless lad,
And begged, “Hey, won’t you help me, Dad?”

Love poetry? Click here to visit Linda Ann Nickerson’s poetry and humor blog, Nickers and Ink.

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