Poetry

This summer I had the wonderful privilege of joining the New York State Writers Institute Community Poetry Workshop as run by the wonderful D Colin! I was surrounded by some of the area’s most gifted amateur poets and had the – honestly nerve-wracking – experience of publicly performing some of my work. I thought I might share some of the poems I’ve been working on here!


An Ode to Pine Needles

Ode to Pine Needles Poem by Stephanie Nolan


Pop (a.k.a. the Angry Millennial Poem)

I am one of the bubblegum antibiotic generation.
Our trophies forged in plastic
were unacceptable gifts.
Meanwhile, MTV queens pencil sharpened
us into cassette tape dust.
We are the toe jam of oligopolies.

And now you tell me there’s no role for us
that we will die between newspapers and hot dog napkins
Ground down in entry level jobs (lightning catchers, 5+ years experience)
communicating with our hobo emoji language on message boards – lines near the train tracks:

There’s no home here; move on.

But I tell you this; we are wise.
I have lived a thousand lives
Baby hands on fluorescent glass
Memorizing every drama with a backwards triangle
Before I knew letters formed words.

I tell you this; we are watching with triangle eyes
Gucchi water bottles, Russian wives
Numb to every attempt to shock us.
We won’t be stuffed into social algorithm personality cereal boxes
only to quiver to the Silicon river gods for protection.

I tell you this; we are alive. We thrive.
We will protect the gays the homeless the Jews the disabled and you with white UV umbrellas
We will build bridges for island nations through salt
and patiently wait for the rest to die.

Our only enemy apathy.


Peach Fiction Poem Stephanie Nolan


Admiring the Skin

Marble glass of Trojan halls
buttery woman behind the veil
lightning stem of neon Prometheus
The droppings of the glen.

A silver, golden, forgotten moon
crushed under the densest country tooth
And yet I am not permitted to the fruit
of the greatest, simplest gift to men.

Speckled hide of pony skin
Taste without tasting – hide within
You will never need the sacred meat
of God’s most painful, painted truth.

;

I will eat it whole one day.
unhinge my jaw in exorcised pride
and only the tree can tear me away.
A full-bellied heathen on the Galway moor.


Love is not a nest. Poem - Stephanie Nolan


All rights reserved to Stephanie Nolan. Please do not use my poems without permission; contact me for permission for any artistic usage.