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Best Poems Written by Nicole Seefeld

Below are the all-time best Nicole Seefeld poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Of Great Ruin

The cold night with the lights shining in the city
it’s a good time when everyone looks pretty. 
Bottle breaking 
smoke swapping
cops cracking. 
The night is young like I was, 
inevitably invincible 
like the immature mind produces an unnatural high. 
Searching
wanting
lusting,
for the things that keep on burning. 
The juvenile exposure built my mind yet pruned it 
of it’s innocence and doubled it’s experience. 
Bathroom sleeping
tequila snatching
bloodied fists. 
The atmosphere darkens
the attitudes sharpen
and lives are finally ruined. 
Rome wasn’t built in a day but after it’s demise,
it’s walls were never the same. 
Now the uncontrolled has sought control
from the dangers that plague the world she once lived in. 
The consequences so hard to burden that every place is hard to stand in. 
The bitter sweet memories still fresh that I can see them,
but they stay hidden in my mind as if satan condemned them.

Details | Nicole Seefeld Poem

The Valley Between the Windy Trees

The valley between the windy trees
Across the street from me.
I sit below the pines
to evade the busy strip.
The yard and the distant billowing trees
Provide me a better sense of security
From the industrial life 
That surrounds the house in its entirety.

The birds and the bees
have their daily routine
Maybe they might remember me
Every-time
At seven o' clock in the evening.
The lazy Sundays and wispy nights
Make for a beautiful sight.
The wind rocks the leaves like a lullaby 
in between the valley of the windy trees.

A sight so peaceful
You might forget all your worries troubles.
Even through this life called hell
Past the concrete streets
and all its booming sounds
Do I find that beautiful background.

Details | Nicole Seefeld Poem

To Be Scared of Fun Is Scary To Enjoy

i only go so far through the fields 
to see the dying sunflowers and their dried grain
and to stare at the end of the road
for which i believed was the edge of the world. 
i avoid the grown apples and pear trees
as i assume ill commit thievery 
as well as the cowardly trait. 
i wait until the night falls 
where no lawful eyes wonder. 
i limit myself where limitation is not needed
i seek safety where it is already safe. 
i do not push the limits of my life because i am scared of what i will encounter in the light
but foolishly,
i will walk through the dark 
near an ocean cliff than the empty fields of daylight autumn   
because standing on the edge of death excites my poor heart than the little beauties the world has given me.

Details | Nicole Seefeld Poem

A Response To Sportscruiser

You write about the sea
That no captain could ever write
But see.

For even the poets could not trust them
Nor could the captains trust themselves
To captain a ship 
that forms lines of poetry.

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Ode to the heart

Yes, the one that pumps the thickened wine.
Craved by the creatures of the night.
Intertwined through complex lines.
Kept from a keepers sight.

O’ the centre of a lovers quarrel
In heaps of passion do they come!
Tearing the lining, for blood to be drained.

But in those slow moments of throttle
Through gaining beats of candied drums
Do two sides of each soul reclaim their lost veins.

Details | Nicole Seefeld Poem

Chapter Ixv

I had an epiphany
While reading Spring and All.
Why do I make poetry?
Is it a certain call?
A call from my mind that needs release?
A call to improve a skill?
A call to write one good entry
To be famous in the next century?
To have students analyse and criticise
The backbone of my mind
that I could never write into short stories.

I contemplated the pleasure of the hand or the pen.
The latter was chosen 
Socrates would be elated.

A question came to me
One I would ask William Carlos William.
Art holds imagination in captivity?
Imagination doesn't captain the ship of art?
Is art rather full of imagination that it can never escape it?
Would Duchamp agree
Or is this what he means?
Let art not be creative for once but confusing
                                             but plain
                                             but unimaginative 
                                             but charmless
(Is this why Williams always rambles about plagiarism?)

So many questions left unanswered 
for the dead I mentioned.
They will stay hidden in this book
On this page
and washed out of my dirty hair
Down the drain
Into the sewers
and possibly out into the sea
or Wherever the drain leads.

Details | Nicole Seefeld Poem

The Same Old Rotting Juice

A woman I knew
Who consumed the poison 
From the sight of blood that rotted gradually.
All she could do was imagine the smell
And view a corpse bound to rot.
Blood is thicker than water
That blood was half of hers
But she masked the faint smell in rotting juice.
Everyone knew
She knew.

One claims to know the holistic answers
Until they are faced with the same condition.
I understand her
Smelling a corpse that has not yet rotted 
Eyeing the body that will soon fall.
Black mist lingers.
Nothing shines upon them in your eyes anymore.
The wacky laugh becomes unsettling
When the empty mouth opens.
There is nothing funny to laugh at
When the laugh almost wasted him away.
The joke does not exist
When the joke exists inside the scrambled brains of eight years.
Innocence is sweet 
Ignorance is perfect.

Now the woman saw the corpse for what it wanted
The rotting smell wasn’t so bad
Blood became thicker than ever.
Water became her companion.
Others await in the same wait.
Disturbed by the sight of the soon-to-be rotting body
Unsure of what to do
Except to drink the rotting juice.

Details | Nicole Seefeld Poem

Look to the horizon, for your future lies within

lost on a path that doesn’t exist
the life taken out of the living. 
the blood is still warm
but her life runs cold. 
no where to go 
no where to be
but a dweller in the attic
above the sea,
of stars on the wall
and the symmetrical window panes. 
they are all fake
an illusion to what is really hidden,
outside along the horizon 
is where her future lies
but if no steps are taken
then tomorrow will be the last sunrise for her to partake in.

Details | Nicole Seefeld Poem

Faul is as faul does

I crave the creativity of imagination
Conceiving an idea that excites the idle soul
To toil it for value and purpose
As Aristotle intended it to be.
But waiting for the time to do 
Limits the glory of accomplishment
As the idea rots in an imagined grime.
But to strike beyond this negligence of my apparent talent
Could my purpose come to fruition
And creativeness oozes its milk and honey.
Let me seek the sage in my troubled soul
To defeat the self-inflicting inquisitor  
Plaguing the catalyst of my destiny to prosper.

Details | Nicole Seefeld Poem

A Pale Image of A New Life

Teresa of Ávila
Dreamt the passion of God.

A physical fire 
Burned an image of his power.

An image I envisioned was one so dull 
Full of pain
A nightmare stabbing my mind's eye.

A frail image of my mother
Some quivering voice I remember
In my dimension of inception
That my mother was at her end.

A disruptive anxiety burdens my peace
But that day, it was at bay.

Paralysed by a hidden sight that I couldn't bear
Petrified by a dream I will not admit as real.

This despicable numbness I endure
Sympathises the fools of fiction.

As reality shapes its needle
To fill with its anaesthesia of truth
And inject into those who walk in wonder.

Today, I trudged through that trail 
Of some twenty-fourth year 
My Lucky Strike ablaze 
And my hands on the balcony window.

Experiencing no sore throat
That I remembered from youth,

Only a deep sensation of numbed limbs
Suffering this cold spring night.

Even the cigarette wasn't fazed 
Of the wind’s devouring passion
Of its burning ashes.