Briony Nicholls

Briony Nicholls Poems

I am healthy but am dying
That much we do know,
Through layers of medical pages and
The gloomy glances of doctors -

A great white misty fog
Engulfed us on Christmas Day
As I went on my annual ‘walk-about'
On the great holy day of escape

The sun sets with loving certainty
The evening cold, that signals the ensuring frost, quietly descends
Finding its way into my sinews and bones,
Quietly attacking their soft plush centres.

Saw a psychologist today for the first time
But the cold damp weather dampened the room
Of heart-to-heart discussions. My voice permeated
Its air of uneasy silences and stale shadows that

There once was a holy hermit, who
Serenely victorious,
Emerges from his wilderness, and declares:

The tizzy glory of spring-youth
Has long since started to quietly wane
A muddied snow-ball, ominous greying edges
Like piranhas, have started their heinous march

When all is said and done,
In the full bright-glare of certain sun,
Then comes the slow murky descent of uncertain night.

How can I not love you?
You, who draws out from me,
A trove of hidden impurities

There is nothing else right now,
Except you and me.

Stroking your cheek, your little face strains

Stasis. Darkness. Black blood flow.
Skies sheeted and overcast with the
Gloom of paralysed inertia.
The pale pallor of my face casts its own long dark shadows

What a welcome visitor was she!
A heathen creature beneath a proper veneer
Who shattered the glass of his past dreams!

Beautiful Arcadian land, cast
In sublime Martian-green splendour!
Whose colossal mountains in bloom are
Dotted with blobs of white woollen sheep,

Looking out from this fog of doubt
I lie swallowed in by my insufferable
Defeat, but my heartbeat defiantly seeks,
No less than a way to

A formless gas keeps rising
Beyond my senses of normality
Assuring me of its existence,
Its gray despair

And it all slowly peels away
All the childhood laughter, scolding parent voices,
The ebullient fresh world we saw through young eyes

My head, brimming with the bees
Of a day’s fill of other people’s voices, is
Thoroughly soaked through, a noisy beehive
That is scratching & plying the cranium interior

The Best Poem Of Briony Nicholls

Dating Death

I am healthy but am dying
That much we do know,
Through layers of medical pages and
The gloomy glances of doctors -
This fact has now been etched in stone.

But what to do, what to do?
When there is so much of living left to live?
Included in this is the ebullient search
For the one thing never found in youth -
My significant sweet other,

My one true love,
The one to carry me to the heights
Of all those earthly pivots of delight
The one mentioned in celebrations
And found in serene solemn epitaphs.

Infused with an aura of pink holiness,
The one who will make life finally worthwhile
And help soothe away the soot of disease,
The boot of wrack and ruin found
In the long hours of an arduous lonely life.

But who I fear may now never be found
While the battle for life resumes
And the dying of the light pursues
For how to tell each hopeful suitor
The end may be here soon?

Upon each intimation of my death
The same pained look, the same
Strained withdrawal is followed by the
Familiar cannon ball blow to the heart -
Each one fleeing as if to save his own life!

Perpetual travelling but not arriving
Is the fate of all lepers in love, who,
Hooked on hoping for one more chance
Persist in dancing till the very last dance
Through the long yellow starry night ahead.

Though each day is a Russian roulette barrel
Where the terminus may arrive in one breath
We continue as if there's always a tomorrow
Making many plans and ignoring likely sorrows
And so in finding love I hold similar faith.

Or is it in fact a supreme delusion
In the remains of emptying time,
To imagine the vultures will not find me, and
A lasting love may still be found? A delusion
As sweet and perilous as perilous life itself

Briony Nicholls Comments

Terence Collings 09 April 2016

What a wonderful voice! ! Full of passion and purpose. Straightforward litany with resonance. I shall keep Her in my catalogue of good reads! ! ! ! !

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Jill Melinda 09 April 2016

Briony, I love your poem, Dating Death. It's really beautiful and exquisitely painful to read - very personal. Thank you.

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