Biography of Lisa Nickle
Born into circumstance little different than others, I have a mother and father, a sister. I conquered childhood with stick swords and lined paper wide enough for well practiced script. I was the smiling girl in high school with wide hips and terrible fashion sense, writing in a spiral school book in every spare second. I once favored pencil over pen, perhaps afraid of my own voice, but as I grew older I found I liked leaving a stain on the world. I studied words whenever I could whether by reading or trying my hand. Was inspired by teachers, the best of the best. They made me want to inspire too. This is why I recently graduated with a degree in Education.
At present, I live in China, teaching English to a society that has a hard time making room for creativity. Too many people fighting for too many jobs, and higher education means studying til you drop. But I love it. The city can be as dirty or as beautiful as you wish to see it. I prefer to keep my eyes from ugly things.
Lisa Nickle Poems
The woman draws SUNFLOWERS in the vain belief it will draw her closer to the Son. That something in their nature
To You Above All
Could you write your fingers bloody and would you want to try. If only so you could have page upon page to splatter your walls
And she sings as though he heart were never broken and Hell is just the memory in her back pocket
Wind Blown Pages
That summer, it was our solace and salvation, giving us adventures to dare together and quiet moments in sunshine.
Blow wind! Blow! Crash and thunder Ring and crack but you aint ever
On The Edge
We live our lives on the edge the edge of a coin poised for flipping. Will today be a good day or a bad day?
A Pilgrims Prayer
God spare the heart of those to wander though their feet know where they go their souls are broken pieces that only angels know
This is like grilled cheese on Sundays and dancing through Monday because it is the only way to go. Tuesday keeps its own time and wonders
It is a perfectly painless process, having your heart stolen. So much so, you barely feel it. Yet when you try to take it back...
Oh to see myself as in the portal of your eyes. To be the woman your pupils encircle.
I Make Love...
I make love... No I am incapable of such a creation I can make chaos
Not In Vain
Not in vain do I with racing heart and fearful step go forth
I am a tangle of hair drunk on sleep limbs heavy rooted to silken sheets
I Am A Battlefield
Little and yet all I know of war amounts to casualties littering my chest desire and piety
And when the night starts knocking at your door
I want you to remember
when we owned the night.
I mean put it in its place,
zapped the life right out of it
The moments we spent
dancing with dreams
and dappling in things our mothers would have shunned.