Seven years ago
Then Now
And yet still to come
These parallel universes exist
Time and Space
Their illusion can make one grow old
With a falsity of living
Of dying
Not understanding that we are all one
Misperceiving our true selves
Overlooking our indestructible consciousness
Going about daily life sleepwalking insane
Instead of dreaming to awake
Instead of deliberately living
Instead of meaningfully being
Distracted with distractions, entertainment
Feasting, drinking until drunking, dosing until drugging
We count followers, likes, digital bank balances,
Material things as successes
Modern day silver platters and goblets of gold
But they remain the common clay
Misguided
Meaningless
Trite
An inglorious Way
Of discounting self, others,
The grass under our feet
Birds, trees, water, sky, earth
The deer running through the woods
The blooming plankton floating in sea
The stars twinkling above in the night sky
Why communicate when we can
Dictate and mandate
And why love when we can
Hate, twist, stir, disassociate
Hanging on
Holding on
Arrested by desire
Suffering
We trapped in our prison of unrealistic expectations
This prison of our fixed thinking
A prison of our own fears
A screen for others to play on
A stage for created drama
Someone’s written script
A sign in today’s newspaper horoscope
This is how false friends take you for a fool
This is how people make themselves
For fools
This is how false thoughts within oneself arise
This is the cave.
Be a mirror
Be a shining light
Be a tiny spring flower
Be a spring-fed mountain stream
Be a cloud
Be the horizon
Be (t)here
Be the architect of your own design
Be love
Be-lieve you are everything
And nothing …
Seven years ago
Then Now
And yet still to come
These parallel universes exist
Time and Space
I am misty blue and green above below
Standing atop a hunted jagged peak
Holding love in my arms
The Klondike stretched out before us
Cold wind buffeting
Cold sun shining blinding
Warming hearts tender embrace
Casting away the mind’s abyss
As my heart crosses the divide
Poetry
Poems by Nichole Hastings
11.25.15
all gone
woooooooooooooooooooooooo
happy I gave you the rest
of your baggage back today
your eight or ten illegal knives
a-walking down Bravo Murillo
along with one very corny
and very sharp katana
a DSLR camera
an Ice Cube CD insert
you taped over the hole you made
when kicking the bedroom door open
one of those times you attacked me
an unopened package of crab meat sticks
bought months ago
not real crab meat of course
fake crab meat
a constructed and shaped lie
like you
and that last lie
AKA ”cognitive distortion”
AKA me-“in a bad mood”
AKA your-“What’s the difference?”-
when-I-called-you-out-on-it-BS
I caught you in before
walking away
because I’m not your mother
your emotional attachments
your subjectively reasoned
thought constructs
are no longer my concern
Nature Inspires Life Inspires Art No. 1
Earlier this year in April, I moved to Spain to attend the Escuela de Ceramica de la Moncloa located in Oeste Parque in Madrid. Two months ago on October 1st I put my hands back in clay. For the past ten years I’ve been living life, having taken a 10-year sabbatical from ceramics. Technically my work was good but it and I were missing something.
I couldn’t quite place my finger on it but now I know.
Now I know, who I am. Now I know, what I want. Now I know, my own soul.
I share my soul with you in three parts:
7.30.14
Fresh for day
Past tall aspen trees
Down windy mountain roads
Cold sunny wind shining on my face
I think of you
I hear your song
On wind rushing by
Calls of early morning birds
And the low rumble of the car engine
Navigating turns
He Also Said “I love you.”
criticizing
controlling behavior
sprained hand
broken house
won’t let me out of car
blocked door
stabbed things
choked out once to unconsciousness
while he strangled
me three times
broken toe
punctured car tire
three blows to the head
in the face twice
punched in the back in bed
name-calling
nose bleeding
black-and-blue eye
held at blade and point
of his knives many times
deep
dark red
knife cut
crying
gushing blood
he said
“We fight because you’re too masculine.”
“My mother hit me as a child.”
“If you tell people, you’ll be seen as a victim.”
“If you tell others, they’ll walk away and leave your life.”
and he casually issued
double suicide
death threats like
“Why shouldn’t I kill you first,
if I’m going to die?”
Self-Sung Hero
You’ll always be the hero
In your own epic tragedy
You’re the architect and constructor
Of your own travesty
There’s nothing I can say
There’s nothing I can do
It’s sad
It’s sad
To see what you do to you
But that’s your choice
To stay asleep as you are doing
And it’s your choice
To say that you’re not choosing
It’s your choice
To make up lame excuses
And it’s your choice
To listen to false friends’ voices
But there’s nothing I can say
And there’s nothing I can do
It’s sad
It’s sad
Because who’s losing out is you
By doing what you do
To me and to you
With what you choose to do
ni • ko • ru 
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