Nicole Tasker Woods

Goodbye

Nov 21st, 2011 Posted in Poetry | no comment »

Encino, I will miss you
And our Holdover-Monday-fun.
It is difficult to say goodbye
When all is said and done.

I remember my first day…
You were all surprisingly nice.
I reported to Joe Fasulo…
He gave me the best advice.

I can’t tell you how sad it makes me
To leave you high and dry.
How will you continue living?
Cary will surely die!

I’ve learned so much from all of you
And after four long years,
I hope you won’t forget me
Because that’s my biggest fear.

You’re like my second family
And you’ve made every business day
So much more enjoyable
Than these simple words can say.

Of all the WB discounts
That we can get through work,
Being a part of the Encino team
Was by far the greatest perk.

Ta Tas

Sep 17th, 2011 Posted in Baby, Poetry | no comment »

My bosoms are billowy
Like pillows for your sleepy head

My mammaries are abundant
Giving warm food for your grumbly tummy

My knockers are aloft
Creating a tepid valley for your baby face

My funbags are squishy
Like balloons, cushioning your fall

My gazongas are engorged
Reminding me they are really yours

Baby Boy

Aug 24th, 2011 Posted in Baby, Poetry | one comment »

I love my baby
Biscuits & gravy
He’s my baby boy

I love Aidan
When he is a-fadin’
He’s my sleepy boy

I love my rugrat
He is kinda fat
He’s my chubby boy

I love Aidan
Everyday he’s changin’
He’s my growing boy

I love my munchkin
When he is a-luncheon
He’s my hungry boy

I love my baby
Biscuits & gravy
He’s my baby boy

Sleeping Aidan

Aug 21st, 2011 Posted in Baby, Poetry | one comment »

You’re curled up

Into a ball

Your bottom up in the air

Face on my chest

Squished into the sweetest

Open-mouth smile

All 11 pounds of you

Are weighing on me heavily

But I wouldn’t trade it for anything

You twitch and squirm

Sometimes you chuckle

Eyes fluttering as you dream

I never dreamed

I could love anything

As small as you

Westminster Wish

Jan 22nd, 2011 Posted in Baby, Poetry | one comment »

It is hard to foresee a Christmas wish in early September when thoughts
Are blocked by a cathedral’s gothic frame and flying buttresses.

Dark clouds quickly gather to suffocate the sky,
But we escape the pending rain and enter the abbey.

Names, dates and poems still etched clearly in stone walls
Render us speechless as we silently shuffle from room to room.

Before exiting the church, I donate a pound to the offering box;
Pick up a candle and borrow the blaze from an already flickering flame.

Rain and wind sneak in from behind, wicks of fire shake in unison;
I wish and I pray with eyes closed to be pregnant by Christmas.

Frozen

Dec 13th, 2010 Posted in Poetry | no comment »

Nothing open, nothing closed
Coming down the mountain
Nothing falling, nothing rising
Whipping through the air
Nothing tumbling, nothing swaying
Still–nothing moving
Nothing strapped, nothing hanging
Hold it down, thread it up
Nothing broken at the joint
Don’t grow up or strong or tall
Nothing rushing, nothing soaring
Through the stream or in the air
Nothing lost, nothing gained
Have everything, want for nothing

Brisk & Icy

Dec 1st, 2010 Posted in Poetry | no comment »

early morning

jack-o-lanterns dissipate

twinkle lights glow in the dark

love waking up before the sun

———-r-u-n-n-i-n-g———-

music whispers in my ears

nagging thoughts invade

between broken lyrics

—–r-u-n-n-i-n-g—–

heel toe heel toe

through my head

ideas find shape

brisk winds &

icy daydreams

r-u-n-n-i-n-g

Coming Home

Aug 20th, 2010 Posted in Poetry | no comment »

Tonight, I will be taking a red-eye flight
from Los Angeles to Manchester.
Probably have a couple hours layover
in a U.S. city along the way.
I will be tired from trying (and failing)
to get sleep on the plane.
I will be smelly from walking
around multiple airports
over a span of 12 hours in the same clothes.
I will be restless in an aisle seat, waiting
for my planes to take off and land.
I will be anxious in the stuffy shared air
as my fellow passengers and I tap
our fingers and our feet in anticipation.
We will politely push and shove each other
out of our way like cattle out of a cage.

I will wave my arm and hand in the air and
smile at my mother when she comes
to pick me up from the Manchester airport.
I will hug her and smell her momma smell
and let her arms wrap around my soul.
In late August as we exit
the air conditioned indoors,
I will no doubt be smacked in the face
by the thickest of humid air.
My eyes will feast
on the New Hampshire surroundings,
taking in all the lush greenery
as we drive towards Northwood.
I will delight in seeing
my childhood home in the distance.
We will swiftly approach the outdoor cage
enclosing a Black Lab and
larger-than-life-horse-sized-Chesapeake Bay retriever.
Their tails will wag and
their barks will bite the air.
Hopefully silence will fill the air
as I exit the car and approach the pups
while calling their names.

I will lug my suitcases from the trunk of the car
to the guest room inside.
My bedroom upstairs
will be calling my name as I climb the stairs.
Pink carpet will embrace my feet
when I reach the end of the hallway.
Printed pink hearts and plaid wallpaper
will close in around me.
I will flop on my bed and hear the creaks
I have memorized over the years
from sleeping and tossing and turning.
My arms will open and fall to the side.
My eyes will be blinded by the clang and clatter
of cluttered walls and desks,
bureaus and vanities, closets and shelves.

Inside my childhood room, my closet
is still full of my old clothes
and my mom’s new outfits.
My bureau’s drawers still hide
socks and jeans, pajamas and tank-tops.
I will pull my the stool out
from underneath the vanity.
I will sit and look into the mirror
at my pink surroundings.
I will remember when and where
I got every single trinket and picture
now dressing my walls.

Most of the Elvis memorabilia I collected
all of my life has already been shipped
to my home in California.
I will still take a gander and try to find
something I can bring back with me.
I will prepare a care package for myself,
carefully wrapping figurines and ornaments.
Sitting Indian-style on the floor,
I will sort through my bookshelf.
Removing invaluable pieces of literature
that I need on my bookshelf in California.
I will locate French-to-English dictionaries
to bring on our European vacation.
I will undoubtedly pause to flip
through photo albums, sparking memories
I thought were long gone.

I will kneel in front of the desk
in my childhood room, sliding open drawers
and exploring cubby holes.
Finding things I thought
I would never need, but saved anyway.
Thinking now that I have a use
for these long lost treasures.
I will reach underneath my bed
and pull out clear containers.
They are full of nick-nacks and diaries,
photographs and stuffed animals,
erasers and note pads.
I will try to obey my mother
and find some things to get rid of,
but probably fail and put everything
back in its place.