The Works of Nicholas Sola 

Nicholas Sola hails from the state of Washington.

All poems © Nicholas Sola

Afterwards: Fourteen American Haikus

I. Fountain.


It makes one younger,

In so many ways.

II. Cleaning.

We built our temple in 15 hours,

And took it down in 30 minutes.

How holy.

III. Waiting.

The eerie glow of the vending machines,

Awoke the evil computers.

The tales of youth return.

IV. Riding.

The car speeds up to an old 80’s tune,

While intentionally scaring the pedestrians,

Innocence was still hanging in.

V. Adapting.

Waiting around.

Observing the surroundings,

I decided to join the decadence.

VI. Trouble.

Trouble turns the music on.

Trouble starts to dance.

I dance with Trouble.

VII. Intermission.



Breaks over.

VIII. Contest.

Observing the renegade sprite at her activity.

I give it a try.

What are you looking at?

IX. Following.

Where Trouble goes,

I go.

I’m lucky I’m alive.

X. Involvement.

I attack,

Only when I’m attacked.

I was attacked.

XI. Feisty.

A vague idea of what happened.

Running for cover,

And waking up with a ringing noise.

XII. Called.

Being told to leave.

Trying to figure out if I’m in Heaven,

Or in Hell?

XIII. Hell

Waiting in the cold.

It makes me wonder about the night,

And if it was good or bad?

XIV. Mixed.

Reflecting on the night,

I realize that we are lucky,

That we are alive

Angel with a Rocket Launcher

There’s an angel with a rocket launcher

Who looks over me.

If you make me mad,

He’ll shoot you in the face.

So please play nice,

Or you will see that

There’s an angel with a rocket launcher

Looking over me

I met him back in 1969

When I was just 22.

No matter what I’ve done,

He’s been right there.

He used to carry an M16

But he upgraded to become

An angel with a rocket launcher

Looking over me

Now I’m 55 and he’s left me.

I was hoping he’d stay a little longer.

An angel with a chariot is at my door

I’m packing my bags

I’m going to leave

And I’ll say thanks one last time

To the angel with a rocket launcher

Who looked over me

Beautiful From Behind

Going up the escalator,

I noticed a woman in front of me.

Her back was bare,

Except for two white straps,

And her strawberry blonde hair.

She was probably 18.

Her backside was beautiful.

I hoped I would see her face,

But it never happened.

She went one way,

I wasn’t determined enough to follow her.

She had a boyfriend.

No matter what,

She was still beautiful from behind.

My Headrest Is Singing  

The place is dark.

The voices vary.

Two many drinks

Where’s my fiancée?

Three men around

All good guys.

But the left is the best

He’s the softest.

They go

They come

Back to me

In my dreams.

Now my headrest is singing.

What can I do?

The one on the right is bony,

And I just want some rest

Paper on the table.

Pencils near.

I’ve had a few.

Time to draw.

Put the pieces together.

Still Incomplete

Give out the pieces

Only to two

Now my headrest is singing

He won’t get a piece

New guy on the left

More bony, But sweet.

Talked of dancing.

Drew on an arm.

Promised to pose

And Consume water

Final rotation came

Food we ate.

Slept on their couch

End of Saturday night.