Featured Poems
Fierceness:
Fierceness is achieved
not planned -
this is what
occurs to me in
the early morning light of
fall, sitting outside
drinking a cup of tea,
when what I want most is
to be fierce.
Fierceness is one of the
lovely words.
A feminine word of beauty
often associated with
women and animals
and dissidents.
Misused most often
when referring to men.
She had a fierceness
one might say
that made the wolves stand down.
The mother bear was fierce
in the protection of her
cubs.
They beat him with sticks
but he stood fierce,
unwavering in his
demand for justice.
See how wrong it sounds
to say they was fierce in war?
God could be called
fierce but usually
for all the wrong reasons.
Fierceness awakens
when a room becomes
still, when a voice is taken
away, when a body is violated,
when an inevitable
loss, is lost.
It is patriarchy turned
upside down.
The collective stop
that emanates from the darkened
corners of the wallflowers, taking
everyone by surprise and upending
the apple cart.
Bravery may be found
gleaning the battlefields but
fierceness will link the shattered
bones back together, stitch
the skin over the
wound, stay when all the
others have fled.
This morning, I awoke and the
world was still broken.
I made tea and I put
on my sweater.
I went outside all
while Eden was still
trying to return.
What fierceness might arise
in this simple act of
showing up, of refusing to
look away?
I am after all woman,
broken and wolf.
Written by Noelle Rollins
2017 California
Poem #7: Poems on Grief and Lamentation
Back before song began
or even story,
the earth awoke with rhythm.
A sort of untamed sound,
more movement than voice.
In small pockets it grew,
growing deeper with each
waving undulation,
until finally it became
breath, heartbeat, life.
We have tried to drown it out with noise.
A buzzing we no longer recognize -
Progress, distraction, avoidance.
Pride.
But it persists.
If you lay still in water
you might feel just the briefest
whisp bumping up against you.
Or with your hands heavenward
see the tiniest flash of recognition.
Your eyes might
for one microsecond
catch how broken
and beautiful
this world really is.
Like really, really see it.
You may wonder if something so
unseen could be useful to us now.
Why bother given who’s in office.
How great all the destruction.
How little we seem to learn.
What is the point really?
On summer nights the fireflies still
light up the darkness regardless
of our suffering.
And the supermoon
continues to rise over the
horizon while war rages on.
The lava flows.
The fire burns.
Not the least bit
interested in our
careful planning.
I sometimes feel it is impossible
that sharp edges and supple vines
can coexist – but they do.
The clematis wrapping itself
around the cement wall of the
house.
The broken bottle.
The flowering vine.
The Eastern Bluebird on the branch
outside my window.
The Blue Heron returning
to fish in the pond over
and over and over again.
We are likely headed for
complete and utter destruction.
Doomed to repeat the same mistakes.
To never change.
But that rhythm,
that rolling,
that swaying life force endures.
I am rambling now
struggling for words
to capture this mystery.
It all comes downs to this;
I am alive.
Everything around me is alive.
Infinitely,
impossibly,
and heartbreakingly
still alive.
Written by Noelle Rollins
2024 New Mexico
About the poem “Grief and Lamentation Poem #7”
After our tornado encounter I began writing my way back through a series of poems on grief and lamentation. Who knew that this theme would carry over into 2025 and the destruction and suffering plaguing our world right now.
I have not named the poems yet. Instead I am numbering them as they develop. This poem, #7, came early in fall 2024 while I sitting in a warm hot spring in New Mexico. Suddenly I felt the heartbeat of all that is alive pulsing in the water around me and the poem began to emerge.
I recorded the poem in fall 2025 while on San Juan Island in Washington State.
I wanted to share one of the poems from the growing collection but when I had a friend listen to it, she felt it was depressing. I hope those listening now do not feel this but I cannot control the reaction. The poem, once written, is its own entity. I can share my intention with the poem. I wanted to write about that life force I felt in the hot spring. How it remains alive no matter what happens. How we are here alive with it right now. Perhaps this is the heartbeat of the thing we call God, holy and mystical. Or maybe it is the heartbeat of the earth. Whatever it is, it endures.
My hope is that this poem, and the others in the growing collection, will be the next book I publish.
About the poem “Fierceness”
I wrote this poem a number of years ago when it felt like things were going poorly in the world and we all needed to be fierce to make sure love didn’t lose its way. Who knew things could get even worse? So, given our current political climate, and the many wars that are raging, and the amount of suffering happening, it felt like it wanted to be pulled out of the archive and shared.
I personally am struggling with how to show up these days. How to not bury my head in the sand and how to stay present. I know that I am not one to make big waves but I am also not one to stay silent. My poetry helps me find a voice and I hope inspires others to find their voice. too
I think often of those who are suffering in places of war. I try to imagine what I would hoped to have have done before my country or city was bombarded with violence. When I look deep into my heart I feel as if the little things. Spending time with those I love. Drinking tea together, sharing a meal that has memory and meaning. I would want to know that I saw the beauty in a day spent living without fear.
I still do not know what fierceness looks like for me - I just know that if has to be rooted in love.