Collection Of Works, Original Essay, Research Paper Collected Works, Vol. 1 The Collected Works of Nicholas Cottrell Disclaimer and Copyright Notice:
Collection Of Works, Original Essay, Research Paper
Collected Works, Vol. 1
The Collected Works of Nicholas Cottrell
Disclaimer and Copyright Notice:
All works within are copyrighted to Nicholas Cottrell, hereafter known as “the author”.
Unauthorized copying is prohibited. Each reader is authorized to make five (5) copies and
distribute them in any manner as long as profit is not gained.
This contains subject matter that you may find disturbing or inappropriate. Please do not read
it if you think you may become offended.
Table of Contents:
1. “Spring” – The one romance poem in here.
2. “Spiral’s End” – a poem of revenge
3. “Of Teenage Sorrow” – A short story
4. “Nomad” – loneliness in writing
5. “Frat Boys” – anti-drinking
6. “Reflected Waves” – a poem of surprise at oneself
7. “Phoenix” – a poem of redemption
8. “My Friend In Misery: An Ode to Missa” – a poem of thanks
9. “Bleeding” – a poem of being drained
10. “Observations of Corporations” – A partial view of life.
11. “Fallen Hero” – Read the disclaimer
12. “Singularity” – the one way out
13. “Short Views” – More views on life
A while back, my poetry won me a statewide award. Ever since, I’ve been pressured to make a
compilation of some of my crap and send it around to be published.
This collection is just a bunch of stuff I threw together, not much thought to it. If you like
it, tell me so! My e-mail address is GAFreak@aol.com, write me. I’ll write back each and every
person by hand, I promise.
Well, on with the show, I suppose.
A rose with gentle petals
in the garden grows
amongst the weeds
Love, like the rose
thrives in life’s turmoils
like the carefully planted seed
- Nicholas Cottrell
2. “Spiral’s End”
Too long have I spent
Explaining what I’ve meant
Too long have you heard
my ominous words
Whimpering, you cry
on your knees, you die.
3. “Of Teenage Sorrow”
A child’s cries in the night awaken the mother, who stumblingly finds her way to the crib. Is it a bottle, or a diaper change? The mother does not know. Inadequacy fills the teenage mother, and blinds her to the child’s needs. “Rot in Hell, kid.” she mutters, crawling back into a bed where a father should be but wasn’t. The child’s unrelenting tears force her from her nighttime reverie, abd drag her back to the nursery. “Shut up, kid!” she growls drowsily. “Don’t you know I have school tomorrow?” But the baby does not know, and her howls fill the night. Lights come on in neighboring apartments, and shouts reach her ears.
“Shut that kid up!”
“Some of us are trying to SLEEP!”
As much as she does not know how to help her tiny child, she remembers how to defend her.
A torrent of curses and insults streams unladylike from her lips, and vanquishes the neighbor’s
screams. Breaking into tears at her inadequacy to help her child, she drags herself to her small
refrigerator and withdraws a beer. “I just need more money… I just need more time…” she
mutters, and almost believes herself in her half-drunken state.
In the morning she awakes, seeing that the baby cried itself to sleep. Kicking over the
beer cans from the previous night, she looked at her alarm clock. Too late to go to school now.
Might as well spend time with the brat to make up for last night.
Dragging out a stroller from beneath half-eaten TV dinners and beer cans, she reflected on
the time when she still loved her child. When Stephen was with her… when she had money to
spend… when life was good. She packed the child into the stroller, and rolled out the door
and down the road to a little park.
Stopping at the pond, she threw stones into the water and watched the ripples rise. She
pondered how easy life would be without her little brat. How easy… and that pond was so deep..
and so dark…. her knuckles whitened around the stroller’s handle. So easy…
Across the Earth I stride,
These sands I’m cursed to ride,
Alone I nurture pride,
And with myself I die,
5. “Frat Boys”
Amongst the company of others,
I find myself alone.
These men who act like brothers,
it chills me to the bone.
In salute they raise their beer cans,
(I alone stand without one)
and dub each other “Man”
thinking that getting drunk is fun.
6. “Reflected Waves”
A river flows
beneath my feet
and life seems sweet
I smile at myself and see
the person smiling back
is… not…. me….
I am impure
there is no cure
I crawl to light
the dark within
by my sin
I see the light
it is so bright
wash over me
and make me be
I become one
my sins are gone
the darkness lost
this light has taught
my life is new
I come to terms
my flesh not burn
I look to the sky
and wonder not why
Because I made peace.
8. “My Friend In Misery: An Ode to Missa”
In darkness I shone
Held by Death’s bones
Fingers around my throat
Thrown into the acid moat
It ate away my flesh
with darkness and death I meshed
Inside refused to die
because then no one would ask why
On brink I stood and stumbled
around me world did crumble
With friends I went
to you I spoke
My darkness spent
Inside I live
and to you I give
this little rhyme
in immortal time.
Can give no more
My flesh is spent
Feel like a whore
To home I went
and ask they did
for more of me
I’m just a kid!
They don’t agree.
A man they made
of just a child
To them I’ve said
“Give me a while”
But time is what
I do not own
that door is shut
10. “Observations of Corporations”
Swords locked in a battle of the titans, unknowing people standing beneath continue with their
lives. Those that buy and sell us continue the petty squabbles that to us are financial wars.
CEOs send their army of lawyers and accountants to do battle on the market, a more bitter field
of battle than any foreign soil ever has been. And the foot soldiers of the war go home every
day to a wife and two kids who love him only for what he brings in, not for what he is.
11. “Fallen Hero” ***This one is graphically psychotic***
Black trenchcoat flapping in the wind
Dear Lord I know that I have sinned
But I still do my very best
to protect her, and all the rest
from the deepest darkest black
Oh dear God he’s coming back
this evil thing that should not be
the responsibility falls to me
from deepest shadows he appears
fills everyone’s hearts with fear
Oh my God he has a gun
I’m screaming at them all to run
fast enough is what I’m not
blood is all those bullets bought
filled with rage, I turn around
because now I hear another sound
he raises the gun to come at me
I guess that he cannot see
Everything I care about
Already gone, their lives snuffed out
He is the very worst
he’ll kill me, unless I get him first
leaping with a single bound
over the bodies on the ground
I’ve become a complete wreck
My hands reach out, and break his neck
I won’t think about what I’ve done
After all… I just killed my son.
Above a void I ride, stumbling
and on the ledge I stride, crumbling
inside the hole I fall, screaming
I wish for a quick way back, dreaming
There is no quick way, this I know
The straight and narrow way to go
is the only way back to life
if only I can survive the strife
Kicked in the side, to ground I fall
Stabbed in the back, for help I call
None rush to aid, none come to help
No one loves this discarded whelp
I look up and see a man
hung on a cross, and to me,
13. “Short Views”
Every day is a trial by fire that each man must face to reach the true freedom, the dreams of
the next night that bless a monotone world with a little color. Trapped inside himself, the
men of the world look to nothing as guidance. A little bud on a little plant gives freedom to
some, and death to others. Is it worth it? Kids die every day wondering if it is. Freedom
comes with a price. With a car, you can choose where to go, but you cannot choose when to die.
Pain gives freedom from reality by making reality so harsh it cannot be faced. Love gives
freedom from reality by making reality so rosy that it no longer exists. Greediness lets you
see everything through hundred-dollar-green tinted glasses and everything changes into a $.
Music and writing gives freedom by putting your entrapment onto paper and passing it onto other
unsuspecting people. And thus the world goes round, the trapping of one man going to another.
If you liked anything you read, write me at GAFreak@aol.com or my home address:
5888 Fornof Rd.
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