All poetry written by the artist Kristin Noelle and inspired by the acting genius of Leonardo DiCaprio.

New York Innocence An Iron Staircase in New York climbs round townhouse bricks and front stoops call your name like the kids playing ball. Leaves fall silently in the sooty breeze- crowded city streets, I got a cigarette dangling just thinking about you dancing. A brown leather coat worn out looks with acquaintances... you've seen it all before. I'll sit here with my innocence while you have a ball.
Gangs of New York I got my own gang in any town I move in, I mean I got my paintbrush thang... ahh, I shouldn't talk such things. But a posse is just pretend- remember you are always alone in the end. But hey! If you got yourself a gang I guess you are really living! You got people to tell you to go right and left and who is the best. But the jokes! Those get you the most. Like I said, I see my own style in paintings of places you go in alone but those gangs are always waiting. Wouldn't mind joinin' yours if you would let me..
I, Cinderella With a kiss good-bye I lean forth to a new page of pictures, a woman in disguise while meeting the one in the public's eye and yours. All of which I have seen before. And a party planned to boost affection, a place where invitations still light the way to the masquerade ball and horse drawn carriages dance in moonlit myths....I know about the galas. You will go and live the legend and I will thank you alone. Hints of your brilliance will surround me however and I cannot deny your presence.
We're Rolling ...And...ACTION! Here comes more of the story you seek in 24 hours a day 7 days a week. We are filming the movie of the century. An avant-guarde glimpse into where we are heading....(as a country). I would rather be here with you real than be on the big screen saying lines I don't mean. This script is non-fiction and never-ending.
An Ornament You've absorbed me in a purpose I put my hands on- It swirls inside colors brought inside this room- You've entered my living room! You stand out in this studio of sound and my gallery of sight- bigger, brighter and contemporary stuck inside stars that stream in tiny lights. You have barged into my life. And I let you dance on the carpet and on these keys of me,let you dangle freely as a prized ornament from the ceiling.
Chat House In streams of surreal sentences I search for universal truth, with words made of keys I seek to see what remains left inside of me. So I go to the Chat House with my own cafe and drink rich coffee afterhours talking freely, you have become my coffee shop. The journal I carry is made of messages I would write anyway. And I push buttons like a pen. I share pieces of myself in chic chats, the art of talking to you.
Movie House In black and white filmstrips and canned song from the 1920s I listen to a phonograph and spin round wearing feathers. Showtime!.... in an old crackling scene of Charlie Chaplin and Mary Pickford dancing in dreams of a world of old Hollywood like an old book like "The Great Gatsby." Small hand-held cameras crank while I see visions of antique backdrops and private screenings. A small dim-lit movie house with your name on it, and I enter with a program and a ticket made of gold.

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