The Table top poem by Emily Sturgill
A woman filled with the mourning of
the loss of her husband
put his hunting jacket on the table.
She also placed his fishing gear, hooks and tackle on the table.
She put her memories of him into their children and grandchildren.
The stories he would tell She put the words into her dry mouth telling
them to all who would listen especially on the holidays.
After 40 years of marriage a stranger murdered her husband.
She had never met this stranger before but he was introduced to the couple
three years before her husband’s death as Stomach Cancer.
Unfortunately due to her grief the woman has to be reminded of the happy times She had with her husband by her children and friends. The couple with one half missing now have a great grandchild.
She changes into her nightgown putting her heart on her sleeve and goes to bed into a dreamless sleep.
Written for Gary and Deborah Sturgill in 2011. Gary passed in April 2006.
Tomorrow I will be offering three of my poetry and artist chapbooks as free downloads off amazon.com’s kindle platform. The titles of these books are:
- Sex in the kitchen sink : poetry and art
- Once I was the rain poetry and artwork
- Red Bones: poetry and artwork
all can be found on my author’s page. Here is a link:
The free sale runs for five days starting tomorrow. If you download and enjoy please consider submitting a review on my author’s page.
loose lipped tangles of sentences
poetry and prose and stories
tumbling out in a dry spell
words in a spin cycle washing away
confusion and empty pages
pouring down a page
like so much rain
washing away writer’s block
covering an inky stain
writing on repeat
tumble dry low
and add fabric softner.
I need a Hero somebody like me at my best
I need a Hero somebody with all of my goodness none of my weakness.
I need a Hero somebody who is stable who has their stuff together.
If I could reach inside my inner mind and find
a seed of strength and inner peace I would try to become
my own kind of Hero. I wish I could find this other me
the one who has stability.I lose parts and pieces of myself during
my bipolar episodes. I’m still reeling from last summer’s mania.
Yes I need a Hero somebody like me at my best.
Lost in stardust, lost in daylight, lost in thoughts.
I even lost an old poem I’d written.
I had posted it prior to this blog in 2011 on yahoo.com’s associated content but
the link no longer works. I cannot find which journal I had written it in.
It was called ” The Table top poem.” by Emily Sturgill.
It figures that I would lose that. I lose everything eventually and especially my mind.
I have not been blogging. My poems do not flow. They are stuck to the roof of my mouth tasting like so much cigarette ash. The words clog up. Feeling sort of lonely but good to be alive. Lost in stardust, lost in daylight, lost in thoughts.
Spring brings blooms
tulips opening slowly
into bursts of bubbling colors
Spring brings bold once barren landscapes
into bright beautiful blossoms of color
hues of pastels shades of baby blue and greens
everything unfolds freely into the warm wind.
Spring brings blooms
the flowers they whisper as they peek out
from tightly wrapped buds
even the grass changes from brown back to green.
The change of seasons is dramatic
the rebirth of earth and plants hang upon
a restless daydream.
go swiftly into
the darkened night
my beautiful gray russian blue
go swiftly into a rainbow bridge
I will stroke your fur one last time
as I cry these horrible teardrops
which feel heavy salty with bitter regrets.
go swiftly into darkened night
go gray beautiful sweet kitty
i will always remember our 16 years
together as owner and friend
go swiftly and silently to sleep
closing those emerald eyes one last time
but before you go always know
I have loved you long and well
I will miss you so.
Rest in peace my gray ghost Godzilla.
Barren white landscape
walking in drifts of snow
beneath my feet is ice
wind whipped hair
chapped natural crimson lips
cracked hands covered by cotton gloves
winter’s envelope touches the sky
empty branches nothing grows
in the ice cold snow
except Winter Blues.
Depression-an acrostic poem 11/12/15
Need something better.