Cold Coffee

Cold Coffee-5/23/14

Coffee’s getting cold.
As I sit here,
thinking
Bold…
Color combinations upon
a broken painter’s palette.

Coffee’s getting cold.
As I sit here,
feeling old…
nothing is so fleeting
as Life is Stealing
years and years from Us All,

beginning each and everyday
the thief of time
steals of years away.

but I regress…
Coffee’s getting cold.
Black liquid velvet dripping
into a cup, a cup that holds
love.

This coffee cup
from which I sip
once belong to my long-dead
Mother.

I treasure it because
it was once hers.

But Coffee’s getting cold,
as I just sit here
thinking
drinking black coffee
thinking my life away

piece by piece
word by word
poem by poem

a whisper in
the wind
lies unheard.

but…

Coffee’s getting cold.

My Mama when she was young

My Mama when she was young

The Clock

The Clock-5/16/14
Emily Sturgill

The hum of the fan
the tick-tock of the
hand

as minutes fly by,
into hours
in the blink
of an eye.

then the entire world,
it floats
it floats on by…

The hum hum hum
of the fan
and
the tick-tick-tick
of the clock.

minutes feel like
a life-time
ago.

just try to tune
into the quiet
though,

before it passes
you by.

I tried to write you a love song.

I tried to write you a love song-
by Emily Sturgill 5/18/14

I tried to write you a love song
but it was too sappy
and all my words fell out
fell out of my lips
fell out of the trees above
fell out of my kiss
fell out of the mist

the words fell down round my knees.
and I could not sing
too pretty.

I tried to write you a love song
but it was too sappy
and all my words fell out
fell out of my lips
fell out of the trees above
fell out of my kiss
fell out of the mist

The words were just
too damn silly
I knew you would laugh
you would call it bad poetry.

the words fell down round my knees.
and I could not sing
too pretty.

I tried to write you a love song
but it was too sappy
and all my words fell out-

they just were too heavy
too steamy, too dreamy, too much
fantasy
faced by the scruffy reality
of your unshaven neck, two day stubble
the rumble of your sleeping snore
the comfort of-

the perfect fit
of your hand like a glove
onto my own.

What words could fit this?

The words were just
too damn silly
I knew you would laugh
you would call it bad poetry.

I tried to write you a love song
but it was too sappy
and all my words fell out
fell out of my lips
fell out of the trees above
fell out of my kiss
fell out of the mist.

Our first date

Our first date-
by Emily Sturgill
5/17/14

The first time
we met
you swore we had
met before.
(but I did not recall it.)

That first night,
fate intervened
on my behalf

as something nagged at me-
begged me to ask You…

For a ride home?

You were dripping and covered in tattoos
( I thought what a cute-tattooed boy!)
I thought for sure,

that You – maybe You were,
the strong silent type?
Oh, how wrong I was.

As I stepped into your car
you engaged me in
conversation so delightful.

We really hit it off-
and that happened fourteen years ago.
I needed you then.
I still need you now,
You are always,
my best friend.

Husband.
Lover,
Companion,
There is no Other.

#14

#14
May 18, 2014, by Emily Sturgill
Fourteen years ago
on this exact day,
I met the man
I would share
a lifetime with

and

if I have wandered?
if I have strayed?

I always boomerang back
to my Love,
for Him
forever and a day.

How can one
cheaply summarize
fourteen years invested,
in somebody else’s
bright blue eyes?

You are my everything
everything I ever need
from You…

You are always there for me-
my friend
my Lover
my Husband.

Words Walk

words walk~
5/17/14
emily sturgill

sidewalks
smacking
sideways
i am shaking

under
smooth, smooth, smooth
stone.

i walk the walk.
i talk the talk.

my lips are on fire
burning from cliches.

sentences, words, tumble
out…

me?
I am tripping, tripping, tripping
in a daze.

sidewalks
smacking
sideways
i am shaking

under
smooth, smooth, smooth
stone.

The Reaping of the Poem-hunter

The reaping of the poem-hunter.

I reap them, I sow the fields, I plow
my minds eye
just in time
to gather together
another
string of words
loosely tied together
into a verse
of poetry.

I reap them, I sow the fields, I re-hearse
in my journal
the pickings are slim
and fare between

greedy fingers, I savor the best ones, for
the pickings later
so I can tuck away
a poem a day
to put into

another collection of printed
verse. The raw, runny, dull stuff
I plant onto cyberspace
like seeds of flowers
hoping that perhaps

the smallest might
grow
some sort of potential
like a diamond in the rough.

I reap them, I sow the fields, I re-hearse
in my journal
the pickings are slim
and fare between.

greedy fingers, I savor the best ones, for
the pickings later
so I can tuck away
a poem a day
to put into a big Jar above my head.

I reap them, I sow the fields, I plow
my minds eye
just in time
to gather together
another
string of words
loosely tied together
into a verse
of poetry.

As a poem hunter I collect
verbs, simple nouns, similes
and metaphors-gather them together
like loosely filled twine
trying to thread the ever-searching needle,
for the perfect rhyme.

Blessings

Blessings-Friday May 9, 2014
Emily Sturgill

Blessings
small precious gemstones,
filled with flowers of forget me nots
and overlooked,
among the overwrought dressings, of my mind.

Blessings
are the biggest obvious thing,
which stands between
me and oblivion.

My mind concocts
all the easier blooms-first.
The green buds of negativity
and the “have-nots.”
The harbingers of doom.

instead of simply searching for
the shiny sweet and happy spot.

Counting them up,
the blessings I’ve got.

It really is an easy
as 1,2, 3…
If you seek them out.

they always whisper to you,
they never scream nor shout.

but whats really important
is the notion-
simple riddle as this is:

Never take a blessing for granted
because really, it does matter
it’s all we got.