Sweat

Sweat-

9/27/14

Breaking out

into a rash,

of ugly words

broken down metaphors

and crashed out cars

of forgotten highways

I long to pass.

 

Breaking out,

in a sweat

of random rhyme

poetry without boundaries

rhythms without meter

sadness without time.

 

and I

shiver

coldness creeps in

with the turning

flip,flip,flip

of the Fan’s silver blades

crushing the air

 

making time

stand still.

 

A writer without ideas

is like an empty blanket

encircling empty dreams.

 

Breaking out,

in a rash

Breaking out,

in  a sweat,

Breaking out

into….

 

silence

unspoken slices

of imagery

best left forgotten,

left out in the cold

forgotten from a

dream.

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Mother Mayhem

Mother Mayhem

Mother madness

Mother mischief

Mother Moon

Mother morning

drawing me in,

into pastel shades

of pink and blue…

Nobody knows the future.

Nobody has perfected

the antique crystal ball

that orb of old.

What does Motherhood mean,

if you are one of the many

childless souls?

What does Motherhood mean,

when you are a middle-aged

woman, who has long ago lost your own

Mother to passing and grief?

The only Mother I still

know and long for,

is the Mother of the Earth

and Sky.

The Mother who makes

the whole wide world

grow, bloom, before,

it withers and dies.

Pondering on the

Sky Mother

Earth Mother

Tree Mother

The Mother with

Stars in her hair

and tears of Rain in her eyes.

The Crone figure.

Mother Mayhem

Mother madness

Mother mischief

Mother Moon

Mother morning

drawing me in,

into pastel shades

of pink and blue…

Mother Sky.

It’s like a riddle.

It’s like a mystery.

It’s like a secret society of

women, mothers…

and I wonder, why can’t I?

Nobody knows the future.

Nobody has perfected

the antique crystal ball

that orb of old.

Mother Mayhem

Mother Madness

Mother Sky.

Gone Missing into the abyss…

Lately I have

gone missing into

the abyss-

this great big hole

 

this great big rabbit hole

this rabbit hole.

we call life.

 

It sucked me in

and swallowed me

twice.

 

there are times

when illness & depression

invade us.

 

dark desperate armies

built out of thin air,

but fed on despair.

 

as much as

i try to not concave, fall in

or comeplie

 

my worst fears ring true

and I fall on downwards

down Alice’s rabbit hole.

 

Looking for the magic

that will make me

grow big…

 

instead of this

depressive dirty

dinosaur dig

into something ancient

and highly unpleasant

 

like the small secret words:

just give up, because

you will never make it.

there is no one else.

CAM00836 There is no one else. 08/05/14

deep inside

a divided mind

a shovel lies

buried

among dirt and ash.

In the fragments of

lingering hurt.

 

deep inside

a divided mind

covered by dirty leaves

and cobweb secrets-

(which belong only to me,)

 

deep inside

i feel split

into two…

 

the logical side

and the creative muse,

garnished together

within a battered white,

picket fence.

 

haunted,

i linger…

searching for ghosts.

 

but there is no one else.

Drought

The drought-by Emily Sturgill 9/12/14

The land drinks

no fresh tears.

my inkwell runs dry.

 

all the words

I long to share

got caught up

into the netting

of the sky.

 

all the words

like fruit ripened

I long to scatter

upon the lips of

the hungry,

 

like milk & honey.

but I can’t…

 

for there is a hunger

that swallows the land

and syllables evade even

me.

 

 

The land drinks

no fresh tears.

my inkwell runs dry.CAM01103