Deep desert of desolation

Easy to slip into

Pressing downwards…

Restricted access to breathe.

Evenly spaced out.

Seldom talked about.

Sickness deeply felt.


The Table top Poem

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.

Three Free ebooks on kindle

Tomorrow I will be offering three of my poetry and artist chapbooks as free downloads off’s kindle platform. The titles of these books are:

  1. Sex in the kitchen sink : poetry and art
  2. Once I was the rain poetry and artwork
  3. 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.


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’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.


going gray

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.



Surreal down to my stomach by Emily H. Sturgill

Surreal down to my stomach by Emily H. Sturgill 4/4/15

(All rights reserved-but can be re-posted as long as you credit myself & my blog- All Artwork & Images also by Emily Sturgill.

)Camera madala13 madala12

Surreal down to my Stomach

Swallowing coffee along with

my vowels, consonants, poetry

vomiting here and there

words on my pages


Surreal down to my toes

Eating fairy tales at breakfast

munching on the crunchy

internet with its crisp edges

and social networking sites

I eat them whole

with a gulp

but my eyes are too big

for my stomach.

tossing up cookies

throwing up twitter

puking up facebook

hoping to feel better.

Surreal down to my bones.

my bowels do not work

right or I would be

shitting out sentences

pissing out punctuation

defecating out imperfections.

But I cannot. Even sit straight.

I am nailed to my bed.

Attached to a couple of heating pads

choking on endometriosis

and puking out the Sun.

Surreal moments.

Time passes me by.

Always this cramping, constant feeling of unwellness.

Endometriosis has shattered my heart-beat

into two rhythms.

into two pumps of poetic pulsing

rapid flowing & cursing

pumps of blood.

Surreal down to my Skin.

Surreal down to my Stomach.

Surreal down to my toes.

Surreal down deeply-

surreal down to my bones.

abstract musings

abstract musings~

solitary seldomness leading

to singleness of thought.

writing on automatic, yet again,

as I gain great comfort

from the thoughtful

all sprawled out

black cat

lying beside me.

she is sleeping

and lost in dreams

of the chase

no doubt

of cat and mouse.

words are somewhat elusive,

sacred but scarce at the same time.

in a momentary flash

words are gone

and a shadow remains

of a small


Dream Big! Go Home!

Dream big or go home…

some might say,

its awful sneaky to

base a poem on

a cheap cliche.

But sometimes, there are good reasons

why sayings become cliches,

each bears a grain of sand or truth

each came out screaming out from earth

Dream big or go home…?

What’s that even mean?

It seems to me the greatest dreams,

happen often when I am resting

at my home in deep reflection.

But sometimes, there are good reasons

why sayings become cliches,

each bears a grain of sand or truth

each came out screaming out from earth

Words are the stickiest form of clay,

they fall off of lips,

they tremble, they sway, sometimes

too many words get in the way.

But a good cliche, is never ending,

is born anew with each generation,

a good cliche will leave you


Go big or go home?…

For me being at home is the same

thing as living large.

Most cozy, comfortable, reading

writing, day-dreaming & thinking.

I love to write. To not write it all down,

it would be awful, its with the love of language

I feel most at ease.

How will I spend a New Year ?

How will this year be different then all the rest?

It’s all in your attitude.The truth lies deep down in

the corners of your eyes-

not in resolutions, or words of surprise!

It is to take it all in with one full breath

and live in the moment-

do not dwell in regret

or visit imaginary future plans

take the NOW you are given,

and shape it with your fingers and hands.

Make each moment count-each memory last,

treat time as precious

like a gift spun of glass.

Go Big!! Go Home!!

Dream Big, fill your home and fill your heart,

full of love, compassionate,

and even art.

Make a dream, then feed it each day, to keep it safe

to keep your dream alive,

whisper to it stories, secrets and songs

bundle your dream

to your minds eye

surround it with fuzzy clouds,

and walk lightly

carrying a big stick

not to protect against any enemy

but to thump onto the ground

in drumbeats of certainty

encourage your inner clown.

Spend 2015 with Happy thoughts, countless blessings,

poetry, passion, happiness and attention.

Enjoy each and every moment anew,

because technical it will be.

Decide in your mind

Dream Big, Go Big or go home!

Dream big or go home…

some might say,

its awful sneaky to

base a poem on

a cheap cliche.

But sometimes, there are good reasons

why sayings become cliches,

each bears a grain of sand or truth

each came out screaming out from earth

Dream big or go home…?