Treading Water

Treading Water 10/28/19

Some tread with Angels.
Some tread with Gods.
Some tread with Goddesses.
Some tread with Artists.
Some walk with
Muses.
Some walk with Writers.

I tread lightly.
I am treading water again.
Sinking and rising,
I tread lightly.

I walk with Poets.
I sing the unsung song.
As the Earth meets
my feet
I tread where I belong.

Poems burning down the Sun.

Poems burning down the Sun- 9/29/19

poems don’t always
rhyme,
sometimes they take lots of
time.

It begins with an image,
violet studded scenery
or
pandora’s box
filled with sorcery.

A tea kettle
filled to the brim
and howling to sing.

a magical forest
filled with Ancient trees

Or The Amazon Rainforest
on fire
among things you refuse
to believe.

But poems don’t always
rhyme,
sometimes they take
lots of time.

Old Friends

Old Friends 9/22/19

Seems like
old friends are best.
I don’t have too many
but the ones I do have
I am doubly glad
and feel so blessed.

These are the ones
you might lose touch
with from time to time

But when you pick up
that phone
time stands still
and it’s like
you never lost touch at all.

These types
of friends
are cherished and loyal
they are the ones to make you laugh
dry your tears and offer a hug.

Yes. Old friends are best.
They understand the most.
There is a strong connection
through years, age and time.

You can go days, months or years
without talking to them
but the next time you do
it’s as time stood still
and they still always
remember and knew
the real you.

Seems like
old friends are best.
I don’t have too many
but the ones I do have
I am doubly glad
and feel so blessed.

A connection

A connection- 9/16/19

To love someone
relentlessly
with a wild heart
takes much courage.

To love someone
recklessly,
with honesty
and grace
this is devotion.

To love someone
as the days
turn to months,
then to years
this is loyalty.

But to have that Love
love you back
equally through sorrow
and through joy

This is a blessing,
a treasure
something so powerful,
This is connection.

Saying goodbyes…

Saying goodbyes….. 9/7/19

Everytime I see you
it feels like the last
goodbye.

I’m not sure how much
time is left
time is such a thief

and you are very ill.

It is very good to see you
but I wish that time
stood still.

I lost others sometimes faster
sometimes slower
time is such a thief
time is a racehorse
it passes by with so much
speed.

As I try to make sense
of this awful cancerous
ending I dream of new beginnings
yet in my heart I know

Everytime I see you,
it feels like the last
goodbye.

I don’t know what.

I don’t know what. 7/28/19

I don’t know what

I’m trying to say

is it a confession

or a poem

or an unraveling of words?

I just don’t know.

I write as long

as my heart speaks

I write to empty

this foolish mind.

I write to fill a void

in this bathtub of my soul

so much just water

with nothing left to fill.

Poetry is my shadow

She follows me around

whispers her sweetest nothings,

then she slams me to the ground.

I don’t know why.

I don’t know if I am confessing

to the everything I’ve done

or simply writing poetry

the lost songs

never song.

Free Kindle Promotion

Starting tomorrow Saturday July 27 2019 my newest Artist and Poetry chapbook will be available as a Free download. This free promotion is only available from July 27- Weds July 31 2019.

Here is a link to download this ebook: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07V3PF3NY
As always I welcome feedback and reviews. You can leave feedback on my Amazon.com’s Author page. http://www.amazon.com/Emily-Sturgill/e/B00B1GC5LY
As well as check out some of my other books.

“Painfully Sane: Poetry and Artwork.” by Emily Sturgill, 2019 is my 23rd book.
You can also follow my work on my blog. http://www.sexinthekitchensink.wordpress.com.

I hope some of you decide to download this new book and leave your thoughts on it. I look forward to your feedback. Thank you, Emily Sturgill.

Dirty hands

Dirty Hands- March 1st 2019

Spirals of songs

ringing into my mp3 ears

songstruck grabbing at bits and pieces

lyrics licking the palms

of dirty hands.

the gift of singular melody

ringing into my mp3 ears

grabbing at puzzles reaching for words

hearing everything like the first time

lyrics licking the palms

of dirty hands.

sooner than later

dancing will lead to poetry

then it will lead to twisting

and bending into art supplies

lingering music towards motion

sketchbooks opening without pause

these lyrics licking the palms

will lead to drawing

oil pastels or pencils or charcoal

covering these dirty hands.