Why write?

Why write? 7/12/19

I’ve been
writing poetry
since I was
8 years old.

It’s not always
good,
but sometimes it’s
bold.

Poetry and Artwork
are Summaries
of these things
I share with you.

small snippets
of creativity
like a cavity

pulled out of
thin air,
like lyrics
without
music

not singing verses,
my mind rehearses
words without Song.

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Tiger

Tiger- 7/12/19

Sleeping Tiger
instead of stripes,
he’s covered in tattoos.

So much black ink,
split
into Artwork,
covering his back
like creeping ivy.

Tiger sleeps,
curled up
fetal style.

Pajama bottoms
barefooted
his day off,
from 40 hour shifts.
Sleeping Tiger
a 45 year old male.

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.

Broken

Broken- by Emily H. Sturgill

Broken Brain

Bipolar disorder broke my brain in two poles.

With my medications I walk a tightrope between these poles

depression and mania…..I try daily to slip into the inbetweenness of these two things.

medicine helps but it does not cure. It only helps to contain a balance of semi-stability.

So yes I”ve got a broken brain.

Also I’ve got a broken Uterus. I have Endometriosis Stage 4. A fancy way of brokeness…

I hurt a lot of the time. It’s the worst whenever I am bleeding. Crumpled into layers of pain cramping aching stabbing screaming agony of pain. I’m hurting today in fact. Despite my period not due for two more days my broken uterus spits brownish blood and I know that means to hell with the calendars my period’s starting early. Up until 2015 I was taking opiods for the pain. Then I went through the process of applying for a medical marijuana card. I got off opiods. Now instead of pain daily from my endometriosis I’ve only got pain during my periods and during ovulation…..

A broken Uterus. A history of Infertility. Two pregnancies=Two miscarriages.

It’s a fancy form of brokeness. It’s a double whammy. A broken brain. A broken Uterus.

But deep down inside beneath all of the broken things is my poetry is my stories is my spirit and my soul-even beneath all of that is my heart which is strong unflinching warm and consistently unbroken. It beats on and on-unbroken. And beneath this broken brain and broken uterus is an unbroken girl grasping at straws and pulling like weeds from the ground fistfulls of words which fall to my feet into puddles of poetry.

The Table top Poem

The Table top poem by Emily Sturgill

2/26/2011

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 amazon.com’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:

http://www.amazon.com/Emily-Sturgill/e/B00B1GC5LY

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

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.

 

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.

2000-2016