More upcoming Kindle e-book Promotions: Free downloads

Starting Saturday August 9 through August 13, 2014 two of my poetry and artists chapbooks will be absolutely FREE to download. The first one is my first ever publication which was released in Jan 2013. It is called “Sex and the kitchen sink: poetry and art.” by Emily Sturgill, (2013) Here is a link:

http://www.amazon.com/Sex-kitchen-sink-poetry-art-ebook/dp/B00AY8B0ES/ref=la_B00B1GC5LY_1_16?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1407431169&sr=1-16

The other Freebie, is my second E-book of poetry and artwork,it is part of a two part series called “The ravings and Rantings series.” The book is called,”On the Brink letters to the Madness+poems & pictures (Rantings & Ravings Book 1).” Here is a link:

http://www.amazon.com/letters-Madness-pictures-Rantings-Ravings-ebook/dp/B00B13BO96/ref=sr_1_7?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1407431339&sr=1-7

Both books combine poetry and original artwork by me.If you take advantage of any of my free downloads-would you please consider submitting a short review? It only takes a few moments of your time, and it would be so helpful to me as both an artist and a poet! You can also review any e-book you download for FREE on Amazon.com-they allow and even encourage you to do that. The feedback is also very helpful to encourage new readers to download and perhaps even buy? some of my poetry and artists chapbooks. You may submit reviews by going back to the links above after you have downloaded any of my e-books. You may also submit reviews on my Author page at Amazon.com: It is http://www.amazon.com/author/emilysturgill. Thank you for reading this! I hope if you download any of my work that you do enjoy it. Thank you!!

By the way my other book, “Art!Art!Art! Before words.” by Emily Sturgill is still FREE until August 10th. Here is a link:

http://www.amazon.com/Art-Before-Words-words-Book-ebook/dp/B00J1QNLYQ/ref=sr_1_11?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1407432121&sr=1-11

That one is primarily an Artist Chapbook. Thanks for taking the time to read this! Have a great and groovy day!

a sinking feeling

a sinking feeling by Emily Sturgill 6/24/14

a sinking feeling
as the ship goes down,
and your leaving for work
as you kiss me goodbye

all I see on your face
is anger and hurt.

a sinking feeling
as the ship goes down,
your disappointed in me
once more again

somehow, some way I
have let you down again.
and there is no time
for words or apologies.

a sinking feeling,
as the ship goes down,
I can see with one look
your angry with me

a sinking feeling
as the ship goes down,
I do not even have or own
the magical words

of saying I’m sorry,
because you do not share
whatever wrong I’ve done.
this day is off to a rocky start.

a sinking feeling
as the ship goes down,
with one angry look
you cracked my heart.

split it halfways
like two sides
of a cracked raw
egg yolk.

a sinking feeling,
as the ship goes down,
as I sit here in a precursor to all my tears,
I know you’d throw me overboard in a second

hoping that this time
I would splash, sink, sputter
and finally
drown.

as the ship goes down.

All in a name

My name is She who,
walks with animals

and talks like a hyena laughing-
non stop fast paced flutter.

My other name is Girl Trapped beneath mirror.
She seems backwards and semi-self-conscious
this shadow like a plus size diva.

My secret name is spoken best in
murmurs and whispers
as I make it up as I go along,

flying by the seat of my pants.

My last name is merely Poet.
A common and often forgotten word,
once it carried so much weight
but now its barely to be heard…
Poet,Poet,Poet

She who walks with animals, and Girl Trapped beneath mirror
are both one and the same, then there lies a secret name always changing and evolving never to remind the same
my last name is common enough, Poet. There that is everything about me you will ever need to know,
oh that plus the small imperfect fact that sometimes , some days, I am nearly insane.

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 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.

For the love of Animals…

For the Love of Animals,
all kinds
the Big, the Small, the Fat
or Skinny
the ones who are Tall.

All the critters
and creatures
who bless me
daily with their loving
gentle presence.

I cannot imagine my
Life without
my fur-friends.

They give, give, give
so much of themselves
without asking much from us-
some food, some water
a belly tummy rub
or a scratch behind the ears.

For the Love of Animals
is one thing I am
deeply most grateful.
They understand beyond our words.
They understand our hearts
without us trying to explain.

They bear a simple wisdom and
a lovely loyal kindness.

They bear a simple wisdom
and a lovely loyal kindness.

They simply Love Us.
For the Love of Animals,
all kinds
the Big, the Small, the Fat
or Skinny
the ones who are Tall.

All the critters
and creatures
who bless me
daily with their loving
gentle presence.

I cannot imagine my
Life without
my fur-friends.
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flowers flourish despite the rain…

March Madness,
with a whim and a flurry,
Mother Nature
sings her call.

She calls out to the flowers,
to begin to bud.
She echoes out to the plants,
to begin to grow.

under her ever watchful eyes,
the dance of spring begins with a twirl,
a wave, a recollection of
warm and simple wind.

slowly in our daze of
sheer amazement
winter concaves, collapses, makes room,
for Spring to begin.

and flowers, they flourish
despite the rain,
they refuse to fight the water
instead they drink in the tears
of the Earth- they swallow her secrets
her teardrops of rain.

it makes them
the plants bloated and drunken,
as if by the most scared of wine.

Tip-toe through the daisies

It’s cold here.

So then, I close my eyes

and I imagine things.

I imagine that I

can tip-toe through the daisies

which lie buried under deep snow

I imagine them bloom, and-

then I imagine them grow

into a sea

of devastation

a sea of utter raw beauty-

you would agree,

if you could just, only close your eyes

and tip-toe through the daisies-

C’mon old man winter,

I am ready for you to stop following me.

I am ready for a sea full of daisies

and the beauty they may bring

a rarity called

Spring.

Check out my other blog too!

I also have a much smaller and highly neglected blog at blogspot: here is a link: http://dirtyfilthybutterflyblues.blogspot.com/2014/02/memories.html

Please Feel free to check it out. There are only about 84 posts on that one. For a while I tried doing both at once, but I get forgetful and I love wordpress so very much it is hard to remind myself to write on the other blog too!

But the poems there are different then the poems here-for the most part at least!

The Waitress served Wisdom.

The Waitress served a hot steaming plate

full of hot open-faced roast beef sandwiches covered in gravy

with a large side order of wisdom.

I never asked for the wisdom-

She just bore it all down upon me

like a welcoming rain

in the hottest heat of summer when there’s been

nothing but draught.

I was doing light reading on medicine and blessings-

putting pieces together

all shimmery and faint.

She caught me off guard with her chatter.

She was older than I

and she was weathered both

by age and time.

Beneath her carved out wrinkles

her eyes seemed to swell upwards-

even twinkle.

She seemed impossibly knowledgable

in things bizarre and highly improbable.

Yet it was wisdom just the same.

You would be surprised how much you can learn,

if you are only willing to quiet down

and listen.

Like a gem in the raw

The waitress shone brightly

as she dashed out a double heaping

of old timey wisdom.

I left her a nice tip on the table,

I never did quite catch her name.

I was in far too much of a hurry-

because it had started to Rain.

I never saw her again, but just so you know-

older people have the most wonderful tales to tell

and they will share them with you,

if you ask a few questions and show them sincere respect,

the are full of all sorts of answers

you just would not expect.

The waitress severed Wisdom.