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

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Mothers Day

Mothers Day-
5/8/14
by Emily Sturgill

I feel
the pressure
of your hand
on
my forehead still…
to see if I was sick with fever.

The pressure
of your fingertips
lingers lightly
on my head.

Oh, what I would give!
Just to wake up one day
and learn your no longer
dead.

The memories,
are merely moments
I shared with you.

Years, Years, and Years
ago-
many many moons ago-

If only I knew,
how quickly
moments, and memories
disappear…

I would have pulled you tighter
and held you near.
really regretting all
the fights we once had.

And,
I wonder if your
in heaven
and
are you still mad?

New Facebook page for Sex in the kitchen Sink

https://www.facebook.com/sexinthekitchensink13?ref=hl

Follow me on facebook please!Picture 149 Warming up with color abstract 2 Fall 2013 Spirals of Song and other poems book cover1 Picture 161 Warming up with color abstract 1 Fall 2013 Abstract oil pastel drawing 99 cover design for words whirl 2013 copy Falling to pieces by EHCato 1999 IMAG0893 IMAG0898 IMAG0897 Art before words new front cover copy back cover art before words3 copy self portrait 05012013 Picture 94 Acrylic mixed media pumice gel painting 1996 canvasboard Spirituality, acrylic and sand on canvasboard 1996 possible coverart1 copy Athena wiccan11 IMG_20130330_093258

Simplicity part 2-dedicated to my friend Erin D.

Picture 161Picture 158Picture 160

Simplicity

2 parts bitter-sweet vinegar

2 parts harmony

one dash of Hope

one sprinkling of Faith,

one Tablespoon full of miracles.

1/2 stick of helplessness melted but not burnt brown.

1/4 cup memories

16 oz of pure, unstrained Love

1 graham pie crust of sorrows

1 can of heavy-whipping cream

2 tbs allspice, 2 tbs cloves, 4 tbs fresh honesty

one classic ceasar salad of velvet covered sadness

one case of dark irish beer…

blend with one bag of Catholic Guilt,

add two whole egg-yolks

add 7 hail-marys and one quart of confessions.

Blend with a twist of hard scotch whiskey, empathy as a orange peel, a cherry

with-out its stem, some liquid courage, one King James version of

The Holy Bible.

Some false idols/some fake friends/those who will swear by you/

yet they disappear in the end?

I trust nobody who says to me, that they will “pray for me,”

I wish i were not a bitch like that, but i totally am-such a bitch.

I am not going to offend them by declining their pray offers-

but i am not going to depend on them for this junk.

I usually merely responded with Thank you-or thank you very much-whatever.

Prayers are both sweet and nice-

if they are done right.

But true friends do more than have private jesus jams/

talks on your behalf.

True friends know when you are sad, And sense when you need to have a small

phone-call chat. true friends listen and practice the,

Fine Art of Allowance-

meaning they allow you to be sad.

They do not try to cram you into a shoebox

with too much duct tape,

and scrawl the word “Happy”

onto your head-in order to make themselves feel better.

Real friends want you to feel better,

but when you get around to it.

Real friends allow you,

to simply FEEL.

They allow you to be-

They allow you to grieve and to suffer.

They realize there is no universal time clock on

one feeling verses another.

I wrote this out for a friend of mine.

Her mane is Erin-we kinda grew up together.

Anyways, her mother just recently passed away due to Cancer,

this past march on st.patricks day.

Erin and her twin Bridget are both my friends.

I did not realize how huge their family is until very recently,

Anyways yesterday, Erin was having a bad day,

and she shared with her fb friends she really missed her mother.

I was completely floored with all the useless facebook comment messages

she was getting. There were just so fake to me.

So i commented myself-and i was not trying to impress facebook-or Erin or anybody else.

I just wished to say something that could comfort Erin and be

totally completely “real” and “honest” with her.

I was just being me, I was just being emily.

She wrote me later, in a private facebook message, Thank you so much , you knew just how I was feeling and how much my messages helped her.

That really made my evening last night.

It is a good feeling to be a good friend to somebody you forever care for,

cherish and sisterly love.

True friendships among women are not always,

easy to find or to maintain.

But once I’ve formed a friendship bond-

with another female- I keep those friends

out and treasure them immensely.

It really takes a whole pile of damages for me,

to no longer consider a woman my friend.

Once a friend, always a friend, at least that is where

my loyalties take me. So many beautiful feminine friends:

Each is like a precious gem or a secret treasure to me.

I LOVE my friends-all of them.

even the cob-webbed covered ancient ones,

those are kind of crunchy

but i just love them all the more-for it!!!!

Summer Seldom

The randomness of Summer,

as it starts off with a Solstice.

The heat is justified as is the fly buzzing on my wall.

The grass needs cut it’s getting tall.

 

Sad to think of all the family summer

picnics we’ve missed, since he’s been gone.

The life of every party, the story-teller, the joke-maker.

It rings hollow now that he’s passed.

It has been over seven years now.

 

I like to miss him in the Summer,

that’s when his Birthday was-he was a Leo.

My husband wants to celebrate his Father’s life.

Gather his siblings and go fishing in their Dad’s memory.

somehow this has yet to occur.

 

Others are busy, mourning in their own quiet ways.

To celebrate a life well-lived and well-loved…

I feel my husband is right, that this is the correct way

to fondly remember loved ones lost.

 

There’s so much I cannot say…

I miss him too very much in my own simple way.

After his death, I began drinking my coffee black,

like he used to do. My Mother who also passed 13 years ago,

she took her coffee black as well.

So really it is a small daily tribute to the both of them.

 

I have a strange way with grief.

I feel as if they are still among us somehow,

whether deep in our hearts

or deep in our minds as a memory,

or something more…

 

Almost a presence watching over us-

in a comforting way.

They never seem completely gone.

Although physically, they are no longer here.

There will always be stories, memories and moments

we have shared.

 

Summer seldom.

I remember my Mama as she

walked barefoot through her

backyard garden, coffee cup in one hand,

the other to point out earthy delights-

a twinkle in her eyes

 

as she laughed.

Summer moments.

Seldom yet true.

Made of up of the magic

of missing you.

Her ugly limited view of god

IMAG0907 (1)My sister and i

were on the telephone,

when i mentioned my husband and self-

maybe seeking an annulment

in order to get a portion of my social security

benefits restored.

She was furious with me.

She gave me a huge angry lecture,

citing the importance of Love,

and the sanctity of marriage.

It come out of nowhere,

this fright train of outrage.

She stream-rolled me, with

I would not end my marriage-

over such a small amount of money Emily.

this she said with words made of bees

not of honey….her quick judgement of me.

This extra amount of money would be

in fact quite insignificant to my sister.

Yet compared to us and all of our struggles;

Her and her husband live on the high horse-

She herself has never even acquired a

4 year bachelors degree-yet she has made it-

achieving much, in the world of hospital administration.

She was lucky to achieve so much with so little education-

just the sweat of her brow and making it up the

food chain by sheer hard work and lots of luck.

Myself, I hold a high school diploma, a bachelors degree in Fine Arts,

and a Masters Degree in Education: Art Ed and Art Therpy-

I also hold an unraveling mind

trapped beneath the glass,

of mental illness.

I too, have worked very hard for everything that life has given me.

The difference of course, is i roughly earn

only 6,000$ per year from ssdi.

She I am sure earns well over 50,000$

plus her spouse also works-he is a republican,

a private businessman.

My spouse works too, yet barely above

the minimum wage. He cuts meat for a living,

a honest job-yet does not count as high paying.

I do not consider us to be “greedy”people.

I also do not consider us to be”godless”.

he is an atheist and I am Wiccan.

She was attacking me,

verbally on the grounds of the sanctity of marriage & her ugly limited,

view of her God-not mine-not understanding-

I no longer follow her bible-

the law she swallows,

things we were taught as small children.

These beliefs instilled in her outrage,

that i could consider ending a loving marriage

just to earn a increase in monthly benefits…

She has not walked a mile in my shoes.

She does not understand how difficult it can be-

to subside on only $6,000 for an entire year.

Yes, I am married.

Yes, I do love my husband.

But is it wrong for me to want better for us?

When i have been looking for even a part-time job,

for over 18 months….

had countless interviews,

but no callbacks…

is it wrong for me to end a formality,

a paper contract between he and i,

that would increase my SSDI benefits,

by over double the amount they are now?

Is it fair to my husband,

that he pay for everything

and I do not pay my share?

She advised me to simply quit smoking.

This is a brilliant idea-

I often encounter by non-smokers.

As if it were simply that easy to stop?

Besides even if I did quit that would only free up 350-400$ per month.

Nothing like, the over $800 in benefits, i lost

by marrying my heart, true love, the man of my dreams.

At the time, I did not think losing,

all that money would be so hard.

At the time, just over 2 years ago,

I thought i would earn a nice income-

from a masters degree in art therapy.

but i did not.

and now, my older sister berates me,

on the importance of the sanctity of marriage,

and the strength of marriage vows.

Please do not beat me up with guilt,

over your limited and narrow definition of God.

That is not my God nor my Goddess.

We believe in separate things entirely.

Your ugly, limited view of God and all that

that must contain.

Beating me up with the Religion of my childhood,

Trying to prevent me from committing an unknown sin.

Your God is not my God.

My God does not sit upon a shelf,

trapped between ivory pages

of a little yet well known book-

that is used in many purposes to do more harm than good.

the hidden truth

the hidden truth,

is that which haunts me…

everybody thought we were the perfect happy couple…

and I? how could I explain to our friends-our loved ones-

about The Dark Times….

about the hidden Truth?

That i married a classic-type of abuser.

That my beloved husband,

who i “loved” dearly was not only less than ideal,

but i was paranoid fearful of his anger. Of his angry outbursts.

That frequently, i felt unsafe, even during lovemaking.

I was scared he may attempt to kill me.

And i do not know why.

the fear seemed irrational, like another delusion of my bipolar mind.

Until a day two weeks ago where he admitted to “fantasies”?? I’m not sure what you would call then,”ideas” or “plans”?

That if his life ever got bad enough, he would fall back on the notion

of a murder-suicide.

by the way by murder-he meant me specifically and suicide

i guess was for him-not only was this a horrifying thing to say to the one woman who loves you-

it also helped me reach the realization, i was in constant danger.

 

I’ve been hiding out at a battered woman’s shelter.

i finally feel safe again.

it took some skill even in getting here because i had no money and no car.

but i finally made it Saturday afternoon.

 

I blame myself for not leaving sooner.

but in oh-too-many ways it was easier to stay.

 

i am grateful now, for my infertility issues.

that saves me from a lifetime of interaction

with a husband who is crazy.

 

I am so very devastated-that it had to-end this way,

but it was only getting worse.  Now i am facing loved ones with the Hidden Truth.

they do not understand how hard it is to admit….you are a victim.

that somebody scares you half to death.

that this man you “loved” is merely a shadow of his true self,

the side made up of complete anger and irrational darkness.

 

 

nightmares and panic attacks

i realize whats past is past,

yet i still inside my mind and body and heart-

i still am standing in that same burning building/

my hands are spread apart-

and he is holding me down and i-

i am crying and screaming

for him to just let me go-

that i cannot even breathe.

then i wake up still trapped inside my dream,

my nightmare,  the past.

it holds me in fist of rock solid granite-

it pulls me down it won’t let me go.

Life is messy too, not only artwork.

Life is messy too.

Not just Artwork, self-expression, painting, drawing,sculpture, photography…

writing for example is another messy art;

thinking of things like:

libel,copyrights,slander,plagiarists, tabloid-journalists,badly written poetry,poorly written novels…..writers block.

But Life, on the other hand is frequently a different landscape,

altogether, a big terrain of heavily soiled tears.

disappointments, family feuds, emotional problems,

irrational and faulty logic,

thrown upon you,

like a fistful of sand.

then there are those persons,

who bully,cheat and lie.

Yes, as the saying goes, no one said life was easy.

or if they did, clearly they were mistaken or

simply full of shit.

no, life is a messy place.

A child’s hand-prints on the door-frames,

dog-prints on the muddy kitchen floor,

lipstick on a collar,

a cat who shits outside its litter-box.

 

Changing an baby’s dirty diaper.

house-training a puppy-dog.

Telling somebody you love them but…

you do not like living with them anymore?

How do you even do that?

I don’t even know.

 

I passed the ball to my husband.

He is dreading the conversation he

must have with a family member later.

 

I would not want to bring the subject up my own self-

I’m chicken-little, I don’t want to see the sky fall

down.

But Life is very messy.

if it wasn’t

i doubt i would love, living half as much.