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.

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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.

An altar of belief:

CAM00261

An altar by belief,
stands alone in the north west corner,
of my bedroom.
it is the place onto which,
i allow my beliefs to sit.

every once in a while,
i linger there
lighting three candles,
and say my prayers,
with my heart-
not my lips.

my lips do not seem fit.
to express what my heart
longs and shouts out for;
justice, a good life, an omen
or a sign, to allow
me to practice,

the fine art of allowance and
of course self-acceptance.

magical meditations, covered in mystery.
set the stage for most of human
history.

i have an altar of belief which sits,
upon my north-west corner.
Even if my Gods and Goddesses,
are ancient fairy tales to you…

please respect my beliefs,
as I try to respect yours.
if more folks do not try;
to sway and convert the masses,

think of all the less holy wars,
that would be raging
across many a foreign land.

all it takes is a small slit opening,
into your heart,
and some peace and understanding;
for those who see the world much
differently than you do.

blessings-tidings-mote it be,
hence tied by three.

Upcoming Sale on Kindle Starts Tomorrow…Lavender Surprise

Starting tomorrow at 8:00 AM PST, my kindle e-book “Lavender Surprise.” will go on sale being reduced from it’s original price to a mere 99 cents.This is a direct link:http://www.amazon.com/Lavender-Surprise-Emily-Sturgill-ebook/dp/B00BT4QBDG/ref=la_B00B1GC5LY_1_11_title_0_main?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1384630698&sr=1-1

Lavender Surprise
A chapbook containing both poetry and artwork by the Poet/Artist/Author. The poems are in a vein of surrealistic poetry. There is both color and black and white artworks. It is roughly 35 pages long. It is the Author’s seventh chapbook this year. (2013)

Today’s a much brighter Sunny day:

Today’s a much brighter Sunny Day,

perhaps not on the outside,

but on my insides-which is more vital-it’s where,

the flowers of my soul grow.

It’s where the soil is rich, deep dark yet tender.

Like firm dark chocolate.

The roots start to twist & tangle,

as they release and begin to feed and grow,

deep inside my soul.

Today’s a much brighter Sunny day.

Perhaps not on the outside,

but on my insides which is much more vital-more alive-more urgent.

Very importantly, the insides are sunny-

from there Hope begins to grow,

building up to a Good Mood- a peaceful day.

Last night WE-my husband & I-

both somehow “earned” or “achieved” or “mastered”,

more sleep.

We both woke up happy & and in Love still.

It was very nice-to awaken to so much happiness.

Hope makes the flowers of my soul grow-

what do you plant deep beneath a wall of sleep?

What do you carry deep inside you?

Where do you hide your secrets?

Where do you keep your dreams?

Do they ever come true for you?

Mine do.

Today’s a much brighter Sunny Day.

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!!!!

The Stranger in my Mirror.

Picture 149      Sometimes Shocking to see,

the Stranger in my Mirror, who looks like Me. I recall younger days, thinner versions,

Once upon a time, I was most likely,

just as cocky as Miley-

just not as famous.

What do you do? Once you lose that smooth small stomach,

the perky C bra breasts, the stride in your step, the seduction upon your hips,

the fullness of your lips, when the age of youth disappears,

and you become a M’mam instead of a Miss?

When you look into the mirror, and a stranger sits?

Glaring back at you, dimly-reminding you faintly,

that beauty lies in the beholder-instead of the girth of your thighs.

I am blessed to look many years younger-than I really am.

It’s a trick of my Mothers gene pool.

Wrinkles and gray hair do not scare me-no way-anyway.

I really do not mind.

But sometimes, I look at the Stranger in my Mirror-

and can’t help but think,

I am rocking middle age, despite my Venus Size.

I can still feel beautiful even when there is,

a media war, a rampage of BMI’s, a negativity upon

the average woman who is judged to be

“Plus-sized.” I can still feel my beauty, when my husband

looks at me that way, he once did all those years ago,

into the land of yesterday.

 

Fright on a Friday Night:

I got a phone call

early today to set up,

yet another job interview.

Most would feel excitement,

eagerness like the way the dog pulls,

on his leash during a fun walk outside

on a fall day.

I do not.

I am scared to get my hopes up.

I have had many interview opportunities,

yet barely any job prospects,

to the point,

I must reflect,

I somehow interview badly.

So instead of excitement,

or eagerness, it is this fear

that grabs me.

It’s a bit like stage-fright.

It’s like walking a tightrope without/

a safety-net/

and who will-?

catch me if I fall again?

Because I just might, stumble, stutter, fall

face-forward into this Stage-fright.

Falling, failing all over again..

covering myself with my “Ums”

as the guns go off/

as questions get fired at me/

rapid quick/

will I just look like another

dimwit? Or worse yet,

will I be the babbling brook/

that never ceases to quit, its flow, spewing

out irrelevant data, due to a nervous

bipolar mouth twitch?

Is there a way to steady myself,

against more rejection/

as I tell myself I want to work

again-more than anything.

Fright Falls

onto my Friday night.

Running on E

Running on E,

Empty, my thoughts have

decided to run away,

they flee free me.

 

Running on E,

I let the empty get the best 

of Me. I reach out-

towards the empty sky,

not a cloud in sight.

 

Running on E,

Grabbing outwards for the 

poetry. To take a hold of Me.

But too much everything equates

a void.

 

Running on E,

but I digress.

Where did I misplace the Lioness?

Where did I misplace the Poetess?

 

Running on E,

nothing comes very easy.

The thoughts all roll right out of my brain,

catching like embers burning into fire,

as the free-verse falls down.

 

Running on E,

a hapless clown.

How to quench this thirst,

of creating something out of

nothing?

 

Running on E,

it leaves me screaming-

so loud- my lips leave no sound.

The words all blocked up,

a corked up wine bottle.

 

Running on E,

the empty sound of silence,

What is left to say?

Where do the poem-words take you,

Anyway?

 

Empty, Empty, Empty,

and then like Humpty Dupty,

We All fall down.

Falling down again.

With a crash.