Poetry Junkie

Hi my name is Emily with a ‘Y’,

and I am a Poetry Addict.

I cannot stop writing them,

and really it’s becoming no fun.

I’m addicted to the words,

especially the verbs-

-the crunchy kind.

I’m shifty and slightly,

untrustworthy;

especially around word games,

like scrabble.

I’m sure to cheat, throw in a personal-pronoun,

I’m in way too deep.

And there are words, literally

everywhere.

I look and I cannot,

get away fast enough!

I am a poetry addict,

one or two poems, a day-

is never enough.

Some I would suppose-

would doubt my sincerity.

Some I would suppose-

would doubt my sanity.

Some I would suppose would just

assume its harmless fun.

But I become ruthless and ravenous,

when I’m around words,

I cannot help myself.

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The Bubonic cold

I’m sure I am being overly dramatic,

but my husband was sick all last week,

and now I definitely have gotten it too…

It feels like a plague… but it’s merely a Bubonic Cold.

(See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bubonic_plague)

Now, I realize this is not the middle ages,

and I’m hardly at Death’s door.

Yet I’m feeling hellish just the same.

All snot, all wore out,cannot care enough-

to peel myself out of my pj’s.

My whole head feels like a massive implosion or explosion,

cannot decide which,

just feel horrible and sick.

ick, can you pass me another kleenex?

It does not matter actually-

I am mostly just congested,

since i took a 12 hour sudafed about 7 hours ago.

It’s definitely some sort of bubonic head cold.

I have no appetite what so ever…just so hot then cold.

I have grand plans, in the scheme of things, to take a hot shower-

and then create a VAT of chicken soup-which I hope i drown in.

(not really just kidding. but cold’s suck.)****damn-husband’s home and insisting I try to eat real food not soup.

My husband is an excellent cook/chef/what-have-you…He is bbq-ing pork chops and making my favorite lipton mushroom rice, probably also have baked beans. (I still want soup.) But I cannot turn him down.

word soup

wanton flavored word-soup

spilling syllables all over the damn place,

sipping secrets and slurping words

of wisdom and of choice.

word-soup, filled with vowels,verbs, and maladies.

hot soup-

burns the lips and throat

sooner than later,

i begin to choke, on a swallow-full

of paragraphs, chunky vegetables, pasta galore.

a sentence here or there,

stumbles down a dribble down

my chin.

word-soup better to serve hot,

but not boiling, hot not warm, best to SIP slow.

sipping, slipping, seldom

into serenity,

sipping into possibilities,

sipping up the warm hot stories,

sipping the sunshine of

a single stanza

of a poet’s principles.

Music, madness,magic

melting into a word soup-

brewing into alphabet

tangled letters strung

together tasting them onto

my tongue-

do not be wasteful.

savor every bite

of this wanton flavored word soup-

take a deep sip-swallow and then,

begin to write.IMG_20130331_134503Art photos 1.17.13 024IMG_20130330_093314IMG_20130203_203008

You ate what???

ridiculous,
righteousness
reveals=revelery.

rock and roll…
and, here we go;
Beauty Queen,

aged by Gravity-
expanded by:
personal growth

and swallowing whole,
an entire
personal fitness coach—-gulping them down whole-
gulping them down

snake-wise style.

clearly, the only explanation,
for jumping jacks for numbers between,
size 3-23.

What has happened to the REAL ME?
Did I eat her entirely and completely,
away?

Never Once a Beauty Queen,
much more,
a Beauty Scream.

Nothing shocks like
Lightening Rocks.