Funky Town


I painted this watercolor a couple weeks ago.
I just decided to call it Funky Town because all the buildings were in bright bold colors like the Fauves or Renaissance period “Mannerism”.

I wanted to write a poem about it.
But I wanted it to speak for itself.
The wash of colors, the emptiness of a deserted town, the sky
with troubled and smoky clouds
which danced upon the Sky.

I wanted to write a poem about it.
But I wanted it to speak for itself.
Using visual elements, the added texture of watercolor pencils
sketching in at the last possible minute.

I wanted to write a poem about it.
But I wanted it to speak for itself.
I wanted the eye to dance from left to right.
I wanted the shapes to form words
in your heart and onto your lips…

to say what type of details
were just not right.

I wanted to write a poem about it.
But I wanted it to speak for itself.
But it refused to speak and
all the colors clashed
beneath their vivid might.

I wanted to write a poem about it.
But I wanted it to speak for itself.
I wanted to write a poem about it,
but the words just would not
come out right….

Help Wanted: Poets please apply…

I am just tumbling the idea of a collection of poetry of some of my own poems, but also publishing some poetry of some of my friends. I am unsure of how to go about doing such an anthology? Especially as far as earning any profits…To be fair, I am not looking to cash in on anybody elses’s talents. Instead I like the idea of several of us poets coming together and creating a self published anthology of poetry MORE for self-expression and Self-exposure, publicity if you will….It’s just an idea in the rough.

But I am thinking maybe X amount of poets & 3 poems each + a short auto-bio of each poet and links to other published works or links to poets blog or website…

If this idea appeals to anybody please send me a sample poem and an email introduction to:

If I edited this type of book for kindle I would probably price it very low like .99 cents for the ebook.
I’m not too sure if this even interests anybody? But I know some of the poets i follow here have yet to be published. Perhaps being included in an anthology would give them the well needed push to self publish their own stuff.

My proposals is simple-email me a single poem and the first 20 poet’s poems I receive will be asked to be part of this collection. Deadline is whenever I receive 20 entry emails or let’s say the Summer Solstice June 21st Midnight EST. If you are selected-via-I receive 20 poems-I will email those poets ASAP and you will need to submit just 2 more poems and a short auto-bio poet statement.

Well then, let see if there are any fishes biting? Let the Games begin!!

Beneath the Depths

Beneath the depths by Emily H. sturgill

written on sunday 11/10/13

Beneath the Depths-

off the deep end, the depth,

of a Dog.

a Jaded wish, golden green


with another:

Detroit Depression.

Staring, down the barrel of

Trust, as a Daydream.

Drawing Pictures of Picasso’s Peace-Motion.

Cover me in Oceans,

as the birds form,

my Sister’s Staircase.

Covered in sea-shells and glistening

in Sands.

She escaped Michigan,

for the Sunrise of Florida,

and the promises of Eternal

Sun-filled Days.

Here in Michigan,

I will stay, staring down,

another Detroit Daydream.


New Facebook page for Sex in the kitchen Sink

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

Wind moves-

Wind moves the curtain

parting them like,

waves of a dark ocean.


Outside is the chirping

of some random, accidental birds.

and the humming of a motorcycle-

somewhere-starts up briefly

but like a ghost, it vanishes into thin air-it floats away.


Next, is the hum of an overhead airplane,

miles and miles,

high in the sky away.


If I listen closely I can hear-

a car door close-slam shut OR

a fence gate open then close.


The ruff and rumble,

the cleft and tremble,

the melody of noises-musing into

a highway of imagery.


It’s a narrative of sorts.

On a boring summers day,

and then the curtains stopped moving.

They allow the heat to come in.