Autumn Announces itself…

Autumn Announces itself…

10/31/14 by Emily Sturgill

Autumn comes in slowly,

creeping temperatures dropping

in Michigan below 50.

The wind does yell.

The wind does howl.

Th chill fills the air

and my cat wants to go outside,

she begins to meow.

a pathetic sound,

a plea which will be

for tonight at least-

ignored.

Autumn Announces itself

in all its angry growls

and howls of a wind

so fierce that it fills my house.

With the thin crackle, crunching of

paper thin leaves

falling from trees.

Autumn in all her glory,

has arrived, as we settle in

by the fire

about to tell stories.

She is here,

Autumn announces herself.

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In May

In May-

5/9/14

The month of
May,
tastes
of merriment
and feels like
clay.

This short spring
month of
wonderment
and lust.

The month of
May,
tastes of blackberries
and feels like
electricity.

This short spring
month,
shatters the tulips
and
rakes the garden into rust.

The month of May,
tastes like
childhood kool-aid
and feels like
bruised up knees.

This short spring
month,
blooms into flowers
and allows

the sunshine
to scoop down,
embracing our touch.

Today

Today my words don’t come out.

Today silence is all I am about.

My thoughts may scream or

sometimes even shout…

but just for Today that’s not what I am about.

Cold and chilled to the bone.

Icy stone reflections upon

a broken ridged frozen ground-

and when the snow comes softly-

when the snow comes softly

when the snow comes slowly

it never makes a sound.

Collecting itself into white velvet icy tapestry,

beneath its dusty fragile-ness that is a strength that lasts.

It tears us through months of Winter

and winds that howl

winds that blast.

But no more words do I have here-

there is nothing left to say

except tread lightly and admire the silence

of fallen snow

which stole my words Today.

New Facebook page for Sex in the kitchen Sink

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

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Angelic-

Angels storm the drain.

Circling my bath-tub slowly,

treading lightly upon a much forgotten

mythology.

 

Angels storm the drain.

And it feels like thunder and

it feels like rain.

 

Come crashing into waves,

encroaching droplets, pellets of hail,

lightening and thundering,

as Angels storm the drain.

 

My dog hides in plain sight,

upon our bed,

her entire 85 lbs is shaking

all over again,

 

but Angels storm the drain.

It’s like a song, or

simply a bizarre refrain,

an Army of Angels storming

the drain, yet treading very lightly

as only Angels are accustomed too.cell 69 048

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.