What lies beneath?

What lies beneath?

Emily H. Sturgill


What lies beneath

this porcelain glass sculpted hand?

this enigma of uncertainty

What lies beneath

a broken body / a shattered soul/a splintered mind?

What lies beneath the rug

so often pulled right outta of me?

What is hiding there in the corner

beneath the waves of sleep

i’ve been missing

and all the hopes and dreams

I am pretending?

What lies beneath a blank canvas

which calls out for you,

for anyone who

has the courage to


a single black mark?

Am I the blank canvas or

am I the mark?

I haven’t decided which

but i will back up

and just

call that part



abstract musings

abstract musings~

solitary seldomness leading

to singleness of thought.

writing on automatic, yet again,

as I gain great comfort

from the thoughtful

all sprawled out

black cat

lying beside me.

she is sleeping

and lost in dreams

of the chase

no doubt

of cat and mouse.

words are somewhat elusive,

sacred but scarce at the same time.

in a momentary flash

words are gone

and a shadow remains

of a small



Sometimes my past,

catches up with me and

it seduces me, with torrid tales, lies, and


confusion of;

distortion of faulty fact.

Sometimes, I walk heavy

with a 30 lbs baby dinosaur on my back.

Ancient times call for Ancient measures.

A ring of salt, forms a circle cast.

A temple prayer, a Buddhist chant, and the ringing

of a bell goes blink, blink,blink…into my mind’s eye.

There are places I’ve seen,

There are places I’ve been,

Encased, enclosed and Trapped -into a dream.

Sometimes, I ponder the what, why, when,how,where of things…

my memories are hazy,

my feet tremble slightly,

as I collapse, crumble and walk out

of your dream.


writing on auto-pilot,

flying on a wing and a prayer.

words flow like water here,

but hence-force,

once they start, they stop making sense.

and i

just observe the clitter–clatter of my key board keys,

on my broken -down lap-top

right here in front of me…

wondering why,

do I even try to string together,

sentences like pearls or strands

of fabulous, fantastic beads.

This garnish of the random-

word-parsley on my plate.

Writing on automatic, it’s so hard-

to articulate. A feeling. or a Moment..

I grasp this beaded necklace-

of my words, and dangle them dancing

by and by

my ears,

yet they fall silent

upon retrospection.

I gasp aloud at my reflection.


vast sunshine revolution

Huge UFO’s
Vast Sunshine Revolution;
a war with words.

Butterflies, they make-believe
without surprise.
The glory is the Sun.

Which leaves teardops upon us.
Pink pervert, researches a
sex fatality.

Cherish Hope beyond all else.
Everything else is an oncoming
disaster in an motor car accident.

Huge UFO’s deeply
dividing us, into a war of the worlds.
the vast cosmos embraces us,
by offerring the subtle unshaken handshake.

Prideful, and arognant ignorance
rejects any chance to be graceful
to anything misunderstood.

A sonic boom is the thing heard,
a punk-rocker, his remains become
roses among the concrete graffiti.

It’s a vast Sunshine Revolution
and a mix and blend of a cocktail
containing fragments of us
verses them.

Abstract Flower painting 2003

Abstract Flower painting 2003

Oil on Canvas/Mixed Media/Tissue paper round canvas board,
by Emily Cato 2003.

I used to make more art before i met my husband, which was in 2000. He likes / loves my art-he is really encouraging. However, when you are part of a romantic pairing you general do activities you both can do together like watch tv, eat dinner, go to the movies, go on a walk, ect. Art is so much like,”hi, i am ignoring you.” I mean he never tells me to not do it-but i think he feels left out when i do-even when it’s the writing poems things and not the art in the basement/easel thing. I miss art.It is basically a time management issue. I need to make time for it while he’s at work or something. I know this but it’s difficult. I am full of reasons why not, instead of reasons why i should make art?It is completely stupid and utterly ridiculous…i cannot explain.