That Thunder

God…that thunder.

I felt it before it came. I felt it long after. 

The air trembled. It rippled through my core and stopped my breath, for a moment. For a moment… I thought it was you.

It was you. 

I stared at the giant trees towering on the horizon like sentries guarding my deciduous heart, shielding the haunting winds of pain rolling across the ocean from a past I’d long sailed away from. 

I had burned the map.  

Having kept it, attached and patched, for so long…now my heart was falling, lining your meandering path in dead veins that crumble under the weight of your being.  I watched, frozen in place, while you strolled over me, like I was never there.  True…I was never there before.

My voice is too weak. You do not hear over your own tears. You follow your heart to where you remember me.  My hands emerge from the earth reaching like roots for you, for a brief touch, just long enough that you feel me…

You only trip.

The lightning cast shocking strobe images of your face in my retinas; it seared pictures in my soul of a man I swore would never come back.  But you did.  I have waited.  The petrification had set in and I had resigned.

Now to only come back to life.

Too late — parallel universes of mirrored regrets playing games, a dance in the firmament; always to see, forever to feel, never to have.

You were looking for me in all the wrong right places. 

Turn around. I’m under. I’m over. I’m next to. I’m everywhere.

Just close your eyes and see.

I felt you before you came. I will feel you long after.

God…that thunder.

 

~ Em C.

2.25.17

******

It was a pleasant surprise to have requests for more prose after my last one, so here’s a little brain play for you tonight. Hope you like it. Feedback always welcome.

Edge of Town

Really love this song. A great one to sing, and works well on my harmonium.

I discovered my new favorite place. In Seattle, our local kickass radio station is KEXP. You can listen to them online, they play everything I love and more…huge variety.

They moved last year to an awesome new location by the Seattle Center, with a gathering space with lounge couches and chairs, an excellent cafe, and a DJ booth that faces the main area so you can see them dj’ing live as they pipe the station into the room. To my surprise, they also have live in-studio performances by bands as they come through town for concerts. I’m going to be spending a lot of time there, I do believe.

So this week, I got to see the new (at least in US) band from Australia called Middle Kids, who just released their first EP last Friday, 6 killer songs. New fan. This is their song “Edge of Town.”

Edge of Town ~ Middle Kids

As Love Dies

the roses on the table wilt in slow motion
blackened edges of velvet death
an upright casket vase props ripened scent
morbid display of love’s attempt

hung heads drop resigned to fate
clinging yet still to tender layers
memories long tainted by anger
each a story to tell if given an ear

like a tin photograph daguerreotype
a moment recorded on time’s silver vapor
never as beautiful as when it was taken
entropic decay the only thing certain

as love dies, a rose dies
as a rose dies, a love dies

— there is still water in the vase

but some things can’t be saved

~ Em C.

2.25.17

In Sound and In Silence

How many words will it take?
— should it take?

If I dance with my verbs and fertilize my nouns?
— maybe then.

If I stood on stage and acted them out?
If I stared into your glinting eyes in the crowd?
— maybe then.

What about painting adjectives colors you’ve never seen?
Yes? Sounds orgasmic? It should be.

If…if I said only one word…
would that be okay?
Maybe.

It would need to be the right one.
Which one is that?
Pick.

…..Sublime…..

If…I spoke one letter ,
could you feel it:

…..A……

I want your brain to fill in the rest
create
the poem you hear

in your chest.

What if…I said nothing?

What if I lost my voice?
What if my fingers were broken
one
by
one?

Could you feel my words anyway?

I’m speaking them a million different ways.
Let space breathe breath between.
And they will materialize before your eyes,

in sound

and

in silence.

~ Emily C.

2.24.17

The Hidden

coyote unafraid,

howls beyond.

moon bows

in reverence,

while chickens

are on the run.

fearless canine

curiously hunts

the hidden.

when sun sets

forbidden faces

appear tracing

nocturnal scents.

blood lets

from veins

severed, attempts

to escape, fail.

tomorrow will only

come for some.

~ Emily C.

2.22.17

One Year! Thank you.

Today, February 23rd is my one year anniversary of putting my poetry on WordPress.  I remember it clearly.  On whim, I had shared a few of my poems I had lying around with an accomplished writer/screenwriter I had become acquainted with.  His reaction to my words and my poetry encouraged me to create a WordPress page.

Originally, I had a handful…maybe 5-10 poems I had written years prior and had stored in random places, like the drafts of emails, on paper, in notebooks. My only intention with WordPress was to store my scant words in one easy to find place, maybe write another now and then, but that was all I expected.

Admitting my own naiveté here: while I knew people could find your blog and follow, I really had no idea about how many. Experience with another blog I had which I didn’t nurture nearly enough, said that I might have 1 comment every few months.  So, when I saw that little red dot icon lighting up increasingly as I posted more and more, I was confused. It took me a while to figure out that people…a lot of people were finding me. Just having one follower, one comment, one like was a big deal for me.

Now, after one year, nearly 46,000 hits, 15,000 comments, nearly 900 posts, nearly 800 organic followers, a batch of loyal friends, and the value of knowing that what I write impacts people…here I am…still writing when I swore I’d give up more than once.

Several of you have been here through it all. And you know this year has beaten me up pretty badly.  I don’t write about it all.  I am still crawling back, but doing relatively better overall. A ways to go to stabilize but definitely seeing progress. It has meant cutting way back, isolating, avoiding stressful triggers, turning off texts, going it alone and taking a lot of space from loved ones and friends, as much as necessary to heal emotionally and physically, which has had to be fairly drastic space. The ones who truly love me understand and are patient and there when I need them. I can’t say how much that means to me.

And to you, the ones I meet in the ether where we share words, my safe space, my neutral haven…thank you. I have been through the gamut here in more ways than one. I have learned so much, about myself, my heart, how I share it, how to care for it, how to keep it safe, what I can risk and what I cannot.  There have been laughs and tears, deep reflection and expression.  Not to mention being blown away daily by your immense talent, inspired by your works of art every time I open the reader. Thank you for the gifts you share with the world. My only regret is not being able to keep up with all of you all of the time.

I don’t know what the future holds. There will be times I need to step back and breathe. I hope I keep going in some form or other. And as I have said from the beginning, if I publish, it will be to honor my father and dedicated to him and his impact in my life. I don’t anticipate making a living on my writing, but if it goes that direction, I will be grateful for what my words give back, to me, to the world, in whatever small or big ways they may be.

Happy Anniversary to my page, and to my readers without whom I’d have no idea if this poetry thing was working or not.

Love and Light,

Emily

The Death of Words

prone cold on forest floor buried
in a ratted nest of torn pages

crumpled, tossed
in bloody autumn shades of pain

stale air hushes
— gusts the death of words

arboretum canopy covers
tucked in a winter wild with chaos

fabric shreds hang off limbs
dirtied hiding from time’s abuse

fucked by wealth of words
— errantly used

stung by false love
crash-and-burned

reaching out a hand
a skeleton in thin skin

picking out refrains
from rotting teeth

spitting out prose
that failed

bonfire wails
of voices killed

from inside
spilled

~ Emily C.

2.22.17