Roses and Crows

roses and rainfall
crows and the moon
steps and shudders
wind blows through

made myself forgotten
away with this world
huddled in home
tuned out the herds

and in the trains
on ocean coastlines
whispering horns
awaken my eyes

in dead of night
in life of day
roses and rainfall
i find time delayed

i part my sorrows
like waves in gray
sinking in depths
never to pray

made myself gone
left what i knew
shed the old
to grow the new

i build my layers
as fire demands
as flickering life
i re-strike my match

and greet the crow
who flies to the moon
i offer him roses
in rain he does croon

unbothered by weather
by wind or by storm
he, happy alone
i, too

one difference between us
he has his home
a murder awaiting
i, have none

~ Emily C.

9.16.18

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My Tomorrow

I was the sunset rising
from shadeless grays
from the sea of yesterdays
kissing the shore
with renewed love
opening the door
of darkness
but not without a burst

of color uncontainable
brushed on blue sky dusk

I laughed while the pines
tickled their needles
on my cosmic cheek
painting peachy pink

a flash only briefly there
and only there

if you were looking

I was the sunset rising
feathers spread far
I flew
from the places I used to know
and landed right where I was before
I was told I had to go

exactly where I was meant to be
foothill toes grip cool sand
slipping regrets fall from hand
the blanket of space
keeps me warm
in the birth of my tomorrow

~ Emily C. 9.12.18

Deep Breath

Screen Shot 2018-08-20 at 11.54.45 PMIt’s been a crazy month.

Seattle is now just pulling out of about two weeks of suffocating wildfire smoke storms. It’s déjà vu from last August. Last year it was a first. Having been born and raised here, we have never had days on end of toxic air that kept people trapped at home with doors and windows closed — and during a heat wave, no less. Misery. Keep in mind, the majority of Seattleites do not have air conditioning in their homes. Normally we don’t need it.

Well, it happened again. Can’t help but bring up climate change. This is not normal. We are surrounded by wildfires in British Columbia and central/eastern Washington, and some in Cali. If we don’t get onshore air flow, we get submerged under clouds that aren’t clouds, red suns and moons, disappearing ocean and mountains, and air you can see. One should not be able to see air that looks like fog, but is not fog.

It’s been rough.

But, finally, the winds changed and we have relief today. It is much cooler and we have real water clouds coming in with actual rain which we’ve only had a day or two this summer. Seattle…the place where everyone thinks it’s always raining. Our summers are usually 75-90 degrees, mostly sunny, with an occasional bout of rain. Not the last couple summers.

It’s been days of miserably sticky hot smokey days, forced inside, having to wear masks to go anywhere, running the air filter, but can’t open doors. So at night after a 90 degree day, sleep is uncomfortable, air feels like syrup, and skin feels like vaseline.

It sucks that in a place like the PNW where rain is persistent for 9-10 months of the year, we cherish and hold our 2-3 months of glorious summer, and now, if this is the new trend, we are losing 1 month to smoke. Yeah, I’ll say it, it’s not fair. Especially to those in the direct line of fire, and the brave firefighters on the front line.

Bigger than that, it’s a small glimpse of how our earth is changing and how the policies torn down to protect it by the current administration are accelerating its disease and demise.

Vote wisely this November.

I have been absent from WP due to all of this, and just hanging on by the skin of my teeth this summer, mostly for good reasons. It’s been a non-stop whirlwind.  It has definitely pushed my vestibular disorder boundaries. I will need to return to my own self-care and rehab as fall sets in.

I have also been paying close attention to the whirlwind political climate and bombshells that seem to be a daily occurrence. I am catching up on reading, watching, and balancing all the craziness with rest and recovery.

I miss writing, but will not force it when it’s not coming. Silence means paying attention and participating in the world — good things for providing more inspiration for when I do want to crank out with more frequency.

Meanwhile, I send my loyal poetry friends my best and wishes for a good end of summer.

Do turn off the computer, get out there and take advantage of it.

Hopefully, in smoke-free air.

~ Em C.

8..23.18

My photography, minus the obvious ones.


There is supposed to be an ocean and a huge mountain range there. And those are not water clouds, they are smoke clouds.


Ash on my car.


They even had to close the airport due to poor visibility.

What Newness

every layer starts the same–

bark curling skin
shavings fall in mahogany
rolls of old soul

raw new virgin flesh
revealed just in time
for autumn’s bitter cold
a turning world’s welcome

every layer ends the same–

unwasted
hulls of once-was,

dropped to fruit the fertile earth
with its aged patina of weathered time,

only free now
because it then lived

through the seasons
birthed by the light
seasoned by the dark
shed by the oncoming
growth of unrevealed
tomorrows,

mille-feuille memories
reduced to compost
recycled for the next
seeds to sprout.

one wonders?

what newness we hide

we fear

we need…

~ Em C. 8.18.18

Ripe Summer

ripe summer night
and far cooling stars have lost themselves in stories

forgotten by my dormant mind
as it slumbers months on endless end

pausing to make room, soaking in season’s rich soliloquies
spoken by crows perched on cobweb power lines

each morning pontificating in my open window
about today, golden in its new rebirth, can’t you see…

i’ve been walking far away with eyes open
through a sedated world

i, awakened by life
words silenced
so to hear

mind quiet
so to see

~ Em C. 8.17.18

Shade

i sit with this silence
alone with sleeping wind’s breath

the shade has grown long
slowly covering day’s nodding head

wrapped in vines’ creeping tendrils
i dreamed of night time

cradled by bees’ beating wings
nestled in blossoming thyme

sun-kissed melancholy
summer’s height reached

the savoring of a slipping moment
toes tickling tile as floor creaked

alone is not always lonely
sometimes it’s beautifully free

as a hummingbird dips and zips
sipping sugar water empty

my friends the crow, the woodpecker
the dragonfly — they know me

as humans come, promise, go
i prefer to be let be

here in the shade of night
alone with sunset’s last sigh

i sit with this silence
i close my eyes

~ Em C. 8.5.18

The Bringer

black sand sunset
shimmers with the glittering stars of eroded time
speckling in a terrarium on my kitchen table
its sun a distant searchlight peeking coyly
out from mid-summer clouds
parting just enough to light
a mini world infinitely big

when I spy it

all I can see are my feet feeling
tenderly through epochs
traveling to worlds not yet created

— not until this one implodes
melts down its constituent parts
into one roiling sphere
obliterated by its own helium god
whom we worshipped, believers or not

as the bringer
of all,
and end.

~ Em C. 8.3.18