Sieve

The stars ran through my fingers

Like cosmic sand through human sieve

For so long I wanted to keep one

Hold its eternal fire in my hands

Now that they were falling

Far from black velvet sky

I could see they had no home

And certainly were not mine

So leaving cracks, they filtered

A brief kiss within my palm,

Leaving scars, they seared,

But all I felt was calm

The stars ran through my fingers

A beauty not caught nor kept

No cage can hold them locked away

No heart can claim their crypt

 

~ Emily C.

9.26.17

 

***Author’s note: I don’t know where it came from…I just had an image that I wanted to paint, which is all pretty much new to me…then the poem came. And then, I thought, why not combine them? I’m certainly no accomplished artist, but this is a fun way to express poetry.

Mixed media on canvas. (acrylic, paint Sharpies, paper, pen, glue stick)

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In This Silence Stirs

In this silence stirs
the birth of a million words

thoughts that dance to maracas,
to tablas, to tambourines
the bells on my mind’s ankles
write the song in percussive verse

deeper and deeper
down these layers of decompression

lighter and lighter
as it gets darker and darker,
quieter and quieter

falling into pillows of consciousness
that catch the soul as it seeks

to release the need to must,
to do, to be what you think I am

so to be who, what, when, why, where I am
so to speak, scream, cry, love what, who I love

unruled by rules I, they set — I resist
unfocus the eyes into a watercolor landscape vision

refocus: painted hidden masterpiece
definition is the chain binding growth

but a cocoon can only contain metamorphosis for so long
before change dictates new form,
new colors, new voice

lighter and lighter
darker and darker
quieter and quieter

who is here, under here? where is here? why am I? where are they?

they will come, those feelings, stories and words

like butterflies out of the corner of your eye

but you must remain still

in this silence

~ Emily C.

4.24.17

 

 

The Ring

I have too many poems in my head
they fight for front row seat

words tangled in the ring
something’s in my way, I can’t see

Round 1 bell rings
fists of profundity punch

sweat gets in the eyes, stings
a wicked left stanza lands with a crunch

overseeing the dance of metaphoric play
the muse referees with a comical grin

“this will be the bout of the day!”
laughing at all the commotion

I hear the cheers, the egging on
the internal critic forever complains

while the crowd roars at the swings
eager to watch with anticipation

…the voices are familiar, their jeers, too
repetitive chorus of my mind’s song

hearing all the times I’ve doubted
I drown myself in buttery popcorn

No one can recognize this author
the one who threw the words

I hide behind flinging thoughts
waiting for one to be my Balboa

No more popcorn, lights turn on
letters everywhere, words mauled

Up for critique, lone prose stands
alone, triumphantly pants

~ Emily C.

 

3.10.17

Exhumation


The grass was damp with tears
muddled moans escaped dry throat
curled, limbs wound around limp you
dark of shadowed night strangled, choked

Cold. So cold, your pallid skin…
held in my warm hands, frozen
frigid fingers drew dead hair
color alive and dark, as always

Solitary stories recited of our ageless love
empty air all that listened, my pensive voice
echoed on callous crypts, hung in air above
…stone cares as much as some humans…

Time shifted in waves of forgotten memory
your brittle body becoming less than alive
a voice I heard I swore was yours ~ was it mine?
how did I miss you were dying?

No. Dead.
You were gone. No flesh.
And when I looked down,
all I held was your skull

…all that was left:

an empty grave
a shovel
and

our exhumed love

~ E

10.29.16