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

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A Sun in a Sky That I Can’t Reach

crisp cotton clouds
capture my nighttime sigh
flirting with the dark
in my mind’s eye
that speaks of times
i let go by
wondering
as seeds on the wind
take to destinations
blindly
planting a new birth to be born
in the ground
only to be trod on
by boots in mindless march
trampling forward
pursuing elusive oases
in the desert of life
we so proudly frame
before we have even
printed

the picture

glossy on the surface
gritty in the mouth of memory

give me a shovel, my friend
and i will dig myself
a place

to plant my roots down
deep

away from feet

deep
from the heat and the beat

of a sun in a sky that i can’t reach
but i can reach the ground, can’t i?

crisp cotton clouds
over the end of now

while skinned nerves settle
and
restless legs prepare
to sleep tonight

for next day

we walk

~ Em C. 6.27.18

Art Therapy

I heard it was selfie day yesterday. I’m late but here you go.

I was at the zoo today and decided in the moment to splurge on a caricature, because why the hell not. Had a lovey chat with the artist. She was quite talented. She even got my nose ring.

Oh, okay. Here’s a real one for comparison.

Happy Summer, friends! I’m slowly dusting off my writing chops. Hopefully, I can produce more soon. Be patient with me. 😊

Dark Sails

your dead dark sails billow
in the storm you tried to escape;
the one you aimed away from,
only you aimed the wrong way.

the way was rigged before
you chartered your doomed trip —
the patched vessel’s hull…rusted,
even as it moored in its safe slip.

you followed a fool star’s direction,
your fantasy in sky she wrote,
above glass water she beckoned,
twinkling false signs of hope.

onward into vast unknown,
i watched from wandering shore,
waving my warning arms,
all the harbingers you ignore.

the storm you failed to escape
shred your canvas heart,
trailing dark sails, straight
into toxic seas,

you sailed yourself apart.

~ Em C. 6.21.18

*For Anthony Bourdain, and anyone else who’s ever been taken for a ride by a manipulative narcissistic sociopath.

Wayward

I found my belief in the forest
amongst green shaded wood,

eyes climbing bark to canopy;
below — the tender growth of hope.

trudging muddy mire,
steps out of sync,

breathing in staccato,
thunder didn’t blink.

there discovered my spirit
hidden in twisted vines,

choking on bitter yesterdays,
coughing up discarded time.

mutilated mutterings,
incomprehensible speech,

contorted in design;
my own hands out of reach.

I found my soul dangling —
hung by its own rope,

swaying to a fickle wind
which blew the familiar corpse.

’Twas mine once before…
I recognize the scars;

So I came to free me,
I came to cut the rope,

to gather sunken spirit, 
to merge with wayward hope;

to capture my fleeting belief,
to walk in footsteps whole;

ones I laid down a million miles 
on a path I’ve travelled alone,

on wandering red ground I know
that has cradled these bloody tears.

I found my belief in the forest
I followed the sound of loss

the calling of the heart,
the echo of my soul.

 

~ Em C.

5.28.18

How Many

white wooden crosses
waiting in the shed
nameless and claimed

they stack up
for future news days ahead

the children of the future
massacres
living out their numbered days

smiling goodbyes to parents
normal weekdays
mask the threat

to school for learning
how to run or hide?
to school for fearing
sounds of death
in hallways pockmarked
with bullets and blood

white wooden crosses
waiting in the shed

how many will be made
how many must die
how much death

how many children
how many futures
how many screams
how many last goodbyes

how many
how many

how much will it cost
how many hearts stopped
how many guns bought
how many bullets shot
how many crosses
how many tears

how many
how many

they don’t answer
because money is louder
than the questions

than the screams
than the tears
than the lives

than truth

~ Em C.

5.23.18

 

Master Carpenter Creates Cross Memorial Outside Santa Fe High