Girl on the Bridge

girl on the bridge
with a view to die for

(how many times crossed
without a pause…?)

she strives to finally inhale
curls her toes around cold cement

spreads her bare arms, dancing
her fingers in the electric air

below, the breathing city buzzing,
coming…going…living people

(can they see me?)

houses puffing out clouds
boats under raised bridges sail

bikes like red blood cells
their arterial pulse – in her heart – beats

her gaze kisses honeyed horizon
her soul

~ Emily C.


Stand Up Eight

Written last March, but relevant more times than I needed throughout this year and now as I continue to recover.

Fall down seven times, stand up eight, they say.

It is many many more than that for me…

but the tally doesn’t matter, only that you stand up

that one more time, that inconceivable millionth

moment of utter desperation, to crawl out of the dark,

to grasp onto something, the smallest speck of hope

just enough to hand-over-hand yourself out of the hole.

Today was another eight, another “she should be down,

but isn’t” day, a “what will it take to destroy her”  day.

An all-out, “I’m not going to be taken down by anything!”

day, an “I forgot how it feels” to be me day, but

“damn it, I’m going to fight back, whatever it takes!” day.

The old stories in my head, of destruction and rebirth,

lows and highs, and that ever-evasive middle ground,

which I’m beginning to cede may never exist,

all the while desperately wanting to believe it does.

They look at you…people…and they think they know.

They don’t. They don’t have a clue what you’ve been through.

They see a face, maybe a pretty face, and they think they’ve

got you figured out, pinned down in a frame, stored neatly

in a square box, that you’ve never had to fight, to struggle,

that you have it all, that nothing comes as a challenge.

If they only had a backstage pass, could see what I’ve

been through, they would truly “see,” their judgment would

cease, they would keep to themselves and mind their own shit.

Truth is, we are all human, we are all here to fight for something.

Nobody is immune, we are all related, of blood, of the same

wondrous existence, one humanity, despite our attempts

to implode it, and our planet from our own selfish faulty behavior.

What a world we would live in if we supported each other,

that when someone fell for that seventh time, that a hand

would reach out to guide us back for the eighth time.

In reality, we must rely on our own strength first, dig into

deep parts of our soul, go through the dark, always go through

the dark…so you can find the light. There is no other way.

~ Em C.


“Stand Up Eight” ~ AUDIO voice recording on SoundCloud

Island of One

Island of one
in a world of man
absent of all
nothing to land
my boat on
that travels from
far away times
searching for you
for solid ground
to settle my feet
in the sand of your heart
lie in the heat
of the sun of your soul
peel off my clothes
bury my mind
in your warm naked skin
that holds all of mine
with caresses of senses
that tickle my veins
sending shocks to my heart
leaving scars to say
that you’ve been here before
many times with your lore
of love that burns
all of my core
to smoldering ashes of lust
an ember sparked
sending fire back
to the start
where I launched this boat
searching for you
the island of one

to make it

island of two

~ by EC


“Island of One” ~ Audio


Origami Heart

Strung high on crystalline lines
along the heavens’ reach of sky
origami hearts folded with love
crisply dangle over land above

like prayer flags of the soaring soul
gently move when the winds blow
of passion amongst the air we breathe
a sigh or gasp can set them free

the soft brush of paper on paper
as the fragile hearts touch each other
like laundry on a warm spring day
out to dry the salty tears away

over time the hearts fade red to pink
splotched by raindrops from angels’ eyes
frayed at the edges from blustery days
and torn right in half by love gone astray

mine hangs on by a dainty thread
too much wind has made it dead
to fall with haste its deepest wish

to disintegrate until last fiber of me

~ EC






rolling road on Christmas night
sparse humanity in dimmed light
past closed and darkened doors
traffic lights’ automatic oversight
green, yellow, red — repeat
view from windshield grants peeks
stools, chairs upturned for cleaning
no one home, spare a few cuisines
Indian, Thai, a pub here and there
the sole glow of life in evidence
diners wrapped in their warm presents
laughter silenced from this distance
like a painting in a picture book, in motion
bartender tends to bar hoppers
food is fed to the lost noshers
driving for driving’s sake, late
trees wound with strands of bulbs
fast food restaurants with sad souls
choirs singing hymns on the radio
nowhere to go
nowhere to go
happy, though

~ EC


On Poetry

A dance of words
a tug o’ war

It is the mind’s music
its glory
its grief
the stories
told internally externally

It is the voice of dreams
of desires
deaths and demons
the love making of psyches
across distances far

It shines light on pain
it turns off light on shame
reveals, steals our hearts
one in the same
we need it, we fear it

we keep some to ourselves

It is our secrets told
the plain, the bold
we pretend we can resist
ignore it, yet
it will persist

Until letters form passion
expression, forms lessons
marked in the ether
by quills of a feather

found in our souls
bound for eyes


~ E




With all that I’ve been dealing with lately, I have hardly been 100% at keeping up with my own writing, and so I’ve been behind on the latest open topic poem requests.  But, it will be good for me to work on these for many reasons. And so here is Peter’s request for the topic: “Poetry”.   Thank you, Peter!

Hope you like it.