Tears of Thorns

tears of thorns fell from eyes
— a cry for all that left her —
a saline sigh 
for souls gone by

a wail for those departed.

a guttural scream,
for the nothing in the wake
of their wakes —

as hard as it needed to be
as long as it took to heal

don’t lend your hand
unless you don’t mind

getting wet
or punctured
by the dripping pain

lend me your silence

(…and until…)
I breathe again

my heart on offer
for a limited time
to a worthy bidder
capable of navigating

tears flowing from ravine eyes
that carried curdling current
far from its nascent origin
to burgeoning
of loss


~ Emily C.


Tide of Stars

Prayers at the shoreline to distant gods,
mantras and chants for mystery maker.
Dark matter ripples gently move her hair.

Evening storm retreats, trailing shocks strike
as parting clouds evaporate like dried tears
she cried once, for life’s loves, lives lost,

while tidal waves yawn on black horizon,
swallowing all with a smacking crash,
closing in upon her beach this night

until in dark consuming light she sees
tides of stars at her bare feet, collecting
along moondust sand with each lick of waves.

In her graceful aging youth, never to be old,
she smiles — the stars gathered in her palms
chime as diamonds might in a gathered dress

that flows along winds of time — which pauses.
One dainty swirl and scattered again, they fly…
in the distance, a shooting star aims for her heart.

~ Emily C.




seduced sun into oblivion

were okay with that

made lying in darkness okay

joined you in black

gave life to our emotions

sang along

lit stars with your voice

the blessed audience

were us

will now be you

~ Emily C.



I’m so tapped out from this week. The grief is real. And I am merely one of millions of people feeling this way. I can only think in short bits. It’s all I have right now.

We, temporary

Divided by hot, by cold
by invisible lines
by present future

Zeus oversees with a bolting staff
a stab in Olympus’ bare back
electrifying his kingdom’s sky

we watch
we wow 
we sense
the shock

a power humanity
will never possess
unless dreams, unless
actors in plays

we weaklings
we flesh
we, beckoning death

our paltry specks
our accidental

the gods
the goddesses
outlast time

we, temporary
here and gone
world goes on
gods roaring

gawking eyes see

yet see nothing
in the end
but mortality

~ Emily C.


*All photos of today’s thunderstorms in Seattle, all mine except the last. Today was a show of nature, I stormchased and caught a bolt of lightning. 🙂



I am jealous of the mountains
their private view of cosmos
the forests’ age in timbered sage
of the raging rivers, pristine lakes
the rolling moors and sandy shores
icebergs and hieroglyphed caves

I envy the lofty clouds
pillowy heavens, close to the sun
the roaring gusts, towering swells
the rain and the pelting hail
the boulders and prehistoric sand

They, the last ones standing
the only ones left 
the sole witnesses
to the end
of time, of this, of now

of all

Swallowed in a brilliant show
of fire
from glory to nothing

(oh, to go so!)

the only audience
the only act
no refund

exit stage left


~ Emily C.


Liminal Cliff

I didn’t shower last night
crawled to bed near comatose

blinds cracked, a street light date
keeps me warm in that cold distant way

just enough light, just enough space
don’t come too close, I can’t play

— waiting for the sound of thoughts
in dim night brakes my awareness

cusp of nothingness calls me near
while time on clock mocks my fear


…hushhh. I can’t think.
forget me and let me be…


the only thing I want is dark
my reliable shifting confidant

the backside of night taunts
it waits for me to relent

to at last, say — fuck.
it throws bets down on the felt
under its looming light

that it will outlast my torment
a toss and a torturous turn

liminal cliff my poetic haunt
not asleep, not awake

…don’t make me
…don’t make me
…don’t make me


~ Emily C.



Inspired by S Francis at Sailor Poet to write on the subject “the backside of night”, his answer to when he likes to find inspiration to write. Charles at The Reluctant Poet answered with his own poem responses.  Both excellent writers, check them out when you get a chance!

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.