alone

Carrots and Ferrets

~ Emma ~ Leave a comment

I don’t peel my carrots
because I like to feel like a horse
munching away, teeth opposite from parrots
Huge honkers, made for grazing of course

And graze I sure do
it makes the day flow a little smoother
Sometimes I eat standing up, do you?
I’m alone usually, and definitely a mover

When you reach that point
of being obsessed with being alone
loving your dances in the kitchen
Oops this one isn’t rhyming, oh well

There’s only like five people reading this
which makes no difference to me
The beautiful way the words never miss
Leaving my heart and my lips, each time always feels like a kiss

This poem started out about carrots
then horses, then solitude, what’s next?
Clouds, weather, cats, furniture, ferrets?
What do you eat that’s your favourite treat?

Intentional choices to bring home the best
feelings inside our soul, it’s different for you
than it is for me, but in common we are blessed
by the moments we share, the kindness we do

Sitting or standing, laughing or crying
Eating or drinking, listening or telling
Moments and stories, hope and love
Horses, parrots, ferrets, carrots, or cake

The pathless woods is never pathless
if you’re in it, the path follows you
even if you’re running naked, full of madness
The trees unmarked, that’s the juice!

I like where this poem is going now
let’s talk more about nakedness and trees
Isn’t it nice, sitting nude outside feeling the breeze?
Except when someone interrupts, geez Louise

I’m tired and just spent twenty minutes chopping carrots
it’s great though, because tomorrow
I can chomp those suckers back, and feed the ferrets
I kind of wish I had a ferret friend, I’d call him Zorro

We’d sit on my couch and snuggle
he wouldn’t say a word, just wiggle
Do ferrets eat carrots? Zorro would
I think I’m going crazy, is this even understood?

Doesn’t matter, it’s fun and maybe I made you laugh.
If not, that’s ok too
I’m hungry again, damn what should I do?
Stand up, dance, put the carrots on the stove and make some soup!

Icebergs in the Sky

~ Emma ~ 1 Comment

Icebergs in the sky catch my eye.
Floating and waiting, holding a lie.
The stillness of the air, deeply I sigh.
Shrinking, melting, I wonder why.

The hue reveals the truth.
I think about needing less proof.
The configuration is confusing so I climb to the roof.
Higher I sit above the ground, I am a sleuth.

It is inevitable, their disappearance like Houdini.
Magic and foolery I suppose, wiggly like linguini.
Tiny tricks and silent blips, much like a genie.
Up here it is not too cold, it’s even slightly steamy.

The birds sit across from me and we chat.
They tell me facts and funny, so I put on a new hat.
The cackle and laughter a joyful moment at that.
Looking below now, it feels nice sitting here alone, but I miss my cat.

The whisper of today gives me away.
The trees, the sky, the breeze, the sun and its single ray,
shines brightly through my skin, onto my hair, which is now turning a little bit gray.
To love the sight below, above and beside me is to know how to leave and when to play.

Nourishment from solitude replenishes all hunger.
I wonder if I sat here all night, would I hear thunder?
Would I see lightning shoot across the sky, I wonder.
How long until my cozy spot here up high forces me under.

There is nothing to do, nothing to say, nothing to hear.
Except to see outside and see inside through my soul so dear.
The light is less now, I must climb down off this perch and quash the fear.
But sitting here in silence, I see the icebergs have disappeared.

Deep breath in, I close my eyes and remember your face.
The lines the way they were, your eyes the way they are, your hair the way it holds such grace.
The sight of you inside my mind, the delicate features of your heart, I don’t need to chase.
Because here you are, staring at me, smiling and enjoying this beautiful, lovely little place.

A Certain Kind of Solitude

~ Emma

A certain kind of solitude my soul requires.
Silent but full of sound. Quietly loud.
A way for the mind to rest among raging fires.
The burden of people, is it shameful? I am sometimes not proud.

Proud I am though of what I know of what I need.
It’s simple and beautiful and kind and uncluttered.
It’s pure, honest, a chosen loneliness, my good deed.
The seagulls arrive, the crows walk with me, the wings they are fluttered.

Water is a sacred vessel, a portal, a connection to the divine.
My spirit swims and dances and forges a path against the grind.
Leave your words inside, don’t clutter my mind, I resign.
Hydrated with silence, not isolation, not fearful avoidance, but a found that I always find.

To watch the leaves, to sing with the sea, to listen to animals.
Have you heard the voice of an orca, the greeting of a feline, the dialogue of a goose?
The creatures that delight us, teach us, need us, require so minimal.
When you strip it down, let it go, stop asking, stop waiting, stop talking, stop needing, that’s the juice.

Take a walk, call yourself on the phone, talk to her, listen to her, be her hero.
A certain kind of solitude holds no mystery, no questions, requires no logic.
To share and bring forth the gifts from within: abandon the recipe, begin with zero.
Depletion is mended by repletion from the elements, the true magic.

Do not tell me when you have never been keen. You can never know what has never been.
Push to fill a space and a hole that was never meant to be filled.
The hole is beauty, it’s sacrifice, it’s bold, it’s a story that is deserved to be seen.
The comfort in a space so vibrant, so sure, so opposing, it is warm and never chilled.

No more apologies, time to raise the vibration and take the leap.
The song my heart sings breaks the heart of the ones who’ve tried to listen.
Leave me to my open windows, breezes, sunsets, cats, books, my friends who help me sleep, the sheep.
Caring so deeply, giving so much, my heart knows nothing but to glisten.

But for that I need to awaken, to rest my feet, to hear less the opinion.
To be surrounded by clouds and tides, less footsteps and pride.
The device is soon to be forgotten, but I am still a civilian.
Inside a place where fog meets ship, clear the passage, I do not hide.