light

Under That Same Tree

~ Emma ~ 1 Comment

The pause is long enough to fit,
sixteen breaths, a yawn and a rush.
The breeze pushes to accelerate,
the steps of love, the mind is mush.

Approached with care, she sits
beside the woman with gray hair.
Calmer weather now, the love
has made its way into the air.

Listening and offering warmth
the only antidote for worry,
she watches the clouds as they pass
not one of them is in a hurry.

The loving soul who was there first,
took you under her wing and did,
what we are here to do and to be,
like family we all exist under that same tree.

Movement was a bit of a struggle,
so we called for more love
to come to our aid to provide some shade,
and it was a lovely cool break to lean on a new dove.

When we are entrenched inside the light,
we know and we see so brightly it shines,
from one to another, we swim in delight,
because without the braces it can be difficult to fight.

The energy will command you to slow,
even when you are blinded inside,
the flow – it has a way you know,
to send you messages in such a way, to abide.

One more step, one more breath,
there will always be love and change,
but we are nothing without breakage
and repair to remind us of our range.

Have thanks and gratitude for the gift
of your life. We came here in search
of a human experience and to broaden our light,
to soften the blows of those, and to uplift.

The trip was short we made it home,
with the help of the three wise men,
they brought love, kindness, compassion
and supplies to help us and for that, I give them a ten.

We are all under that same tree,
waiting, watching, listening,
loving, building, dreaming, singing,
dancing and laughing; it’s all that there is, you see?

Write the Night

~ Emma ~ Leave a comment

I like to write in the night,
When there is no more light.
The quiet zombies, their grip not so tight.
I wonder if I screamed, would I cause a fright?

Just because it is past one o’clock,
Means nothing to a writer who just can’t stop.
Maybe I’ll meet Santa when he makes his drop.
How funny would that be, I’d ask him to hang out, “let’s talk.”

Alas it is spring, so no Santa sightings for me.
I don’t even have a chimney, a house, or cookies or milk, hmm let’s see.
I know, if I saw Santa, if he came to me, I’d write him a story about the sea.
I’d show him how I can make words turn into aromatic delicious tea.  

I want to right this day, write this night away.
Let’s think up more ways, you know that I know, how to really play.
The water was warm and comforting and now here I stay.
Locked in this position not quite yet ready, to end the slay.

I do not fear the clock ticking further and further to dawn.
The pleasure I receive my fingers moving like this, impossible to yawn.
What’s that sound? I hear footsteps outside of a delicate, soft fawn.
I’m in the forest of my mind, deep in the woods, definitely not on someone’s front lawn.

The pockets and squares of yellow in the sky.
It’s hard to keep my focus on just one thing, I’m not going to lie.
Writing in the night carries secrets you cannot find, even with eye spy.
The tunes keeping me grounded, I sort of feel like I could fly.

Did you know that there is a message waiting for you?
It’s hanging, waiting, holding, watching, its colour is blue.
You don’t believe me? Watch what happens in a day or two.
I won’t spoil the surprise, the letters will spell themselves in a strange skew.

Trust it. I’m writing in the night this poem because it is what I do.
Just for you.
And by you, I mean me too.
How beautiful and broken the world we live. Let us sing and sleep and stay true.