poetry

Wolves and Wine

~ Emma ~ Leave a comment

You took off like a bullet.
Do bullets actually take…off?
I put on a sweater because it’s cold now.
Your absence brings an age of…ice.

Icy shivers down my spine.
I’m going to add to my sweater, some wine.
I don’t drink, is this ok? I look at your face, but I’m blind.
It’s a good thing we never signed.

I’m inside a warm and cozy cave.
I’ve got tools and I know how to save.
It’s just us now. You’re my fav.
The fire I’ve got inside, keeps me brave.

I’m ok huddled here, I’ll be ok.
I can hear the wolves outside, I hope they stay.
It’s peaceful in here, I’ve made a good spot to lay.
The night is long but today…is the day.

The cave walls have a smooth look.
No jagged or rough edges, nowhere for a hook.
I feel safe. The flames burning, crackling, I remember what you took.
Be careful out there, don’t get shook.

I sit here by the fire, in my sweater in this cave.
I watch their movement outside, the wolves pace back and forth.
I’m not afraid. I think they are my protection, not here for an election.
Thank you dear wolf pack, for having my back.

How did I get here? Huddled, alone, protected by wolves?
I can see the sky outside a bit. It’s bare.
What a feeling this is. Uncertain and unsettled, but in good care.
Fire is comfort for my soul and my mind. I close my eyes.

The heat pressing my face, it got brighter even without sight.
I pray that you are alive and safe.
I hope you come back one day. But until you do. I’ll wait.
Here inside this cave, behind the wolves. In my sweater.
With my wine. With my tribe.  

Phone War

~ Emma ~ 1 Comment

Breaking up is hard to do you see.
I wrote a blog post about my phone.
Really wanted to say, “Adios buddy!”
But now here I sit, me plus phone much less lone.

Addicted, withdrawing, one more hit.
I like the feeling sometimes, when you get lit.
Although you give me much pleasure and delight,
I shall find a special and new place for you, just for tonight.

It’s not so bad, I can go seconds, minutes and hours, but can I go a day or two?
Without you there’s a void, and it sucks.
I’m filling it, filling it, filling it with all the things that I do.
But what if, just for fun, we played a little game called, “chuck it and run” or, “surrender to flux.”

Oh let’s play! It’s one of my favourite games I do say.
Energy and time and focus, now mine all mine.
I love this game because it gives the way,
To more fulfilling and appetizing things, to which I will dine and dine and dine.

Oh dear device, like a cat and mouse chase, except, there’s too many mice.
I will leave you alone to regroup and refresh.
I am taking the hiatus now too, less noise, less mess.
This time away from you, actually, turning into something very nice.

It’s good to change things around and make up your mind and stick.
I had an amusing time with this line, trying not to say dick.
Temptations and emotions and cravings abound.
You never even as much, utter a slight sound.

Phone you trick me, taunt me, lure me and haunt me.
How much longer can we go?
I plan to leave the country one day without you in stow.
I wish you had a real brain, like me, so we could experience more glee.

Ok, enough. I still think you are amazing.
The beautiful way you try to help and make life simpler and easier.
I will be thanking you for your gifts from now until the next phasing.
But I must admit dear phone, some things that you do, unfortunately, make life drearier.

So a little less contact, a little less checking.
There is nothing I will miss that cannot wait.
My mind and body and spirit very due, for less of a pecking.
Thank you. Grateful. You have been a Saint.

Goodbye for now, going to try something else.
Maybe I’ll walk or cook, or go for a swim.
No. I think I’ll paint. Paint with passion and heat so everything melts.
Yes. Painting. Painting is the better option for the win.

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.