poetry

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.    

Fridge Talk

~ Emma ~ 1 Comment

You click and crack.
I swear to God I am going to snap.
What is wrong with you, do you need a nap?

You hold my nourishment and contain my fuel.
But all I feel like some days is that you just want to duel.

It is funny actually, how long I have left you ailing.
The days I intensely dream of sending you sailing.

Why all of a sudden are you speaking this odd language?
Did you take a class and get injured? Do you now need a bandage?

I cannot see or find the source of your injury, you cry out to me full of fury.
Just chill out for a minute, I will keep excavating your core.
I am literally now, sprawled out on the floor.

I think your sounds are a result of ageing.
The wrinkles and creases and misalignments obvious;
Yet still I stand in front of you questioning and gauging.

I cannot bear to part with you and your wonderful heart.
We have never really ever been apart.

Who or what will cool my cucumbers, freeze my berries and crisp my Ambrosias?
Do you have any idea what your absence will do?
I think I need Oprah!

I wish you would silence but, in a small and slightly messed up way,
I kind of want you to scream harder.
Tell me more and louder, so I can even hear you in the shower.

Dear fridge of mine, will you ever stop tapping, clacking and ticking?
If not, fret I will no more;
There has got to be someone who understands the nature of your fixing.

It’s a miracle. Your fixer has just appeared.
A solution you could not mention; heat.
You weren’t warm enough, the air around you was cold.
So your bolts and screws and panels had been achy and off kilter I have now been told.

What a strange phenomena. I adjusted my warmth and you began to heal.
And oh my, had I known it was this simple;
I would have jacked up the heat a hell of a lot sooner, given that a try.

I might actually miss your cracking noises, wishing in fact, they did not fade.
There was something about this peculiar several month long annoying event;
That has given me insight I cannot now trade.

The quirks of life, my fridge indeed not just an appliance but a tool for guidance.
I am paying close attention now to the broken fixtures, the ailing clocks, the halting of heat and time and the sudden shifts in temperature.
I am forced to examine the science and wisdom of noise…and silence.
This might just be, an overture.

No coincidence broke my clocks, injured my fridge, stopped the flow of heat.
And not by chance did I say your name and one hour later we are to meet.

I love your invitations, thank you for letting me see.
Something so beautiful and important that now and forever;
It will be impossible to not ever, not see.