signs

Ignite

~ Emma ~ 1 Comment

Rely on this, put on that hat
It will make you taller, look at that
Face the moon on certain nights
The clearing is coming with great might

It’s time to be alone but with trunks
Holding up the branches, clearing funks
Time to dance beside the sea
Let the messages come and find me

Dropping away from familiar
Taking another step, not so similar
The boat rocks but there’s a railing
You feel it inside, so keep sailing

The nights feel long and lacking
Longing for substance with less cracking
The days change shape often
Bringing less odours smelling of rotten

I hate to say you may be right
That staying here will be a bit tight
To loosen and expand is honest
Extracting what you can, keeping a promise

The quiet fog sits and speaks
A murky voice with hidden squeaks
The mist exists to cover the shine
Which finds me, always just fine

How to teach me how to know
Keep coming and making a show
There’s too much now of both sides
To see so clearly what now resides

Inside my heart and my mind
A match and a log ready to bind
Ignite the fire that’s ready to burn
When the time is right, we’ll have our turn

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.