This dark and deep poem from Joseph Emerson comes from the soul and brings to the surface the fears we all have about living life to the fullest without wasting a moment. I scratched and I clawed my way, several feet up intuitive, survival instincts had quickly kicked in, I punched my way through the tamped surface a ghost of a chance, that I’d let … Continue reading On Poetry: Digging in the wrong direction, by Joseph Emerson,
By Stephen McGuinness I feel my footsteps Count down days With chimed strokes Resonant, reflective. A sinus wave hearbeat Synchronous vibrations of Train beaten whispered Words on tracks. Calm, a balm, a salve. Chantors: ancient haunting Mantras, dripped holy oils. Smoke in tendrils, lifting, Rising: one, two, three, Expectant tension then Reassuring: four, exhale To begin once more. Repetition, confirmation, prediction. We seek out rhythm, … Continue reading Rhythm and the Fear of Death — Writing from poetry with a small p.
By Stephen McGuinness Hanging yellow smoke, Remnant of blue coal Fire, retreats, yields ground To offered stars, becoming Magnificent in abundance. Time, slowed with motion, Allows a reluctant sun, Lazy with sleep, to Couple with a blind, Impatient world. Warmed colours run, then, Easily into one another. Streaks of glaring light Shower brazen stripes Over bleached winter streets Burdened with yawned Traffic, ploughing heavily Towards … Continue reading February 7th 2018 — Writing from poetry with a small p.