(for Jill Jones)

Each day is always possible
I fling myself at chances.

My horizon pulses its limitless light
splitting atoms, shattering the white.

Silver birches shiver spotlights
whispering forgotten lines in my ears.

Feathered clouds soar and skim
as I taste the vast blue skin of sky.

I catch the words beneath the waves
each tide of syllables and song.

I’m sand-etched and scratch at
language lost and left on the shore.

I make for the glowing yellow moment  
and live in metaphor.


© M.L.Emmett 2016

Just remember that
Although you may feel insignificant
So do the stars
But look at how together
Those scattered moondusts
Light up the night sky
So beautifully

Thinking about the first poems I wrote
Taking my notebook, on a sunny day
A solitude park
Located in a small town Illinois

Feeling the sun on my back
As I scribble the words for a new poem
The melody of birds singing
A small breeze upon my face

Back in the days
Where I was writing for myself
Where I was the only one reading
The visualization of my own thoughts

Poetry is unique
Everyone imagines words a different way
Never let anyone define your skills
Write out your heart, poetry is made for you

After fifty years
I slipped into the school.

Madame Bela was visibly pleased
The classroom was too empty
Now I've one to do maths with

No less happy was Auntie Aloka
My favorite student is back
She lifted me up and said with a kiss
So vacant felt my class of English
Without a boy from olden times
Sweetly singing nursery rhymes

My eyes searched her and before long
Miss Jaya spoke in her softest tongue
I'm so glad to see his face
Sans him Bengali class was all emptiness

And there he was the only Sir
Amiyo Baboo the sports teacher
Isn't this the boy never won my trust
For always being in every race last

Fifty years haven't changed a bit
Either their age or their spirit
And surely the fun was doubly more
When I stood before the school mirror.

I've had a lot of dreams
About my old house
And my family
My dogs
And my hometown
Recently

They make me miss home

But after moving a few times
Or more than a few times
I realize that home
Is made of the people
That love you the most
And wherever they go
They are bringing you home

Home part II

Home to me was comfort
Comfort and love
Fighting and pain
But mostly comfortable and warm
Authentic

Home sometimes feels like
What my parents taught me

There are scars in places I haven't seen,
There are nights you wish you couldn't dream

There are things which were taken away,
There are losses that will always stay

There are moments you want to die,
There are times you're too tired to cry

There are feelings no one will understand,
There are burdens that don't let you stand

There are people that broke your faith,
There are monsters that keep you encaged

There are nights when you let yourself grieve,
There are days that don't let the nights leave

There are all these unhappy things and sorrow,
But my love, there's also  tomorrow