She comes each day
to comb the beach
for words beneath the waves.

Tongue crests roll curled
syllables to shore

The salt wind catches
breath and sighs

claws the chords
and clamour of the stones

reckless tide scratches
sentences of sand

splintering into time
particles and meaning

tidal drag snatches
back surface similes

slips back to blue
and thunders timpani

drifts back to reflected light
smooth land and water.

© M.L.Emmett

Everyone has a little pond in their mind
And here I got some pebbles to throw into the water

The rocks bounce around the rocky floor
making ripples that I didn’t mean to make
But I still have a mission to stare into that verbal chaos
And become a creator of meanings

So when I spit out these pebbles, don’t be upset
you can cover your ears and let me pass
But a poet is someone who gathers something out of nothing
So please, let me be a poet.

And when the people with the giant skies came to visit
and when they saw my sky was only the size of a pebble,
they ripped it from my hands and swore it was big enough
to drown a few hundreds.
And when I tried to reach for other skies, they warned me
I should count my steps, turn back, try to find other ways
to protect myself from fallen meteorites that want to get
back to space.
I remind myself everyday I have a billion pebbles under my
skin and they’re waiting to be stolen from people with giant skies.
Little bombs that count down for the right moment to explode.