"emelia" poems - Hello Poetry

On a spring day, Emelia soared through the field, like a baby robin learning to fly, running in diagonals with her hands brushing against every shrub and leaf she saw. Mud drenched pink overalls and a bright blonde bowl cut. She ran like a bumble bee on a mission to pick the freshest, prettiest flower. Stepping over bugs and playing tag with chipmunks, she giggled uncontrollably and was a friend to all that walked nature's green carpet, tripping over wild, wispy grasses. She looks up with innocent eyes, beaming like two sunflowers, "We have to share," she announced to the big tree that resembled Grandmother Willow. She had just seen Pocahontas for the first time and wanted nothing more than to become a color of the wind. The wind blew the leaves in a nodding fashion, showing agreeance to the young sprites statement. She whipped and whirled her arms toward the sun as it danced on her skin through the branches of her friends. "I want to do this forever," she squealed. So, she did. 20 years later, the girl grew But with a dimmer light Weaker legs And a hole in her chest. On a cold night, Emelia staggered through the barren field, fueled by a magic dust that made her feel like a crashing plane Running in diagonals with her hands Brushing against her watery eyes, keeping them from flooding. Mud drenched ripped jeans and a long, shaggy haircut mirroring the bark on the trees. She ran like she was being chased by a vicious monster trying to find the safest space for her to vent after feeling her brain bleed from her nose and heart deflate in its cage. Stumbling over broken bottles and playing tag with her inner demons, she was a slave to all that walked nature's casket, tripping over roots and graves, smashing against a tree. She looks up with innocent eyes, welling with painful tears, "We have to share," she whispered to the big tree that resembled Grandmother Willow. She felt an unbearable pain that no one should live with and wanted nothing more than to be numb. The wind stopped in it tracks, the leaves stagnant on their branches, showing heart wrenching dismay to the old skeleton's statement. She sobbed and heaved with her arms wrapped tight to her torso as her skin danced with her shuttering bones and tightening muscles. "I don't want to do this forever," she helplessly breathed. But, she did.

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Jan 2, 2019

Jan 2, 2019 at 12:39 PM UTC

ers-1

Girlhood

On a spring day, Emelia soared through the field, like a baby robin learning to fly, running in diagonals with her hands brushing against every shrub and leaf she saw. Mud drenched pink overalls and a bright blonde bowl cut. She ran like a bumble bee on a mission to pick the freshest, prettiest flower. Stepping over bugs and playing tag with chipmunks, she giggled uncontrollably and was a friend to all that walked nature's green carpet, tripping over wild, wispy grasses. She looks up with innocent eyes, beaming like two sunflowers, "We have to share," she announced to the big tree that resembled Grandmother Willow. She had just seen Pocahontas for the first time and wanted nothing more than to become a color of the wind. The wind blew the leaves in a nodding fashion, showing agreeance to the young sprites statement. She whipped and whirled her arms toward the sun as it danced on her skin through the branches of her friends. "I want to do this forever," she squealed. So, she did. 20 years later, the girl grew But with a dimmer light Weaker legs And a hole in her chest. On a cold night, Emelia staggered through the barren field, fueled by a magic dust that made her feel like a crashing plane Running in diagonals with her hands Brushing against her watery eyes, keeping them from flooding. Mud drenched ripped jeans and a long, shaggy haircut mirroring the bark on the trees. She ran like she was being chased by a vicious monster trying to find the safest space for her to vent after feeling her brain bleed from her nose and heart deflate in its cage. Stumbling over broken bottles and playing tag with her inner demons, she was a slave to all that walked nature's casket, tripping over roots and graves, smashing against a tree. She looks up with innocent eyes, welling with painful tears, "We have to share," she whispered to the big tree that resembled Grandmother Willow. She felt an unbearable pain that no one should live with and wanted nothing more than to be numb. The wind stopped in it tracks, the leaves stagnant on their branches, showing heart wrenching dismay to the old skeleton's statement. She sobbed and heaved with her arms wrapped tight to her torso as her skin danced with her shuttering bones and tightening muscles. "I don't want to do this forever," she helplessly breathed. But, she did.

39

That red-eyed squirrel, so common, yet so unique, follows them without being noticed. Emptiness. As soon as he woke up, he walked out of his room into the hallway and saw it sitting there. Someone left his top door open, and a little squirrel wandered in. He cautiously walked up to the squirrel, afraid it would jump at him, or run away, but the squirrel remained still. The man made sure not to scare the squirrel, for there was something about the squirrel he couldn't quite get. So the man stopped right in front of that squirrel, right in front of his top door, the man thought he was dreaming for the squirrel had not moved. The sun was red, bright, burning him, blinding him, so he shut the door. The door fell shut, and the outside world was gone. All that was left was the man's home, in his hallway between two doors. He turned around and the squirrel was following him with bright red eyes, red like the sun, but not blinding. The eyes were enticing, and so the man followed. The squirrel led him back into his room and the man picked up the squirrel, the red eyes still following the man, the man still following those bright red eyes. Their eyes were getting wider, swallowing more and more. And the red eyes still remained. The eyes are getting the best of him, and he can't resist, so he drew his own drops of red, being pumped away more and more. As it poured through him he cried and looked up and noticed a glimmer of light shining, shining so bright, but not blinding, not the sun, nor the squirrel's red eyes, but a new light. The man looked back down still open, still staring, but saw no enticing red eyes. He looked back up, and saw the light was gone. All that intrigued him was gone, he mind in pieces on the ceiling, still trying to find light on the floor. He ran tot he hallway. The faucet poured nothing, the light switch turned to darkness when he wanted light. Finally he went to the mirror, his eyes still wide, but this time, red. The squirrel he saw, not himself, but a new self, a red self. The monster he saw was not him, it was not a creation. The sight of the beast shocked the man, causing him to jump. He didn't land. There was no gravity. There was only that monster, the monster with red eyes. He was floating in a new place, he saw Alex and Emelia whom he thought had passed, but next to him floating, falling, crying. He blinked, jumped, and gasped for air. Ran out to that hallway, between two doors, both open and saw nothing but the outside world. That red-eyed squirrel, so common, yet so unique, followed him, until he was gone. Emptiness.

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Dec 13, 2011

Dec 13, 2011 at 1:50 PM UTC

jim-gillespie

A Red-Eyed Squirrel

That red-eyed squirrel, so common, yet so unique, follows them without being noticed. Emptiness. As soon as he woke up, he walked out of his room into the hallway and saw it sitting there. Someone left his top door open, and a little squirrel wandered in. He cautiously walked up to the squirrel, afraid it would jump at him, or run away, but the squirrel remained still. The man made sure not to scare the squirrel, for there was something about the squirrel he couldn't quite get. So the man stopped right in front of that squirrel, right in front of his top door, the man thought he was dreaming for the squirrel had not moved. The sun was red, bright, burning him, blinding him, so he shut the door. The door fell shut, and the outside world was gone. All that was left was the man's home, in his hallway between two doors. He turned around and the squirrel was following him with bright red eyes, red like the sun, but not blinding. The eyes were enticing, and so the man followed. The squirrel led him back into his room and the man picked up the squirrel, the red eyes still following the man, the man still following those bright red eyes. Their eyes were getting wider, swallowing more and more. And the red eyes still remained. The eyes are getting the best of him, and he can't resist, so he drew his own drops of red, being pumped away more and more. As it poured through him he cried and looked up and noticed a glimmer of light shining, shining so bright, but not blinding, not the sun, nor the squirrel's red eyes, but a new light. The man looked back down still open, still staring, but saw no enticing red eyes. He looked back up, and saw the light was gone. All that intrigued him was gone, he mind in pieces on the ceiling, still trying to find light on the floor. He ran tot he hallway. The faucet poured nothing, the light switch turned to darkness when he wanted light. Finally he went to the mirror, his eyes still wide, but this time, red. The squirrel he saw, not himself, but a new self, a red self. The monster he saw was not him, it was not a creation. The sight of the beast shocked the man, causing him to jump. He didn't land. There was no gravity. There was only that monster, the monster with red eyes. He was floating in a new place, he saw Alex and Emelia whom he thought had passed, but next to him floating, falling, crying. He blinked, jumped, and gasped for air. Ran out to that hallway, between two doors, both open and saw nothing but the outside world. That red-eyed squirrel, so common, yet so unique, followed him, until he was gone. Emptiness.

4

1.complete th bridge to the moon started by Jules Verne and raise the Nautilus.. 2.Rebuild the colossus of Rhodes to spec. 3.Take a trip to John Gotti's summer home and split a bottle of Boones Farm apple wine with him and Emelia. 4. Pull a small sample of bone marrow from Hitlers shriveled corpse for a Little cloning project that I have been working on. 5.get a head count on all the politicians in the capital who don't consider Their position a life long free ride with no accountability to the masses.. 6. Resurect the cold fusion argument. 7. Run a sub 2 minute mile. 8.kick Tysons but with my right hand tied. 9.mix the perfect martini 10. Start all over again.

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Jun 26, 2013

Jun 26, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC

geno-cattouse-1

In conclusion I would like to

1.complete th bridge to the moon started by Jules Verne and raise the Nautilus.. 2.Rebuild the colossus of Rhodes to spec. 3.Take a trip to John Gotti's summer home and split a bottle of Boones Farm apple wine with him and Emelia. 4. Pull a small sample of bone marrow from Hitlers shriveled corpse for a Little cloning project that I have been working on. 5.get a head count on all the politicians in the capital who don't consider Their position a life long free ride with no accountability to the masses.. 6. Resurect the cold fusion argument. 7. Run a sub 2 minute mile. 8.kick Tysons but with my right hand tied. 9.mix the perfect martini 10. Start all over again.

14

Coming down the carriage with her coffee, tea and name badge, She LOOKS like an Emelia. Serious and quite beautiful in some ways In her dark skirt Her keys that hang and jingle Her expression of slightly resentful concentration - A miniscule pursing of the lips as she pours - She was not made for this. She was once a princess. She still is.

0

Feb 5, 2010

Feb 5, 2010 at 4:21 AM UTC

jeremy-ducane

The Princess and the Tea (8.27 to London 9 March 09)

Coming down the carriage with her coffee, tea and name badge, She LOOKS like an Emelia. Serious and quite beautiful in some ways In her dark skirt Her keys that hang and jingle Her expression of slightly resentful concentration - A miniscule pursing of the lips as she pours - She was not made for this. She was once a princess. She still is.

10

Signor Bialetti Brews the Coffee now Grazie, grazie, Signor Bialetti Natty with your moustache and pork-pie hat Charming man, your aluminum design And Italian elegance grace my stove If Don Camillo were to visit now And bring along his ****** pal Peppone They would still argue faith and politics Just as they do in Emelia-Romagna But here, over biscotti and expresso - Grazie, grazie, Signor Bialetti!

0

Feb 19, 2017

Feb 19, 2017 at 8:31 AM UTC

lawrence-hall

Signor Bialetti Brews the Coffee Now

Signor Bialetti Brews the Coffee now Grazie, grazie, Signor Bialetti Natty with your moustache and pork-pie hat Charming man, your aluminum design And Italian elegance grace my stove If Don Camillo were to visit now And bring along his ****** pal Peppone They would still argue faith and politics Just as they do in Emelia-Romagna But here, over biscotti and expresso - Grazie, grazie, Signor Bialetti!

11