Darling, when I try
and write to you, all format
flies from my grasp. Haiku and ten
always too little, and prose
I would have to fill with beauty-
words I do not have to describe us
anymore. You see, unlike the family tradition, I was
never a good Scrabble player. Always
only 100 tiles and short, obscure
words never enough to tell a
story that should be rich, not sparsely
populated with only 1 Z, or
2 Ys or 2 Cs. With you I feel
I am playing scrabble with my words. As always,
my darling, (with) you I am losing.

Lifetime warranty spiked above the headboard –
Pounded, driven in.
A ****** memento for spellbound comfort.
For beleaguered convenience, every vindication.

From the reliquary a
Prefect draws Scrabble squares:
Transgressions divined in crossword.
Taking them on, like Him, and
Glaring, feeding them back to you, a
Beguiling grin:
Absolving all.

Not quite the mother, at least
Present to explain the
Pain she bears for you.

Not Santa, not Tooth Fairy,
Unworthy of the wall.

The Easter Bunny,
Harebrained scheme,
Foot hacked clean at absurdity’s altar, keeps
         Suffering
                     and suffering
                                  and suffering.

But you do clutch, and do not falter.

******, magical pretense,
Lurid, laudable as a
Hotdog on a stick, and just as
Tasteless.

Snake oil, tendrils crossing paths in a
Greasy Baptismal pool,
Soliciting the stranglehold.

No grace; just a
Wolf and a
Sheep.
Guess which you are.

I’ve found the meaning of family.

I see sisters laughing/ joking about who takes over responsibilities/ each sister attending to the others need/ partially/ I don’t know who is taking care of who anymore/ showing teeth/ assuring they are fine/ asking for strength/ even if just to relieve the others of worry

A husband supportive and argumentative and kind/ he calls her little girl/ a grown women fighting her fiercest battle/ he tells her she is not alright/ joking/ looking at her with fondness/ through eyes that haven’t closed in 48hrs/ through the oceans of tears he’s blinked/ he paces trenches into the floor

A family that has gathered at a whim/ over the Pacific/ across the country/ the smell of airports and car seats cloaking their sleepless venture/ the call to gather was heard/ it was answered immediately/ without hesitation/ one way tickets/ you too/ me too/ all of us

An incredible, unabashed bravery/ facing God/ fighting the pain/ without medicine/ without doctors/ without anything/ but the help of loved ones/ refusing to let go/ bravery unmatched/ bravery by example/ for all of us to learn

Silence in everyone’s eyes/ deafening silence/ collective gazing/ we sing a chorus of passing looks/ at each other/ at the phone/ at anything/ you never get use to holding back tears/ we know/ we don’t need anything more/ a smoke plume of red across each eye

A stillness in my heartbeat/ breathing has become a chore/ slowing my chest/ I remind myself I’m still/ living/ I’m here/ My heart beat to match the hyperventilating of my lungs/ it races double time/ triple time/ exponentially/ it turns to micro beats/ it stands still/ my heart has learned to comfort its own weeping

A calm lie I shudder to myself: I am not crying/ I am not the one in pain/ I am not the one fighting more than sadness/ I am not losing it/ the battle I mean/ I am not the one d-d-d-d.../ I am alive/ whatever that means anymore

This is a steam valve slowly releasing/ this is the oxygen machine/ running through cycles/ like waves of nausea/   this is not the scream of sobbing/ this is not the hiccups of drowning/ this is the steam of water splashing/ from the juices hitting blender/ now hot from being used on the hour/ every hour/ I’ve learned the sound of whirling can sound exactly like the clock hitting each hour mark/ this is the sound of the food being cooked again/ nourishment to the caretakers/ who haven’t left her side/ not once/ this isn’t screaming/ this is just steam/ and like tears on a cheek/ it will evaporate/ just like us

This is the product of seeing the youngest sibling age/ and wilt/ right front of our eyes/ too young to be the eldest/ too fresh to be most fragile/ her tissue skin/ paper mache limbs/ still sturdy and determined/ she stutters her words like scrabble and graffiti/ her thoughts missing pieces/ like a child’s smile/ she ad-libs with blanket/ she is bad at charades/ so are we

A fighter in all of us/ we are fighting tears/ we are fighting bad news/ we are fighting death/... / I finally said death/ I lost that fight before she did/ she is fighting our grief/ she is fighting to get a word in/ and her fight for that word to even come out/  she is fighting a war i can’t imagine/ we are fighting by her side/ each battle as unique as a fresh spring bloom/ each with the same outcome

A love in all of us/ I see it in every guided foot step to the bathroom/ in every new set of eyes that breaches the doorway/ I hear it in the Questions that echo back/ are you okay?/ how is she?

A fighter/ a lover/
a survivor/ a family/
Her/ in all of us

Caring/ smiling/ stubborn/ laughing/ joking/ worrying/ attending/ crying/ praying/ but most of all/ still living/  in all of us.

I found
the
meaning of
Love.

I found the meaning of Family.

I keep your name buried in my vocal chords.
Afraid that with one soft vibration
All my confessions will come spilling out.

Your eyes close like a sunset.

I built a moat inside of my rib cage
So when you say that you will love me come hell or high water,
I pray that you are serious.

You sprawl across the floor spreading your limbs as far as possible
Simply to make yourself feel important.

If I had a nickel for every time that I thought of you, I would be five cents richer.
For you are nothing but a single, continuous thought
that weaves its way throughout my hours.

I leave Scrabble pieces everywhere I go
Spelling out my confusion with a handful of consonants.

Stripping off clothing and anticipation,
We go streaking through the city streets.

I take off my shoes and feel the gravel dig into my heels

You glance down and my ******* peak your interest.

A girl with priorities, I take a vow of silence.
Inhale. Exhale.
Gasping. Breathing.

I choke on our misunderstandings

I swallow your name.

What colour are your eyes?

The questioned, breathes in, shakes his head and sighs

Sir, they’re not disguised,

after all they are my eyes,

and I make no attempt to keep them closed but open like the skies.

The things I say to you, well, they aren’t ******* lies,

and your own stupidity is what will be your demise.

the questioner looks puzzled, sudoku plastered across his face

Oh sir! You look confused!

Well In that case,

To figure out the colour, just look at one place,

A place full of grace,

So sit back and brace,

Just look into my eyes you ******* idiot.

The questioner looks offended, face throbbing bright pink

Sir, I think you might need a drink.

No water? Then your eyeballs might shrink!

Here’s your drink! Clink!

If you can’t tell a persons eye colour, by using your own eyes, then sir that must really stink,

That’s actually kind of ironic don’t you think?

The questioner looks baffled, his confusion slowly on the rise

You look so confused, I think your retina could be fried!

Has he died?

I mean he’s just sitting there,

the questioner sits back and cries

Like a group of the alphabet tried to tell him the Beatles were back,

The questioned couldn’t believe his i’s

the questioned looked puzzled, embarrassed and baffled

Puzzled like scrabble

Embarrassed like he’d been tackled

Baffled like Seattle (so baffled, even his rhyming didn’t make any sense)

Green

The questioner looks up with a smile

I’m sorry, it’s been a while,

I’m not used to dating old style,

So far, it’s not been worthwhile, and I didn’t mean to be hostile but my lifestyle has been freestyle and like a pile of bile it’s been vile.

Now I know I can be a task, but sir why did you ask?

the questioner looks into the eyes of the questioned, at that moment all thoughts and feelings have been beckoned

They hold a persons secrets,

Wether or not we’re destined,

More powerful than a thousand questions,

And yours are perfection.

the questioned blushes, leans forward with intrigue, glowing like sunrise

So tell me sir, what colour are your eyes?

The Darkness bares it's blackened teeth
consuming me
swollowimg me whole
into the belly of the beast,
naked truths
skinny dip within the stagnant
waters of my tears
laughing in inaudible silence
mocking me.
My fingers scrabble in the mildew of my existence
disturbing memories
from long forgotten shelves,
flesh thinly bound their broken spines
a voice says open me for I am hope
as I Pandoras surragate ******* child comply.
For here in the absence of light
is truth
leather bound...
held close to my breast my heart
a symbolic shield,
this promise could be anything from pornogrophy to poetry
but yet tonight
pulling the covers tight
it is my Bible
for yea though I walk in the valley of death
I will fear no evil, for thou art my rod and staff, thou comfort me...

as I Regain the paradise Milton once lost
when his eyes too blinded
saw the beauty of the Lord.

Although I hate how wrong this ridiculous sense of common we have for everything is,
Sometimes I just wish we were these two ignorant people
That think the world is wrong but we can't change it
And work hard just to buy a bigger TV

Sometimes I just wish we could live a mediocre life together
And never mind to all the things that happens around
Since our favorite show is reprising saturday night

I wish we could fight every day to decide who's going to supermarket
And what color should be our new car
And fight over and over again about if we should buy a dog or not
And stay up late playing scrabble with our boring married friends

Sometimes I just wish we were these two empty consumerist people
That complain about everything and fight everyday about nothing
But are so so happy
*Together.

I am the void left by hope.
I am the frantic scrabble,
the gasp f­or a mirage.
I am the empty box,
the joke with no punchline.
I am the end of the road.
 
I am the face you thoug­ht you knew,
the parcel for someone else.
the missing last page.
­I am the second, 
after the second,
that you knew it was over.   ­

I am the coup leader 
shot at dawn
I am redundancy
bankruptcy, ­lonely
I am the king
with blood on my arms
From the nails
 
I am ­the logo on the trainers 
on the heels 
of the one in front 
I am­ the vibrating molecules
Of the sound
Of the door closing
I am th­e dawning realisation
That you are not
as good as you thought you­ were.

I am disappointment.

I am the sun reflected
The gleam of­ polished brass
I am the lace of frost on leaves
I am the newborn­ laugh
The vibrant flowerbed
I am the happy child 
chasing the ra­inbow
of a bubble on the breeze

I am more than the sum
of the ga­ps between dreams
I am the strength
In the arms
That hold you
I a­m the other side
where mysteries are plain

I am the miracle 
the­ rank outsider,
the last to be picked,
who scored the winner,
I a­m fresh hope.
I am unwavering joy.
I am the rock.
 
I am.

And I ­choose you.

I like lying in the bath,
don't think I'll wash myself yet,
I like lying in it
think I'll think for a little while
and shut my eyes for a bit
mmm,
that's nice
where's my bath pillow?
doesn't matter,
just don't fall asleep again
one of these times
your probably going to
die
just look at the bubbles
the pretty bubbles James
look how nice
not as nice as the feeling of sleeping though
open your eye's James! open your eyes!
I can't help it this feelings too nice.

the bubbles in my bath shatter
and sink beneath me now shards of glass
of green,
and as I try to run the blades of grass cut my feet wide open
pouring my blood
until they are all rusty coloured
and they squeak like old mattress springs
  their delicate towers pushed by the wind
why are you chasing me? I cried,
It doesn't matter
the bath turning into a water slide
sending me down the plug hole
deeper inside

plunged into an abyssful ocean
body sinking down
wrapped up in it's blanket of blissful motion
warmth fades as I reach the place
where the light can not cut through
and blackness in my eyelids where once there was blue
I feel smooth ice slide against my knees
and soon my whole body  slides against it,
deeper and further down
I didn't need breath until I thought of it,
now I'm drowning!
Frantic scrabble slippy sliding
against the ice it's whiteness
stolen from the sky
need to break through
somehow
or I'm going to die
My attempts to climb take me nowhere
I beat my hands against the ice
let me in,
let me in to where there is the warmth of light
and breath to be breathed,
A slight crack,
A satisfying sound
As my fist tries to pound against the ice,
softened blows as they try to cut through the water
another crack
desperation pumps the blood to fuel my fists
as my chances of breath become
shorter and shorter
A break through
plunged down a waterfall
to rest in a still pool
greens and browns and bright colours of a distorted
jungle as I try to make my gaze to see through the silken water
It's softness calms me,
sinking once again
until my struggle turns into a jelly
I can step out of and see my reflection of myself in it
and bright green tree's with the fruits of tangerine coloured
photograph smiles,
making laughing noises
as I bounce my way across the pool,
and before they reach ripeness
My bounces turning into realisation of flight
before their camera flashes go off
and I am blinded,
  and now they look like twinkles
in a lonely oasis
I can see the whole desert from here,
and this is amazing,
I like flying
I can escape everything,
as I go higher
I reach cold clouds
and before I can pass them
I'm shrouded in doubt
and feel myself being pulled
back down to the ground
and I try and jump again,
but it's not as good this time...
I can't bounce in the sand
The heat must mean death soon
large glass beads sweat from the sand dunes
and I become stuck to one and begin to roll
down it's surface
and what was shallow before
turns into a hill,
and then nothing but falling
down
and I wake up
and wonder what I was just dreaming about,
minds ideas inscribed on the wings of butterflies,
already fluttered away into the clouds.
and I realise I fell asleep again
and the waters cold
and I forgot a towel.

A game...
A game, a question...
With a question, a conversation...
A conversation, a mutual interest...
In a mutual interest, an intense passion...
In this intense passion a unforgettable love...

In this City built on bones and dread where the poor are chained and fed on scraps
someone taps upon the door.
'no room in here',
The banker boys with bankers toys play scrabble on the backs of notes  where promises are paid in shares and Monopoly squares the game away.

In the central ticket hall, we all stand tall to see the others and what they bought, where they sought to go, how much was laid upon the shill who pockets one half, in the till the rest.
At times, the best is nearly there, but nearly's not quite on the ball and so we cover London like a pall,
a flock of starlings screech,
no change at all in the City built of dead men and so it's off to bed then.

If tomorrow lights my torch, it might not, so in my pockets I have got a tinder box,
the pistol cocked, the sounds of ears within the wall, the City never sleeps, I call,
'Geronimo',
and let go my feeble grasp, let go with one long gasp and then there is,
the City in my soul, in the hole, interim,
the grim reaper another non-sleeper greets me with a smile.
'It's been a while', he says
I gaze longingly at the City
I no longer know.

Stormzy, more like bad lyrics
in a teacup, scream that your
street, but you brush of the
norm and drive around like
you better, than the bros that really
                      live and die on the street.

But you more receded than your
                hair line..

finking you know what the lyrics
you spill really mean.

But you faker than
          your forehead botoox
   that don't mean what you spill...

Like you lyrics..

                           That are like a bag
of scrabble spilt on the floor,
   disorganized sentences that
                                      mean nothing..

Making sentences that don't even flow,
         A desert flows smother than your


rhyme..

you faker than a Kardashian, but cheaper..

drunk woodland children, we
ask so many questions, we
firefly skin. the picnic table beneath
our lamps, our ouija board, our girlfriends
next to us warm and laughing.
stories:
we tell stories to scare eachother
before descending into our tents
on the outer darks.
sweet night nothings.
& everythings.

i’m consumed by dreams of you;
somehow running;
somehow ******* my way out of my own inevitable
death.

a lady bug wing half-yanked and humming.
wind scorpion.
mosquito
in the early morning buzz, and i roll over
to see your puffy little sleeping face ::: sunlight there.
limp beyond the tent and zipper.

we eat mayo sharp cheddar salami wheat sammies
& take acid.
everyone one else goes on a group nature-hike,
but i stay behind
hallucinating of my dead mother in those sequined clothes she used to wear.
::: we play scrabble and talk,
until she leaves.
like love.
like guitar strummed chords and many hydrations later –
my tribe returns,
with fish.

the girl i love.
you/she roll joints in your lap,
in my lap,
in a chair and i mirage
the faces of everyone through glass &
slosh; through campfire
& lemonade.

I mentioned before California is like cereal it is full of fruits nuts and flakes well add Larry to the list he
Found himself out in the yard in a lawn chair and the unthinkable happened he come to the conclusion
He was bored now that just won’t do not in Los Angeles so to solve the problem he dashed down to the
Army surplus store bought a bunch of weather balloons stopped along the way got a tank of helium
Brought them home filled and tied the balloons to the lawn chair then tied the rope to his jeep went in
Got his pellet pistol sat down in the chair so with figuring at release he would float up thirty feet one or
Two ways to get down use the pellet gun shoot a couple of balloons float easily to the ground or if not
That you’re just about even with the top of the house surly you can get the house underneath you to
Jump Off on the roof now Larry wasn’t mechanical so anything to do with engineering was out what was
Is that wonderful feeling of being up there so he pulled the rope there was a slight difference in the
Expected feet not thirty but he shot up and leveled off at sixteen thousand feet ever feel your rope
Might be missing some length well if the thought ever crossed his mind about the pellet gun idea two
Things he was certain about he wasn’t bored and he didn’t want to shoot any balloons deceleration the
Other Way was not an option so what’s a not to bright Californian to do well besides holding on for dear
Life and freezing you added yourself into nature mixed bag nothing left to do but let nature do her thing
So eight hours later he drifts into the Los Angeles airport corridor of all people you would meet a pilot
Trying to land three hundred people calls the tower with this message I passed a man setting in a lawn
Chair with weather balloons and by the way he is at sixteen thousand feet and he has a gun to scrabble
F-16 would be too much even for California so good news for Larry they sent out just a Helicopter and
Brought the lame duck back to safety just another day in the state it’s hard to be surprised in but some
Still succeed

Sun swollen
reddening as it sank
that brutal ****** disc
scored by church steeples
and chimney stacks
almost lost in the drifting haze
of sulphurous yellow
and char-black smoke.

Duck boards dip
into the sodden earth
as men ***** along in conga lines
holding tight the pack of the man
in front, lest they should slip
lose quick their footing
be ****** down and smothered
by mud.

The walls of the tunnels
are packed earth
rich with blood and bone
bits and pieces of human
anatomy dangle and hang
as if posed by an artist
with a strange and cruel eye
for detail.

The scrabble for fox holes
and rough scraped ditches,
anywhere, below the line of fire.
The ting and ****-bang
of a night of action
The whistle, the dash
and the forward push
counted more in men
than metres.                                                                

© M.L.Emmett

For all of my younger life
I thought when I grew up I’d be a wife
But since when I met you
About this, I’ve thought twice
And I’ve wondered if it need be
Need I marry so eagerly?
Because right now
You are my company
And you’ll do for me
So I’m not so sure now
If I’ll need a wedding gown
Or for my Dad to walk me down
The aisle so soon
At this moment in time
Whilst you have been mine
It seems you’re all I need
More love would be greed
Yes, ******* our bond does lack
But we know we have each other’s backs
And trust is a key thing
My lifelong partner needs to bring
Other traits that you’ve got
Prove you have the lot
You’re a passionate cook
Generosity is your look
You bring with you fun
Share a love for the sun
You love a good dance
You’ll give anyone a chance
You entertain with your bands
You’re a helping hand
You see whilst you’re looking
You hear whilst you’re listening
And your singing is glistening
You do all these things just naturally
It seems you understand me
Which is why what we have works
And it will for eternity

So long as we don’t have to play scrabble in our retirement

Many a times I find my mind is static just at best,
my lungs are damaged, and I'm empty in my chest.
The days are lagging, painfully dragging, the time is ticking slow,
then looking at the calendar, I wonder where did this month go?

Nothing to gain but buckets of rain,
and a ton of empty air,
and you could feign to feel some pain,
but the in the end, no one would care.

You're feeling right when you fight,
and you dabble in defense,
and last night you were playing scrabble
but every word lacked sense.
You coat your spleen in nicotine and claim to live just fine,
but you're getting thin, lacking every vitamin,
"you really should get more sunshine."

Nothing to gain but buckets of rain,
and some grass that could be more green,
and you could claim that you're still sane,
but no one knows what that word means.

Many of strangers bring on danger, but most will treat you well,
and with the heat coming from the street,
you'd think I'd be on my way to Hell.
The one you love most is now a ghost,
and you're overcome with dread,
and it's not a faze, we really do praise,
the ones that are now dead.

Nothing to gain but buckets of rain,
and some thoughts that were never there,
and you could feign to feel some pain,
but in the end, no one would care.

Scrabble was more fun to play
When we both used the same board,  
Long distance rules we now use,
As it's all we can afford.

Playing Scrabble was more fun,    
When you used to live near Grand;
We could snack during the game,               
And we took care of one hand.

Playing Scrabble using phones,
Is twisting the Scrabble rules;
But since we are far away,
Telephones are needed tools.

When we're playing phone Scrabble,
Face up letters need to be;                    
Where they're in Scrabble box lids,      
To make them easy to see.        

Two letter racks we both use,
Two by you and two by me;
During the game if tempted,
They help us play honestly.

Mary Anne, my Scrabble friend,
With words you're fascinated
You've sculptured  many poems,
So craftily created.

I like the way you keep score,            
You keep track of it so well;
You make playing Scrabble fun
I thought  this you I should tell.

Mary Anne,, Do you have time,
For some phone Scrabble  with me?
When you've time for phone Scrabble,
Let me know when it can be.

Need adventure Helicopter not included
I mentioned before California is like cereal it is full of fruits nuts and flakes well add Larry to the list he
Found himself out in the yard in a lawn chair and the unthinkable happened he come to the conclusion
He was bored now that just won’t do not in Los Angeles so to solve the problem he dashed down to the
Army surplus store bought a bunch of weather balloons stopped along the way got a tank of helium
Brought them home filled and tied the balloons to the lawn chair then tied the rope to his jeep went in
Got his pellet pistol sat down in the chair so with figuring at release he would float up thirty feet one or
Two ways to get down use the pellet gun shoot a couple of balloons float easily to the ground or if not
That you’re just about even with the top of the house surly you can get the house underneath you to
Jump Off on the roof now Larry wasn’t mechanical so anything to do with engineering was out what was
Is that wonderful feeling of being up there so he pulled the rope there was a slight difference in the
Expected feet not thirty but he shot up and leveled off at sixteen thousand feet ever feel your rope
Might be missing some length well if the thought ever crossed his mind about the pellet gun idea two
Things he was certain about he wasn’t bored and he didn’t want to shoot any balloons deceleration the
Other Way was not an option so what’s a not to bright Californian to do well besides holding on for dear
Life and freezing you added yourself into nature mixed bag nothing left to do but let nature do her thing
So eight hours later he drifts into the Los Angeles airport corridor of all people you would meet a pilot
Trying to land three hundred people calls the tower with this message I passed a man setting in a lawn
Chair with weather balloons and by the way he is at sixteen thousand feet and he has a gun to scrabble
F-16 would be too much even for California so good news for Larry they sent out just a Helicopter and
Brought the lame duck back to safety just another day in the state it’s hard to be surprised in but some
Still succeed

My brain and my mind are a vendetta
truly my Achilles heel
they lash at my soul fiercely
to take refuge is only to kneel
my cries for help are coarse
a slew of inevitable babbles
for the Armageddon loathes help
turning speech and thought into mindless scrabble
my consciousness was exiled from my brain
to my mind it was abandoned
for the benefactor manipulates with perfection
its victims never at random
if i don't repossess them soon
I'm bound to end up in a bedlam
squawking the misfortunes of my odyssey
I'm a poor helpless ***

My heart’s pumping,
My brain’s starting gun has fired,
Watching Stephen Hawking on TV
Has made me feel inspired.

He’s working out the laws of the Universe,
The mysteries of creation to unravel,
I still haven’t fully grasped the rules
Of either Monopoly or Scrabble.

He agrees that the Universe is made from string,
As the Super String Theory suggests,
Whilst I thought string was only good
For making fishing nets and vests.

He’s trying to work out what happened
Fourteen billion years in the cosmological past,
I can’t even work out what happened to myself,
The Friday before last.

He’s mathematically calculating what happens
On the edge of a Black Hole,
I’m mathematically struggling with additions,
And my seven times table.

Despite my lack of brain power, I’m inspired
To challenge Stephen Hawking’s theoretical Big Bang,
Surely if the Universe is made of Super String,
It would have been more of a Big Twang?