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E. M. L.

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  • Art Copyright Jimmy Ruska


    Mood: Thinking...

    Posted on 2019-02-10 12:27:42

       How much change does it take
    before you can say

    I was another person in another life,

    I have lived two lifetimes in one:
    the one before
    and the one after

    How far must we run
    before we come back to where we started?



    Mood: The Usual

    Posted on 2012-06-20 14:29:20

       I am nothing to no-one.
    OK, yes, I am someone.

    You make it look easy.
    You have your life, a written script.
    You drive to work in your car.
    To me each moment is separate, unsure.
    To me the sky is a map; the stars
    Given up to us by the unseen, the unknown, the unknowable.

    You say you want to know me.
    You say you understand.
    But there are kingdoms in ancient glyphs, disappeared realms
    Beneath the hollows of my eyes.


    Untitled Entry

    Mood: The Usual

    Posted on 2012-02-25 15:40:32

       Hello everyone :)

    I was really overwhelmed when I opened my page the other day and found I had been missed. Thank-you so much for the generous response and support.

    I will only say for now I am taking a bit of a hiatus from writing, but that I will be back.

    I am also working on a blog where I will be posting poetry, art, music, and other things I find interesting. It's really terrible and needs work, but here it is:

    maybe I'll see you there.




    Mood: Tired

    Posted on 2011-11-15 22:58:24

    By Jack Gilbert

    How astonishing it is that language can almost mean,
    and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say,
    God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words
    get it all wrong. We say bread and it means according
    to which nation. French has no word for home,
    and we have no word for strict pleasure. A people
    in northern India is dying out because their ancient
    tongue has no words for endearment. I dream of lost
    vocabularies that might express some of what
    we no longer can. Maybe the Etruscan texts would
    finally explain why the couples on their tombs
    are smiling. And maybe not. When the thousands
    of mysterious Sumerian tablets were translated,
    they seemed to be business records. But what if they
    are poems or psalms? My joy is the same as twelve
    Ethiopian goats standing silent in the morning light.
    O Lord, thou art slabs of salt and ingots of copper,
    as grand as ripe barley lithe under the wind's labor.
    Her breasts are six white oxen loaded with bolts
    of long-fibered Egyptian cotton. My love is a hundred
    pitchers of honey. Shiploads of thuya are what
    my body wants to say to your body. Giraffes are this
    desire in the dark. Perhaps the spiral Minoan script
    is not laguage but a map. What we feel most has
    no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses, and birds.


    At Midnight

    Mood: Brain Fried

    Posted on 2011-11-15 00:21:55

       I am the fodder from the sieve
    that shook me out some time ago
    onto this cold land.

    It's easy to forget I'm human like
    the rest
    that I live and breathe and must keep
    this body alive.

    It's simple enough to dismiss the fact
    that I live in a city,
    have an address,
    and things I need to do tomorrow.

    Such is my frustration, the culmination of
    this bitter game I don't want to play any-

    I'm on a scavenger hunt for pieces of myself.


    Here, Now

    Mood: The Usual

    Posted on 2011-11-12 17:10:44

       I could be so many places, but I am here,


    Because You

    Mood: Stressed

    Posted on 2011-11-08 14:34:36

       Believe in Nothing...

    It is all withering.
    I stop to pluck a penny from the floor, and even this
    has meaning.
    You are in my thoughts & I wonder
    How do you go on breathing?

    Rain collects in shallow pools on the sidewalk;
    A sparse, gentle pattering before the downpour.
    I try to fuse myself to this earthy water-scent,
    become first the mist and then the rain.
    If you could only breathe me in.

    Do you see it all in black and white?
    Where do you find beauty?
    To what do you ascribe your inner longings, where
    the source?

    As you sit across the room, I know
    you disdain me: the looking-for-meaning-in
    everything, the weak God-Searching,
    The ineffectual, unconventional-impractical
    melancholy I wear like yesterday's sweater,
    the tears, the everything
    is gray until proved
    otherwise, the weight
    I carry on my shoulders.


    Bleak Sky,

    Mood: Curiously Numb

    Posted on 2011-11-01 12:32:01

       A bleak sky stares, as
    A single snowflake makes its virgin voyage to the shivering street.
    Its erratic motion captures my attention:
    I have been caught in similar states of falling,
    When landing seems a misery and descent is much too quick.


    Of Light

    Mood: Somnolent

    Posted on 2011-09-17 01:09:37

       These points of light swim past
    a thousand moons
    beneath this place, they travel to
    some distant place behind my eyes.

    There is an ah, an oh, and then
    the world begins to turn again.


    First Frost

    Mood: Waking Up

    Posted on 2011-09-14 08:41:01

       7:18 a.m.

    The first yellow leaf floats languorously
    to its resplendent bed.
    A pale, lustrous shaft from low in the sky
    enfolds the prismatic wonder
    of each blade of grass.

    Now the apples will be sweet.