Emma Green's Page

sitting .. blanket wrapped
studying the stars ..
confetti silver
about celestial church ..
descant humming to
breeze blown carols
accompanied softly by
angel harp ripples.

sitting .. blanket wrapped
eyes closed dreaming ..
dawn walls dancing
across my heart ..
passive pause seeing
unspoken thought
between man, beast ..
masterpiece painted.

sitting .. blanket wrapped
empty, wondering if
morning thoughts are sweet ..
wondering if
time stands till forever ..
allowing space
to fly oceans
words to… Continue

Bird in the ready hand, better than two in the bush ..
Who said that, who? Who pre-empted hope,
Why erase the thought of in-frugal exploration,
Who erased that dange-dipped dream of anticipation?

Don’t cross your bridges before you decide to veer
Into a world of blind terror-leading blind;
Sally-Ann Forth, take fractious bull by horns ..
Excitement builds as yet tomorrow dawns.

Sweet smell of success slips into the vale of do or die,
Incest-incites with callous brother Cain,
Turning its cheek,… Continue

Words are
tools of the mind:
they dance
their way about the head,
using their own steps
with flourishes,
turning this way,
that way ..
around ..
below
vision’s circumference,
sweeping the reader
into a world
along unknown
winding,
twisting paths,
glistening
with wonderment,
soft words stroking
the heart,
within seconds,
imagined ..
felt, from top to toe-tip.

Words are
the tools of the heart,
saying what ..
what another needs
to see, to feel
to hear ..
explore, stroke
the vellum skin
with slow,… Continue

The sky hangs it colour dripping in the reflection of the ocean
Which, in turn, ripples it blue towards a red-sun horizon ...
I see what my imagination needs me to see, standing on its head,
Directing dreams avoid philosophical treatise, logic’s conclusions!
May laughter veil their grey, straight faces and frowns,
May tears of joy wash away their antiquated attitudes,
Let them be young with me, be foolish with me, just for a while.
I want to dance with jugglers and sing with jesters!

Let me eat… Continue

I share love and sorrow at my stand.
have friends, have passers-by :
men who love ladies –
sometimes more than one at a time ..
they look at the flowers,
not the prices.. wanting to impress,
they point at yet another
show of ardour, then,
suggest by a shrug that
I forget their face!
Husbands with end of day greyness,
kept late at the office
once too often -
guilty ..
point at the roses,
stroke a petal or two
as they would their ladies’ skin,
look at their watches,
time thundering like the train,… Continue