a lonesome climb

a dark dream tip-toes a winding path with morbid mood

between 

progressive equations - walks along a steep barranca  or  

more so an excess

of  wild hippy hedgerow silvered by moonlig webs

attemtpting catch or can

a bay with cliffs, gossamer green scented by Spanish sugar,

bundled balloons,

fresh fish shimmering, hands fluttering, gulls 

shrieking chish and fips,

waves tickling palms, childrens' toes, moated sand

castles built by would-be  builders 

a chapel, ancient with dusty echoes of a barn owl's prayers,

far night distant 

from the coastline, back from an argument of all 

about wood and moor,

bladderack strewn sands - well known to passing demons 

prayerless with tantrums..

a house with a door with crumbling paint,  corroding postbox deserted by postie passed his prime, 

unfit for a future,  stamped and void of warmth, covers folded,

sans a lick or kiss,  tearfully alone

as feral cats wander around trees sprawling winds past

their  best, near lifeless..

a half waking memory of endless passion, fragile breath

gasping, hands tied, thighs apart: 

time spent in half hitches sans guilt, brows raised along with whatever  - 

seems appropriate as fingers dance, smile whispers as if guilty

of one adventuring, other analytical 

a snug sit on floor, listening to mood music, fingers stroking palms as cat curls a lonesome of love, 

a fuss of relief around.. lips, tongues, tinted with rich red

wine robust in vintage urgency

picked in the heat of early morning by sought awareness

but not read until time has peaked

lips ajar, a silken white scarf in hand drips its spirit slowly,

softly laughing neither 

guilt nor preference alter the object in either  mind,

oblivion sought what is, 

anything solvent, anything perfect, anythind welcome 

for for this tournament

will  innocence lose the game yet again.. patience diluted,

words made in mouthed directions

from an every day language, requested by a wilderness

of minds wandering  after all

wonderomg  if -  after all, it prefers warmth rather than cool

cool ministrations - perhaps.. 

Reviews

[Efxaris Arampatzi]

I love this poem, Emma! The imagery you've created through words is so clear, and I felt like I was inside the dream. I love this part "a chapel, ancient with dusty echoes of a barn owl's prayers." It’s such a beautiful and powerful line. As always you have written a masterpiece!

[Dara]

You have created a beautiful scene, ripe for nostalgia and hints of moments of a special meeting of mind and body that forever remain tucked away in your box of memories. As always your words touch not only the senses but the hearts and minds of your readers. Simply stunning Emma!

[red93]

Fabulous Emma - so many fascinating aspects to this superb Piece of Work - you take yr Readers to some amazing places as ever. Exceptional ✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

[Vol]

Emma,
You remind me that I have removed myself from all that I have ever known. My closest family is over 1200 miles from here, at my age a three day drive. These desert surroundings bear no resemblance to my past lives. I miss the hedge rows of wild roses, the abandoned homes of pioneers on every road, caving in, Trysts in the woods, Oh MY! A bottle of Merlot, shared eye to eye, old enough to question why guilt always haunts, but has lost its power. And the innocent damsel meanders across my mind... out here in the middle of nowhere.
You know, the whole world needs what you havef to offer.
I just finished rereading this one, and it ran through my head like a movie scene... the camera pans a lonely beach long past the time when it was a popular retreat... The few who still visit are few, but their voices echo in the ruins... not unlike an of those past lives I've lived this time around... I have a need of salt water, waves, and liquid turquoise. As usual, your imagery blows through me like a wind...
Vol

[Poetic Beauty]

Oh those moments of finding a secluded spot in which two can discover each other in more intimate ways.

The scenery is vivid and clear in my mind as always you paint stunning imagery of waters cliffs and an house or building that has long since been a place able to live but its a location where prying eyes shall not discover those longing touches.

[emmajoygreen]

Thank you! You've found what I hoped might be found. Although, have I thought of its core as being oblivious of/to the outside world for what I want, need? Times when words run away with fingers. But your interpretation is how I think mine is. Sense?

[Poetic Beauty]

The truth is woven in the details

[Dave W.]

I love your writing, it takes me away from where ever I am, to the world you craft with wonderful prose, this was a joy to read, I was suddenly that lonesome climber, thank you as always for sharing.

[Lorry]

You do paint a picture with your words Emma. I especially like the vintage urgency of your grown up Ribena and the way your words meander perfectly, just like the meander paths of life, except this meander path is a lot more vertical than the usual horizontal ones we usually pass.
It tells of struggle and danger, which after you have enjoyed the view, aren't wllquite over as you still have the descent to contend with.
Just make sure you don't trip over any of those pesky ologies on your descent. 😃
Beautifully captured.

[emmajoygreen]

Many thanks, Lorry. You always find generous things to say about my scribbles. Those -ologies are often used to bemuse-just sometimes they do!

[Lorry]

There sure are a lotofologies to trip over, ain't there?
😃