Curved bowls long erased
carry the dust of roses
too fragile to remember
their sordid past
Nestled in a heap
dry as time evaporates
from lack of care
a monument of sorts
Recalling high school dances
faded photos of happy brides
birthday parties and cakes
an oak casket size small
Each flower breathes no more
colors faded from the original
attempt at beauty until passion
renews in one, sweet scent.
–Victoria Emmons, Copyright 2015
Dawn foretells reason and points life
into the unknown. Fantasy is easy in
the darkness when the exuberance of
friends who may not be friends
overtakes my soul, rides along a rail of desire,
hope and pleasure if only for a moment.
Hide the truth from no one but myself since hiding
offers temporary relief. How do I live with constant
grief and still live to see the new morning?
Stay silent in my loneliness so that
peace surrounds me and everyone is calm.
–Victoria Emmons, Copyright 2015
Red is the color
of her nails
as she taps
the countertop at
Coffee, Tea & Me
Green is the color
of her envy
as she waits
watching the pair
kiss and smile sweetly
Black is the color
of her heart
as it beats
a hollow cavern
no more void of pride
Brown is the color
of her latte
as it steams
slathered in cream
wanting to be sipped
Pink is the color
of her palm
as it slaps
squarely upon his
happy bearded face
White is the color
of his fear
as it tells
his indiscretion
on Valentine’s Day
–Victoria Emmons, copyright 2015
A gift of mud
From a dear friend
Turns my head
In a new direction
Not just any mud,
Of course, since
This mud traveled
Long distances
Through customs
Weighting down an
Already heavy suitcase
Of trinkets and souvenirs
This mud revered
By millions over time
Anecdote for pain
Soothing an ache or two
And now mine
To ease the hurt
Of an aging body
And cloudy mind
The mud draws me
Closer again
Pulls me toward
The clear water
Falls tumble
Over the edge
Like so many
Nights I remember
The sound of the flow
As it eased his pain
Warmth the only remedy
For his affliction
All these years
I could not go
Near the water
Or the memories
Of that huge tub
Filled with pain
And agony
Loneliness and sorrow
At night I hear
The faucet running still
As it was those dark
And deadly nights
Awakening me with
The reality of a cancer
Poisoning life as
We once knew it
The mud equals
Renewal and healing
Fifteen to twenty minutes
Is all it promises
Skin renewed, soft
Gentle kindness
Rinsed away in
Warm waters
I can do this
My aging flesh
Will accept the hot
Pool beneath me
No longer must I hide
From the bathtub of death
When life beckons
Me to play
Ironic somehow
The birth of
This renewal mud
The Dead Sea
—Victoria Emmons © 2015
A very bumpy plane ride
Makes me rethink my priorities
It happened once before
An hour out of Houston
Fire in the cargo hold
The pilot told us
Life flashed before my eyes
Nothing I could do
Except be grateful
My kid was not there
If life is to end on an airplane
It should be romantic
Shouldn’t it?
Or at least over Bermuda
But Odessa, Texas?
Not too sexy, I think
Nothing to be done
Except imagine
What novels be written
Or poems to create
Were I to live
What shall life entail?
The skies are full of danger
Bumps and grinds galore
I feel the end is nearing
And what have I to show?
Hurry up now, dearie,
For your time is short
The bumps are even stronger
And the sounds very coarse
Clouds do not obey
Their master or even pretend
Every glass defies its space
Upon my dinner tray
All I can do is think of you
And how we are no more
This flight has me in ecstasy
Of purpose going forth
For I am free of thee
Free of me
My life is holding court
Judging all that is
As bumps and grinds
Take me onward
This plane in control
And I am not
My mind expands
And as we land
I am down to Earth
Once again
A normal being
Life without trauma
Life just another
Bumpy plane ride
—Victoria Emmons © 2015
Found in more than a thousand places
Hope takes on so many faces.
Will I pass my science test?
Does my father think I’m best?
Will this baby stay alive to
Live nine months and always thrive?
Will the judge be kind to me
Even I when I try to flee?
Will this flower bloom in red
Or only bloom inside my head?
Will I find sweet Allie dog
Lost today amidst the fog?
Will I finish this long race
And, win or lose, accept my place?
Will my love be always there
Even when I need his care?
Will Mom live another day
To smile with me, to laugh and play?
I hope for this, I hope for that
I hope I look good in this new hat.
Hope takes on another face
Hope I keep up this grueling pace.
—Victoria Emmons © 2015
Sweaters too large conceal self-control
About to deteriorate into a pool of blood
Razor sharp threats pierce the softness
Barking orders to run and hide away
Run and hide away while you watch
From a distance, your height in charge
Of keeping calm and stone-faced despite
A crumbling world of madmen and goons
Madmen and goons shake the very core
Of what is goodness, charity, love, hope
As flagrant lies begin to believe themselves
Cherish false words, worship a dead horse
Worship a dead horse to make a fake point
About being serious enough to die together
End everything and everyone before it’s time
Because your life and mine is nothing but rhyme
—Victoria Emmons © 2015
La Vue de rue Sleidan 