Poem: Love Lies Bleeding

 This is a re-write attempt of one of the 165 "Lost Poems," the ones I lost completely, both copies of each, along with copies of all but a couple of the 400-500 poems I've written.  That happened when I moved to North Carolina in 2008.  I'm not completely satisfied with the end of this poem, but in light of the craziness in our society these days, I decided I need to put this out there.  Maybe it will help someone a bit...

Love Lies Bleeding

In this time of division and strife

I sensed there must be something more to life

I walked out the front door, into the evening chill

No destination in mind, I ambled down the hill

The night was quiet, a welcome reprieve

I turned the corner, no intentions to leave

I soon found myself at the railroad tracks 

That divided my town, I thought to turn back

The tracks, I'd been told, should never be crossed

On the other side was "Them," the souls that were lost

Then I saw a young woman, and she beckoned to me

"I'll take you across, it's time that you see."

Her clothes dark and baggy, somehow I felt safe

With a smile in the shadows, I took the hand of the waif

"You've come tonight, burdened by a problem

You want to find the line between Us and Them"

I knew she was right, though I didn't know why

My hand in hers, I could no longer lie

I heard They lived over there, just beyond those trees

My mystery woman said, "Let's go and see"

 There were people alright, backyard, lots of food

They welcomed us in, quite friendly, not rude

After the meal, much laughter and talk

I asked where They lived, to continue our walk

Our host answered me, as she cut the peach pie

"They live in the next town," I knew she wouldn't lie

And that's how it went, with my companion and me

We kept finding Us, no Them did we see

We tried the next town, and then the next state

We made lots of friends, and ate plate after plate

Days turned to weeks, then months, then years

Traveling with my young friend, there was nothing to fear

After several years, there was no more need to roam

So we knew the time had come to go home

But things were much different by the old railroad tracks

Chain link and barbed wire, soldiers roaming in packs

My home was a war zone, a spotlight shown bright

"It's a couple of Them," cried a voice in the night

You don't understand, I tried to explain

I live right up there, I'm coming home again

I saw a bright flash, heard a rifle crack

My companion sagged, and reached for my back

I dropped to my knees, I saw blood on her coat

Her breathing got raspy, a lump formed in my throat

She reached for my chin, hands soft as a dove

"You were always safe with me..you see

My name is Love."

-The White Bear

I want to give big thanks to L.B. the Poet, and Reece Johnson, and the scene Rachel White pulled together at Designs, Vines, and Wines in Winston-Salem.  That got me writing poetry again.

The title from this poem comes from "This Thorny Rose," my favorite song by singer/songwriter Kerry Getz, out of Newport Beach California.  Check out her music, she's the most talented person I've ever met.

Poem- Life: What Will You Do?

Life: What Will You Do?

Chances are

You won't fossilize

Your skull will last a while

After your meat puppet dies

The flesh ain't you

It never was

The bones aren't either

They're just borrowed dust

You're a piece 

Of God's big bang

Not the cosmic one

That's another thing

The Great One splintered

Into billions of shards

One is your soul

That let down its guard

In a cosmic backwater

Near a minor star

You swooped down

Free will to explore

Among the creatures

You ducked and wove

Then, with a leap of faith

You dove

Two legged creatures

Scrambling 'round

Turned into humans

As we dove down

Splinter of light 

In human flesh

What will you do

While you're Earth's guest?

-The White Bear

Written early last June, directly from my head onto a big, freehand drawing of a skull colored with all kinds of colors.  I wrote this after getting into a lot of talks about Edgar Cayce's readings, the late "Sleeping Prophet," and the most documented psychic in history. 

 

Poem: Jezebel

Sunset over Palos Verdes, as seen from the north end of Bolsa Chica state beach, in Huntington Beach, California.  This poem is one I wrote about a punker girl I went out with for a little while, named Roberta, near the end of that relationship.  That was in 1989.  Another kind of sunset.  #steveemigphotos

Jezebel

The words that I want

Well they just aren't around

And I can't look into your eyes

And what we once felt

I don't see anymore

Like a ship when

The fog fills the sky

The moments they come

And the moments they go

But the right moment

Just won't come 'round

I can't go on feeling

Just how I do

But I can't risk 

leaving you down

You're all that I wanted 

Before I knew what I had

And without you

I'd never have known it

You captured what little love

I had inside

Even though I

May not have shown it

So here we are now

In the dark and the grey

Two row boats adrift

In the mist

Maybe our paths

They will cross once again

If not this world

Then in the next 

-The White Bear

 

Poem: AirFireEarthWater

A trail to be followed for those who find it.  Newport Beach Art Park, Newport Beach, California.  #steveemigphotos

AirFireEarthWater

A FEW there be 

That find the path

A FEW there be

That hear the call

A FEW there be

That wake up to

The mystery and wonder

Of it all

-The White Bear

 

Poems: "Play" and "Wondering" haiku

 My personal favorite of all the150+  #sharpiescribblestyle drawings I've done, "Tainted Love" featuring Harley Quinn and The Joker.  I had to sell this one cheap in Richmond, Virginia, to get a motel room, after a 7 night hospital stay because they gave me a drug I was allergic to by accident.  

Play

The world's a stage

Just grand in scale

Drama erupts

Through our travails

It's one great play

Go find your part

Some day you'll realize

The world is art

-The White Bear

"Wondering" haiku

In the grass I lie

Gazing at the blue heavens

I lie wondering

-Steve Emig (me) 

written at age 9

I wrote this for 4th grade when my family lived in a big farmhouse outside of Shiloh, Ohio.  We didn't work the farm, we just rented the house from the farmer who did, though we had to help herd the cows back into the pasture once in a while when they got out.  Since we moved nearly every year, I changed a word or two, and used this same haiku in English class nearly every year up into high school.