M.L. Emmett Poems

The scent of death
lingers for years
in a place
...

The gondola chains chink chink
with the rising tide
deep throated voices
echo and bounce
...

honouring Bruce Dawe and the war dead

Once a month they're bringing them home
they're picking up pieces, they can find
...

Emily will take her cedar box
of hidden poems
throwing them on a Sou' Westerly breeze
in a New England Spring —
...

He walks lopsided
shaking his head
agitated,
irritated,
...

The voice inside the head
of a frightened madman,
a so-called schizophrenic,
starts humming
...

Turner sun
blotched orange
fused
and slid
...

Poems go to work on public transport
and come home
with gritty realism
pressed in the tread of their shoes.
...

Poems are fingers of the past
catching memories that fall

Poems colour pure memory
...

Dark days don't need verbs
no doing, thinking action days
no being beyond the room, the bed
the dead edge of damage.
...