Tag Archives: life

Digging in the wrong direction


I scratched and I clawed my way, several feet up

intuitive, survival instincts had quickly kicked in,

I punched my way through the tamped surface

a ghost of a chance, that I’d let the Devil win.

As I rose up to the surface en route towards the stars

I could feel the chill wind blow against my face,

I looked beside me as I detected a slim glimmer

a headstone reflecting the moonlight in my space.

My name delicately written in a standard Celtic font

my birthdate and yesterdays are joined by a dash,

every sense leaves me in the pulse of my heartbeat

as it feels that my presence turned to dust in a flash.

Too late for regrets, and denial is too long overdue

to die with great dignity and respect I cannot save,

I just have to lie with the realization that I,

have wasted my entire existence digging my grave.



© 2018 Joseph Emerson @


Posted by on March 21, 2018 in poetry, Uncategorized, writing


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You can’t keep it down


You cannot just hurl your problems down river,

not like someone else will take claim to them.

You cannot just lock the vexation away in immure,

it’s just not viable to have, your shame condemned.

They will softly flow downstream nearing a waterfall,

it’ll seem like this verse has reached its denouement,

it’ll be free for a moments time before it crashes below

until its tumbled and pummeled in sadistic enslavement.

Even after all the torture, it has submissively endured,

the inevitable motion makes the effort seem worthless,

as there is no use in fighting the mighty force of buoyancy,

behind the cowardice, you can’t hide, as it comes to the surface.



© 2018 Joseph Emerson @


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The Impending Pendulum​

This evening’s sunlight finally subsides

candlelight cast eerie shadows onto the wall

a moons rise and decline, inspiring the tides

seems much faster, as if we were nearing fall.

Feeling nocturnal in these darkest of hours

a trancing grandfather clock, so rhythmic

with mysticism, I dwell possessing powers

to hex the wooden statue to miss a tic.

If I can stutter time that forges the future

similar to an arrhythmia of the heart

if possible I’d dread being denominated as “Ruler”

my key crux lies in not knowing where to start.

It’s just not tangible to be a sorcerous king

I think I’d prefer all to have reason and order

no being, has the right to control a pendulum’s swing

such a debacle would spawn, consequential disorder.

A system of reckoning will come and go as planned

as we are all trapped in the crashing waves of time

No way can I pause it with just a wave of the hand

I’ll just try to do the most, with the little bit that’s mine.


© 2018 Joseph Emerson @


Posted by on March 10, 2018 in poetry, Uncategorized, writing


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Where all the extra thoughts go

I observe all things around me

I analyze and write what I see,

extra trimmings which remain unwritten

freely spill over into a dream.

They all seem to come together

to create something shockingly new,

My mind never achieves conception

of what is made up and what is true.

In this world I’ve come to know

often the only one I can honestly trust,

takes the leftover thoughts of my day

and transforms them into lust.

This is where I can truly be me

no pressure of love and fear,

for the second my eyes do open

the evidence will disappear.

The sadness will come when I awake

when I realize for now it is gone,

I just need to try and remind myself

awaiting tonights advent won’t be long…


© 2018 Joseph Emerson @




Posted by on January 20, 2018 in My day, poetry, writing


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Keyboard Tough Guys

Foolish simple men acting fearless behind their keyboards,

spewing hate from their guts towards anyone they can.

Displaying their intellect using an array of four letter words,

might as well have a bio pic wearing the hood of the Klan.


Their anger inside leaks out profusely as they assault,

silly and pathetic, and really makes you think.

That somehow, in some way, it is not quite their fault,

compensating for where they come up short… wink, wink.


…… I have to admit, I let someones words get to me today.  For no real rational reason I was physically threatened by someone here on WordPress.  I commented on a post thinking I was being supportive as I often do… as we all do, and all I can honestly think is he may have taken it the wrong way? (but I really can’t see how)      I now feel sorry that people need to act like that to prove something.  I will honestly admit that there was a long stretch in my life where I was that man (boy).  So I also feel that I can say from experience that, it is a major insecurity issue mixed with immaturity.  I hope nobody has to deal with this guy as he is every bit of the word, nasty ( to say the least)  I felt that this website was a great place for sharing and for artistic expression that truly doesn’t have a place for that behavior.  I’m just trying to keep my chin up and push through and hope that it was just a fluke situation that I can put it in the past.  I am more upset that I let it drag me down for most of my day.  In a sense he won.   I hope nobody here, ever lets someones words hurt you or puts a hiccup in your inspiration to create.   Take care and happy writing.



© 2017 Joseph Emerson



Posted by on December 9, 2017 in My day, poetry, writing


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Raise up your glass


Photo courtesy: Google Images

If you may listen to my words, as we raise up our glass,

’cause this time that we share, will surely pass.

Be cognizant of the times, whether they’re good or bad,

but don’t dwell on times, that you wish you had.

Don’t hang on to past love, for it wasn’t as it seemed,

just as foolishly useless, as falling asleep in a dream.

You won’t experience joy, when you’re stuck in your head,

like a beautiful dancer, who never left her bed.

Get out and live, never hold back on, and never flee,

from the life that you dream of, let go and just be…



© 2017 Joseph Emerson



Posted by on December 8, 2017 in Inspiration, love, poetry


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Fear and depression inhumanely barge in,

divulging their distaste for order.

Tearing down the heavy clad walls,

for they’re captivated by no boarder.


The feeble wailing cries are heard aloud,

as the shaky Warden begs and pleas.

His guards once notably stouthearted men,

 foolishly grovel down to their knees.



© 2017 Joseph Emerson



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Posted by on December 7, 2017 in Mental Health, poetry, writing


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