Tag Archives: writer

Cherish brevity. Covet not quixotic.


Our fists clenched, shaking ’em at the sky,

with a flood of irrational emotions, we cry.

Damn this existence of human life’s brevity,

We marvel the idea and covet longevity.

What would we do with an eternity, if we had it all?

We couldn’t enjoy memories, there’d be too many to recall.

Truth being, the only way you can appreciate life, or love anything,

is the notion that you can easily lose it, as it dangles from a string.

It’s just a fact that you long for more time only because it’s not infinite,

If you could say “I love you” for eternity, would you ever really say it?

It’s just the way it goes and there’s no way to stop the motion of science,

the stages are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and vital acceptance.

As we grieve the end of a loved one’s journey,

hopefully, you spent that time as you both had wished,

as you recall all the great times, that used to be,


if forever were possible, it may not have been so cherished.



© 2018 Joseph Emerson @


Posted by on March 18, 2018 in Family, love, poetry, Uncategorized, writing


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It’s okay to shut up


Why be, if you cannot just be?

why look, if you cannot see?

why bother, if you do not care?

keep your foot in your mouth,

if you want to be fair.

You do not always have to speak.

It is not a rule that you must engage.

If pretension of attention is what you seek,

then join a musical, if you desire a stage.

But you can leave me the hell out of it.

As I didn’t ask to be the butt of your joke.

You could probably remove the foot now,

although I’d love to see you choke.



© 2018 Joseph Emerson @


Posted by on March 17, 2018 in Uncategorized, My day, writing, poetry


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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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