How I'm Doing This

There are several elements to my writing,
all of which I love.

First, there is my novel,
my magnum opus,
Wandrian.


Then there is poetry,
songwriting,
the lyrical magic of words,
my old and new passion.

After these

comes blogging,

sharing life.

with you,

my dear friends,

old and new.

Lastly

there are more academic

forms of writing

articles, essays, and

more professional pieces.

How to pursue

all of these?

Here is my plan.

Here, daily,

I shall share a poem.

And, weekly,

a picture of my life,

my home,

my heart,

also here.

Also weekly,

on Thoughts on Wandrian

I will share a piece

of that week's work

Sometimes

one may overlap into the other.

Sometimes,

thoughts shared on

Bless Bonny

may appear here

or poems written for here,

pop onto

Thoughts on Wandrian.

And yes, some of this will be in a form other than free verse, such as just plain prose.
You shall see.  I promise.

- Emma Pearl - 

I Decided To Wear A Skirt Today

I wore my olive colored blouse today.

I wore it with my mustard colored skirt.

I clothed my feet in sandals - brown and

black - wrapped my wrists in brassy, shining

bangles.  I shook out my hair, wrapped it up,

a nest of brown and gold behind my ears.

Smooth hoops of burnished brass adorned my ears.

A smile I could not do without today

adorned my face, supported and held up

my burgeoning heart.  Today I will skirt

my pain, step around it, bear a shining

countenance, and strong and starry eyes, and 

a mouth turned up at the corners, joy and

warm laughter from my throat, and at my ears.

I have decided to forget today.

My mouth is warm with words, the sun shining,

and soft round my waist falls my yellow skirt.

I shall spin and swirl, and sew my heart up,

step out my door and carry my feet up

the street, a girl young and beautiful and

fresh, my hands lifting and tossing my skirt

around me, shunning the wind in my ears

having decided to breathe free today,

to dress myself in hope, bright and shining.

Outside my door, the street is hot, shiny

with heat waves, quivering up and down, up

and down, heavy with quiet, near midday,

the hour of sandwiches and soup and 

tea served in glasses that mirror bright eyes,

eyes bent on hiding, attempting to skirt

the truth shaken by sun from the black skirts

of the night, sending blushes round our ears.

We only want to lock our memory up,

forget, for a day, the “things” of life and

greet the world awake, ready for this day.

So I shall wear my bright skirt, and lift up

my face, shining with this, in my heart and 

in my ears. “Nothing shall ruin today.”

- Emma Pearl - 

A Sestina written Spring 2012 at Stephen F. Austin State University

He Really Is Faithful

It happens.
It really does.
That pain, that old, old struggle,
the weakness and worry
that jars,
and jolts,
and refuses to stay away,
does go away.

It does,
when adulthood has crept
into your soul,
when your pressing forward
and pushing on
has changed you.

You discover,
talking over things,
that old fears,
maybe not present ones
but old ones
are gone,
forgotten,
vanished.

And you know,
then,
that all fears, all pain
will slide away,
as you keep pushing,
keep forcing,
keep praying
you know, then,
that peace will come

at long last.

Because He really is faithful.


- Emma Pearl -


Poem #2 in my - A Poem A Day -

Plum Tart

It was not hard.
I piled purple plums
clinging, wet, to each other,
glimmering with a ripe glimmer
and shiny with sugar.
I poured and pressed them,
into pastry rolled
thick and buttery.
I pulled the limpid dough
up
and over the rich red fruit,
then put it in the oven.
The hour fled by,
warmed by the gradual growing
of the deep scent,
the quivering aroma
of summer,
of childhood,
of goodness wrapped in piecrust,
a medieval sort of luxury,
a messy, gooey,
glimmering
goodness.

- Emma Pearl - 

The beginning of my summer endeavor - A Poem A Day

A New Beginning

To all my readers, 

new and old.

This is for you,

and for me

I am beginning again,

writing again,

because writing matters.

Words matter.

Stories and songs 

cling to the red

beating warmth of my heart.

Adulthood climbed up in my lap,

weighting me down,

crowding out my childhood.

I let go

for a while

of the things I loved,

but they still cling.

They pull at my bones,

tugging at the chords that tie my heart

to my soul.

For a little while
I had forgotten those dear old friends,
treasured books and companions
evenings spent in stillness.
But no more.
I am rising from heavy years,
remembering the goodness,
the sun and the earth,
the fearlessness
of childhood.

I shall write again,

every day,

and I shall share it

here with you.

-Emma Pearl-