Hunger

revolutions occur
when hearts are ripped
and hunger prevails
as we are continually
fed on platitudes and plates
diverted with cut flowers
placed in vases
on spectacular views

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 05/07/2010 3:11 pm est

Convection

rising out of restrictions
a restricted seed up-roots
breaking through
creeping out
climbing about
a leg up-lifted

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 05/06/2010 5:04 pm est

Recognition

woke up in sleepy sound
touched by smile
reminding me of laughter
unseen and unheard
felt through words

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell
written in the 9:00 am realm on 05/06/2010

Adjacent

gently restrained
mixing in a centrifuge
force binds strongly
in longing for the scent
of effervesce
expressed in forests
comforting and covering
a cellular celebration
in singular layers of leaves
where I breathe and sleep
softly seeded in sediment

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 05/05/2010 at 9:45 am

May Daze

in tall ship I ride, side by side
slaying all the monsters
winding through mazes
of bureaucratic bullshit

catching breath in fields of glory
individually we share a story
make love nakedly enjoying
each others outpouring

easily oppressed
hidden beneath niceties
of fancy hats and fountain pens
phony smiles a plenty

I sit and sail in artistic veil
expressing undercurrents
swirled with sensation
while others stand and sweat

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 05/02/2010 2:41 pm est

Tenderness

woven in soft strands
stitched and snuggled
socks and mittens
are intricately worn
unspun with devotion

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 5/1/2010 at 10:23 am

Lyrical Embrace

erased by history of ghosts
hiding behind infrastructure
and barbed wire fence
caress permeates fields
mist rises into folds of dawn
aroused by fingers that linger
textured on tip of tongue

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 04/29/2010 9:52 am est

Embedded

the nightmares only appear
when I wake from embrace
embedded in embodiment
I am gently lulled back

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 04/26 & 04/27 – completed at 4:39 am est

Vignettes

I don't paint masterpieces
I sketch dreams
as dreams sketch me
a seed planted in chaos
blooming in breath
neck upon neck

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 04/23/2010 at 7:39 pm est

Preeminence

without intensity of stress
on the verge of unrest
with pulse and blood
pumping in rhythm
walks turn into skips

children smile in unison
at caterpillars dressed in their finest
and grasshoppers singing silly songs
marching into colorful gardens
befit for a king

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 04/21/2010 in the late afternoon as the rain fell in perfection

Ligature

with each breath climbing behind shadows
among cobblestones of isolation
there is a lifting of pain and memories
where we ripen as fresh as the first day
and peel one another
with quickness and subtlety
resting against mind and matter
a fairy tale remains in touch


~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 04/20/2010 at 8:24 pm est

Morpheus Revisited

on a cold morning he came
surrendering a promise to keep
a delicate balance between
the life within and the life without

with soft words falling into pillows of delight
where dreams become the sustenance
of a posture to stand upright
and face the sun

bathing one carefully
kissing away all fears
and resistance to disorder

his being and his caress
are the tides of timelessness that roll in

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

Japanese Garden

butterflies flutter in circles
of incomprehensible stomach wings
they skip from stone to stone
with no tears shed
a gift from the unknown
lit by the brilliance of a lantern

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 04/18/2010 10:15 pm est

Concurrence

the whole universe fits into the palm of our hands
when the wind outside tosses about
and a window's mouth is nailed shut
there lies beauty
there lies sync
swimming in a sea of unsettlement

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 04/17/2010 5:29 pm est

Warmth

arrives unexpectedly tucked tightly
beneath a floral covered blanket
bringing back a huge picture window
threaded in a two room apartment
eating ice cream
momentarily freezing migraine and tummy ache
dreaming in a garden of earthly delight
on a warm spring night

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 04/15/2010 at 11:27 pm est

Sans

walked in twilight to take pictures
tripped over two purple tulips
so dark they rendered black
and there was no film to fit
in the palm of my small hand
took pictures, uncaptured

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 04/15/2010 8:09 pm est

Render

in coldness
the dormancy of decay
lies motionless
anxious to be picked
by warmth of fruition
wrapped in cloth
painted or sculpted
enlightened by touch

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 4/14/2010 at 10:34 pm est

Weeping

coiled around perfection
arms embrace an unattainable matter
materialized in the texture of tree bark

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 03/13/2010 at 2:51 pm est

Denmark

from the creator of sound to those who listen above
on or about the first to seventh floor
a young woman re-takes her final sponge bath alone
overlooking sky and playground
sedative in the soaking of a lifetime
all are pouring forth

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 03/11/2010 at 6:11 pm est

Camera Obscura

a transitive ache petrified in the poverty of a soul
pinned and pining by it's own pink translucent wings
the netting of nature in the necessity to procreate
a misconstrued ache abscessed in the pit of a stomach
nurtured by blue fantasy, a golden apple skips joyfully
nibbled stone to stone on a pleasant walk to the sea

~ Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 04/08/2010 6:35 pm est

Transitive

a blossom dreams
flowerless and fearless
refined and serene
speckled with occasional snores
graceful feet sticking out
the bottom of a sheet

a blossom dreams
flowerless and fearful
refined and diluted
speckled with tiny gray squares
waiting on transparent warmth
that has yet to arrive

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 04/07/2010 at 8:18 pm est
completed 04/07/2010 at 11:02 pm est

Dusk

I lay my head gently down upon the lap of the universe
receiving the nurturing of a lifetime under a cloudless ceiling
complacently resting with comprehension and connotation,
wordless and listening, caressed by hands of the unknown,
momentarily entering hearth and home, pre-existence and eternity.

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 04/06/2010 10:23 pm est

Reminiscence

threaded in pink shards of identical disposition
smearing blue and purple frosting about
dirt freshly stained upon glowing modesty
a lightness of being walks in unison
accumulating a buzzing sound scape
admiring the phenomenon of nothing

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 04/05/2010 11:29 pm est
photo of "my niece" taken the morning of 04/04/2010

Spring Equinox

a hex climbing on grandma's hammock, turned upside down, a lashing aground, an arm bruising and a twist of wrist

a crawl back up, eyes quickly fading in sunlight and shading, staring up skirts of newly budded trees

a rake standing stiff as if human would, sharp toothy grin, bird house screwed on chest and mailbox glued on torso

a soul that has eviscerated all insides, as eyelids finally close into lost existence and pleasant doze

a jump from purple flower to purple flower, tiny hand holding the other of an unknown lover, we dine and gaze

a worm shouting below in the distance of worm infested worlds, weaving from one dirt pile to another

a woodpecker tapping on deciduous tree, the woodpecker engulfs us, the worms surround us

a fire smoking ribs with frothy beer, children exchange toy swords; and I, in my head, half dead


~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 04/04/2010 throughout the evening
photo taken 04/04/2010 in the morning
poem edited 04/04/2010 10:15 est
poem trimmed 04/10/2010 8:54 est

Stripling

in the flickers of their eyes
and celerity of their movement
hiding seek against the wind
I am ten going on ten
reliving unambiguously
amid monstrosities of trees
dancing in unblemished unison
toes twinkling in moonlight
capturing barefooted beams
an incessant iridescence
innately reborn and adorned in red

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 04/03/2010 1:51 am est

Lullaby

from the first day of winter birth, a ghastly veil has been in trail, begging to be nurtured into nuptials of another kind

a Korean monk once mentioned in a most discrete manner of the very same unearthly creatures creeping and craving about

be it simple cerebral epilogue with silk cord tracing an inevitable stimuli, scented and sensed

or dreams beyond an incomprehensible universe and delicate existence residing in the petals of a subconscious rainbow

regardless of all, imaginary, actuality, humanity, birth, life, death, pain, joy, sex, love; there is but one single unexplainable driven source

and within, fatigued, unsettled, unstrung; I surrender eternally to a nightly cradle rocking by soothing shadow who gracefully bathes me in the sun

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

started 04/01/2010 8:05 pm est
completed 04/02/2010 4:05 pm est

A Moment of Silence

not for death or deceptive deity
but for life observed and reserved
for thy moment, internal and intrinsic

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 03/31/2010 at 8:56 pm est

Henceforth

one shade glancing down
one shade looking up
one drawn with delicate tea cup
one that swathes another ineffably
stirring her nature intensely
dipped cherry blossoms
soaking in a refined graceful wine
who hides humanity far away
with a never ending sailing
from the end of an edge to eternity
sedative and inseparable
in a tiny painted boat
pushed quietly offshore
composed for only one

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell
written in the afternoon and throughout the evening of 03/30/2010

Devotion

nothing compares to that
of one's most beloved book
hands on threaded seams
a crinkled spine, curled pages
from being read and carried
a hundred times over
tucked away in sacred enclosure
each new gingerly glimpse
discovers another impression
bookmarked in blueprint
of revered recollection

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 03/29/2010 7:47 pm est

Inundation

sitting in a bundle of my own making a loud thunder clap has me shaking, jumping up from bed at 1:30 am listening to the rain trickling again on a dark, moonless night covered by clouds

with throat on fire I am carried up stream into subconsciousness of bewilderment where I desire to swallow a cool, comfort to calm the burning of a yearning, that moves down chest

and swim with guarded wind who guides me gently onward, pushing me past limits never thought possible, of a damaged disposition recovering from the torment of existence

complete redemption may never be restored, but reparation comes in storms and rain and brightly budding trees; tears and joy and sounds that flood me, into other realms and dimensions

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell
written 03/29/2010 3:01 am est

Through my father's words ~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

The Same Current

Down river further than ever dreamed
Still we clutch the other
In the bottom of the boat
And as mountains yet moan
Over springs half-thrown
Still we are carried clinging
Laughing and singing
And dreaming
Of the souls of our souls
Running by the poles.

~Richard Wilson Moss
written June 2005

Suffering

a moment of a contentment turning into a scream
watching mom disintegrate and bleed
internally from drone attack

sweat rolling of the back of shadows
strolling broken Iraq taking children by the hand
leading them across demolished land

a lonely soldier digging a hole
and making a home for weeks on end
with a cig or two in the middle of Afghanistan

genocide of masses in tribal classes
and no one gives a shit because they
could care less about an African mess

and me in my headphones drowning out the sound
pretending to wear a crown
with eyes wide closed and a magic wand

where I roam enchanted, hiding in my wonderland
with magic in tow and a fairy glow
sparkling among the rainbows of destruction

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 03/27/2010 9:27 pm est

Intangible

curled up tight in a ball of fur
an unknown soul rests within her
of beautiful eyes and graceful essence
mournfully swimming in absent presence

in collective moments of weakness
she weeps for that which is not possible
to touch her internal core physically
and calmly caress it knowingly

although just beneath the surface
of skin and orchestral matter
there is a binding of both natures
abounding in abstraction

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 03/26/2010 7:04 pm est

The Second Greatest Pleasure

eating avocados cut in two
with the round of wood removed
a spoon dug into a silk organic flesh
the very color of teary eyes

strawberries taken by the stem
freshly picked and rinsed
eaten with seeds surrounding them
the very color of a pouting mouth

a slice of rustic tuscan bread
kneaded and baked
smothered with cheese and butter
the very color of wheat ringlets

the Third greatest pleasure is sleeping
which leaves us to the First
in multitudes and minutes
encompassing all the rest

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 03/25/2010 8:39 pm est
photo taken 3/20/2010 just after lunch
edited photo 6/23/2010 4:15 am est

Origin

Sitting in folds
shivering and shimmering
a form covered in silent film
collecting the dust of delight

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 03/24/2010 8:54 pm est

Resplendence
~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

"Poets utter great and wise things which they do not themselves understand."
~Plato

Photo taken 3/20/2010 approx 11:30 pm est
Gallery5
Richmond, VA
knees for tri-pod

Essence
~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

"The individual, man as a man, man as a brain, if you like, interests me more than what he makes, because I've noticed that most artists only repeat themselves."
~Marcel Duchamp

Photo taken 3/20/2010 approx 11:30 pm est
Gallery5
Richmond, VA
knees for tri-pod

Temperate Cataclysm

fell in love just yesterday on a March spring day when the first storm appeared in an obscure thunderhead above

he roared, he hammered on rooftop at peak, lines of rain fell like vines reaching downward for me to climb

he soaked a self in fresh rainwater and bathed me gingerly in timed rhythm, tapping upon an existence cultivated within a saturated chest

he shook his head once more, tapering off as quietly as he came, tapping from an existence cultivated within a saturated cloud

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 03/23/2010 6:10 am est
edited 03/23/2010 7:24 am est
photo edited 06/22/2010 4:36 am est

A Fairy Tale

On rustic planes of desertion
a diminutive self wanders.

Turning bikes into ponies,
asphalt into meadows
and trees into entities.

Climbing cliffs composed
of clay, exposing silt
on ascent.

Only to return back down again
and rinse thoroughly in the
Rappahannock.

A quick walk along the sand,
a hand stand, then for the
grand stage event.

~ Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 03/22/2010 12:04 am est or there about

Ceremonial Ambience

tasted and tested
unveiled and unspun
naked and glistening
exposed to the sun
an acquiescent dance
fragrantly entranced
with twilight
strung, among trees

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 3/19/2010 9:24 pm est

Subterranean Tide II

at approximately 4:00 am
eastern standard time
I feel the shore line
it rolls in and washes over
a self sleeping with sand
most days it sails in quietly
waking soft green eyes
and crimson cheeks
and the stars, the moon, the eclipse
are all one force pulling me
into the same existence
residing among a willful cosmos
descending a staircase

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell
written 03/19/2010 at 4:21 am est

"I confuse reality with unreality, I don't even understand the difference and yes, I live in between both worlds. In a dream-like awake state, that is my realm. Both are one."

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell


A Dream Within A Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Edgar Allan Poe

Houdini's Book

there is a bookshelf filled with faded paperbacks covered in spiderwebs, with the exception of one; a single book sits enchanted, it's cover woven with fine threads and lined with a golden edge

with chapters beyond the depths of it's effluence and pressed flowers between tea colored pages... roses, lavender and scented sages

many leafs are soaked and torn in red, especially it's middle; but mostly intact full of birth, immenent death and great compassion

others are soaked in blue, especially it's rising currents; blue for the tears it sheds, blue for it's integral reflection, blue for the skies above, blue for the sake of just being, blue for healing

and through an eternal embrace, a key is passed unbound from one existence to another

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written throughout the morning and into the afternoon on 03/16/2010

Autobiography of a Dream

under an oriental sky a walk is taken through a moss garden peeking with stolen buds freshly blooming across the horizon

there is another who walks within, a tree entangled in a weakened chest that fits to perfection and roots to the lowest depths lighting up lanterns to guide the way

across spherical soundscapes climbing rolling green hillsides sectioned off by cherry groves and delicate rice paper fences

and with bound feet the walk is intoxicating by the jasmine scent of skin and the red oval shape of a mouth that tastes of an endearing universal frailty

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 03/15/2010 3:30 am est

Subterranean Tide

at approximately 3:00 pm
eastern standard time
I feel the shore line
it rolls in and washes over
a self playing with sand
some days it rushes in rapidly
flooding soft green eyes
and crimson cheeks
and the sea, the sand, the waves
are all one force pulling me
into the same existence
residing among a willful cosmos
sitting on a bench in an ocean park

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 03/14/2010 at 8:37 am est

Honey and Tea

exhausted by the flirtations with death and desolation
desperate to be reborn again surrounded by a purple hue
with green fire on the inside to keep me alive
and safe from ideas I cannot consciously understand
although I know them so well and they have become
collected petals of contradictions and impaling pain

exhausted by the flirtations with suffering and madness
desperate to be reborn again in a beautiful song
or perhaps within the whisperings of a captivation
that feeds me spoonfuls of honey and warm vanilla tea
and nurses my spirit safely back to the depths of a wonderland
where I roam most peaceful, playful and inquisitive

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

The Realm of Existence

In the realm of a Kingdom rests a weary essence still scattering dust of tenderness and integrity, still bathing in an ever-binding trust; that all beings write with golden pens, sing in perfect refrains, play in cheerful rains, sailing pink kites, laughing in hidden gardens, resting too with me in the arms of compassion, securely tucked all together under down covered feather beds, with pillows of cotton beneath their heads and Morpheus sending them sweetly to sleep.

Returning all to where they have always felt at home to fields of golden grasses where they may have grown, sailing pink kites, hiding seek, among the foothills of their peers and I'll never comprehend the rest even though I feel the painful reality of such torment in my chest and realize it is all from within one single subconscious blue pool of existence.

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 03/10/2010 12:05 pm est

Pain and Joy

In a teasing stream; I arise from a deep sleep
pain climbing up my arms like that of rose vines
entrapping a delicate fence, weaving in and out
of my limbs and enveloping my very existence

What is this pain? It must come from the same source,
where joy is also born. What is this yearning and
turning from both emotions breathing back and forth
into each other as two wrestling winds merge?

And within a few moments of a tormented solitude,
a following occurs of the most tranquil stability
resting sweetly again in the arms of an endurance
of an adored vulnerability lined with silk.

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 03/08/2010 4:40 pm est

Movement

from unreality to reality in one movement
a long song, a weeping song, sung in Lyon
followed by a piano interlude of love and emotion
what is there to fear when the past is the past,
and there is only this sublime
moment of dancing on hardwood floors
among a fireplace that doesn't burn in a world that turns
on an axis around the sun with a moon and planets
named after man made gods, there are no monsters
here, just simple humans and contentment composed
and seeded by the perennials of life and sustainment

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 03/06/2010 approx 8:00 pm est
revised 03/07/2010 5:23 am est

The Teachings of Eurus

The Greeks had it wrong, Eurus was not ill-fated or terrible; just a tender wind with a teasing temper, mischievous yet refined, winged with satin feathers to tuck one in tightly on many restless and frightful nights.

Bearing gifts of wisdom, enchantment and candied fruits for a fearful, tearful child concealed in an aviary with harlequin birds, colossal gardens, and never-ending blossoms.

With a merciful push and cynical, boisterous laugh, the graceful wind swept her forward and prepared her for re-entry into a world where reality is somewhat sinister, full of suffering, sadness and deception. Yet acquiescent and breathable if she keeps a little bit of the unreality folded on the inside, with playfulness intact and holds the universe lightly upon her hands.

And with great hope and devotion; the wind will continue to push her pleasurably onward.

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

written 03/05/2010 8:35 pm est