Dark Lady Poetry - Emma Sky Wolf




Emma Sky Wolf


April Descent  


I agree with Persephone.

there is no way to escape

daisy chain calamity, Alice

missteps that consummated
curiosity, pulled through
the cement weeds and stubby
cigarettes, flotsam of desiccated
stalks, like a silly flat television
image of "oops" went the banana
peeling with tin can telephone
laughter on strings ringing
roses she never received
around like old fashioned dials.
I keep trying combinations
that get me an operator who
warns all the eras twined
themselves in a time wire
misfire, don't expect the enlightened
age, co-currency is in (don't be a fool
about the fashion, changes.) We will waltz
into the underworld the same as always.





Exodus Part 1         



Leave taking and breathless

unleavened sustenance

will be my lot, bitter herb, egg

circulation of simulated


shed fermented ancestral

suffering that page wrinkles

out calligraphic back to front

displayed survival in the walnut


mortar sticking to every embered inch.

Death's oil spill dove wings fan at door tips.

How do you know if it is Elijah

come to drink, or a seeping rainbow


angel ravaging, filled with plagues?

I keep mistaking the blessed beggar.

Invitations to rag footed travelers

leave me perpetually breadless.





Recipe for Creation



First her feet swing, out from the sheathed sleeping venue they have been incubating in. When the floorboards feel contact both she and they are created again. When the blind


opens upon an eon, buzzing moment, day, wing lashes falter light fractures up into a pantheon of shades recognized and changed.


Third comes bird prayer, and the circuity of clocks

consciousness, fear, all vast chambers, demonic

undertow, Bosch.


Armor, a glamour, potency slung into purses. Protection and sustenance rushed in at the beginning.


She enters descending, as a city springs forth aware only as she turns her plastic beads in new directions. Every element colors, renewing continually as planets


revolve, and to do lists resubmit their presence. Can Becoming really happen on a time line? Her answers begin with, a week is a long way seeded with restoration, and avenues spread thick under


Robins, signify new beginnings. Daily she believes in failure, as her attempts bud, suckle, and reroute.    




Emma Sky Wolf is a Poet and Artist living as the resident curator in the oldest house in Arlington, Virginia. A graduate of The Maryland Institute College of Art, she loves to "paint poetry, and write pictures", as well as explore the intersection of image, language, and human nature. Her poetry has appeared in publication and on the radio.  Emma’s visual artwork can be found at  .