Ongoing Free Kindle e-book promotion

My 8th poetry and artist chapbook is free to download off kindle right now , the promo ends this Friday April 27th, 2013 at 11:59 pm.

It is a chapbook containing both original watercolor paintings and photography. Also my original poetry. There are 3 poems featured in my book that were also posted on one or both of my blogs: "Word Sense", "Poetry" and "This heart is for the taking." All other poems have never before seen the light of day or cyberspace. To download your free copy go here: http://www.amazon.com/Once-I-was-Rain-ebook/dp/B00CFPWVUA/ref=la_B00B1GC5LY_1_9?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1366751251&sr=1-9

Friendship

Friendship-by Emily Sturgill for K.J.

Friendship
it's strange. When we first met,
many years ago,
I never thought we would be friends.

You were too sarcastic back then,
with a big chip on your shoulder almost,
as big and tall as yourself.

I could never have any "straight" conversations with you.
One of my best-friends was at least halfways in love with you.
Which made you forbidden fruit to me,
in my minds eye.

I would never chase a guy,
my girlfriend 'liked'
you were never interested in me,
that way anyhows...

I remember how pretty your long blonde hair,
was, and how deeply devastated i felt-
the one day you suddenly showed up at
our dinky high school with it all
cut off-cut short.

If i recall right,
you did it all by yourself.
lord, only knows why,
you were just an enigma to me.

a very weird and strange guy.
you probably always knew,
i had that awful huge crush on you.

i think you were nice enough,
to not point it out, and be callous
about it or mean, although you could have
been either.

I do not know why after
all these years, I still try contacting you from time to time.
it seems somehow, even after all those years,
of being apart

a friendship of sorts
still remained.
I'm not even sure why or how that happened?
But i am very glad to have a
friend like you.

i can always count on you just to shoot from the hip,
you are not one to sugarcoat nor lie or deceive,
you say whats on your mind,
you do not aim to please

you are honest, sincere, and genuine.
it's rare these days.
I have too few friends like you.
But then again you are an original,
nobody else comes close.

That's OK i think i could only handle
knowing
one person like you, if you were cloned that would
be unfortunately
one is enough.
two would be too many.

I'm really not sure when or how
we became friends, but i am glad for it.
it is nice to have somebody i
can count on if i need a friend.

thank you,
for being you.
(cliche and stupid,
 but irregardless)
thank you.

Anger

A wall of Anger
surrounds the heavens,
it keeps the bad ones out,
with a sin and a shout.

A wall of Anger
surrounds me right,
 this very minute...

and for the life of me;
i cannot say why.

mostly i am angry
at my self, this inner coil, this threaded
mechanical beast.

True, i am not nearly,
a machine, yet
i have been living on auto-pilot,
so damn long.

Just a cassette tape,
stuck on repeat,
the same periodic,
sad story, from many, many years ago.

if you make the same stupid choices,
over & over again,
and it always just blows up
in your fucking face?-then
why are you consistently repeating-
the same mistakes again and again,

yet expecting a different outcome.
it's the definition;
both of insanity and apparently stupidity.

help, help, help
somebody please
im stuck on a treadmill
and im going very fast
towards

nothing and nowhere again
right straight into
a huge concrete wall
6 ft high and 9 ft deep
of pure, raw , anger

as the world begins to sway
ever so slightly
beneath my feet.

a day like today by emily sturgill

a day like
today
makes me question,
so many things and well why not?

a day like today,
i wonder why i worship
at the alter of the DSM-IV.

I wonder why i take
a daily communion
not of wafers-
but of psychotropics-
to give my coat that nice, shiny, healthy
sane & stable glow.

Somedays, i do not want to believe,
that i am in fact clinically completely
utterly and ridiculously totally insane.
would you welcome insanity upon yourself?

Do you wanna trade lives for a while?
My soul lies in the gutter, legs splayed wide open,
just waiting for another
psychrachist to fuck me.

Not in a happy mood, lately.
well, by lately, i clearly really mean,
just today, yesterday i was fine,
i saw my priest-therapist-psychrachist-whatever.
yesterday, i still believed.

today, i am struggling,
with a flu and a bad case of the have nots.
I feel like I do not have
a mental illness.
I feel like i do not have,
Endometriosis,
i feel like i am fed up with all,
the fucking labels and diagnosis.

Today i feel like telling
the whole damned world,
to just go away and leave me,
the fuck alone.

Leave me alone from all the post-it labels;
stuck frantic upon my supposed of "manic" back.
Just everyone go ahead and fuck off for a while.
I'm sick of the same inane game,
i've played for over 20 years now.

because it's a game, i never can "win" at-
i feel as though i am under attack-
from all sides now.

I'm getting tired of feeling,
as though, im a head-case,
or so fragile, made of glass,
i will break and splinter all over
the damned place.

make a mess-
clean it up-
then the cycle restarts anew.

Sometimes, i feel like,
I am just "sick" because that's
all the world expects from me.

Another hysterical woman,
a patient of Sigmund Freud,
 lie me down on an analytic couch,
take me temperature, pat my head and pass me
a huge ornate vibrator,
because that's just where it all started.

and things still stand
that way on a day,
like today.

Moody Men

Moody Men,
are by far the worst kind-
to love, to deal with and to understand.
Even better, if you are married to one.
But i cannot complain too much-
I myself suffer from a major mood disorder.

I'm pretty certain, my moods are way worse,
than his even on a bad day,
no contest
i win the nutcase race.

however, it does not make,
it any more easier,
when your dealing
with the strong silent type.

He was all smiles earlier today.
Tonight he seemed slightly,
devastated, by one thing or another.
I didn't ask.
he didn't tell.

I know from previous experience-
trying to get him to open up,
is like prying up
an oyster shell with a plastic spoon.

it's simply not gonna happen,
and i cannot get him open-
his secrets are nailed shut and
my woman's intuition is
supposedly like my "spider sense"

all tingling,
as his wife-?I'm just expected,
to know, whats wrong
and whats gonna on,
like I'm some cutie with super
clairvoyance, some damned gypsy,
with amazing telepathy.

Like as a wife, i'm just supposed to know,
or ask? Or guess?
but i have played his game of 20 questions,
long enough to know better.
asking just makes him mad, but not asking makes him,
sad or even madder, what the hell to do?

He may have just been overly tired.
Maybe nothings the matter.
He always says i smoke too much-
it could be that.
often it is...still.

Moody men,
are so hard to handle.
Even harder to console,
how do you comfort an oyster,
hiding a pearl beneath a secret,
a secret called "feelings"

and how do you crack
apart an oyster,
with only a plastic spoon?

I'm being quite serious.
I did not marry an ape or some sort
of baboon.I married this quite
complex, very sensitive male,
who hides his feelings very well
beneath his skin-

yet i can tell by the look on his face,
something is totally amiss-
i can tell also by how he left me,
without my goodbye kiss.

Once, I was the Rain. Poetry Video Preview-a reading of 3 poems by Emily Sturgill, 2013.

http://sexinthekitchensink.wordpress.com/2013/04/20/once-i-was-the-rain-poetry-preview/

Book Spine poem #2

for colored girls who have considered suicide/ when the rainbow is enuf,                  
 When you eat at the refrigerator pull up a chair,                                                            
No more masks,                                                                                                  
 poemcrazy,                                                                                                                  
Color me Beautiful and other poems about life, love and dreams,                          
 Ancient Spellcraft,                                                                                                          
The right to write,                                                                                                    
Mythology Greek and (used),                                                                                    
 Finding your bipolar Muse,                                                                                              
The Midnight disease,                                                                                                      
The Artist's Way,                                                                                                            
 Ask and it is given,                                                                                                      
  poetic medicine

Book spine poetry #1

When you eat at the Refrigerator, pull up a chair;
 Overcoming Overeating,
for colored girls who have considered suicide/ when the rainbow is enuf,                                                                               ,                        poemcrazy,                                                                                                                    Color me Beautiful and other poems about life, love and dreams.                          
 Ancient Spellcraft, (and)                                                                                                        
 The right to write,                                                                                                    
Mythology Greek and (used),                                                                                    
Finding your bipolar Muse,                                                                                              
 The Midnight disease,                                                                                                    
 The Artist's Way,                                                                                                            
 Ask and it is given,                                                                                                        

 poetic medicine.

Once, I was the Rain: Poetry and Artwork by Emily Sturgill 2013

Once, I was the Rain: poetry and Artwork from Emily Sturgill

Now Available as a 8.5 x 11 paperback book.
It is 48 pages long and features white pages with colored images. It costs just $11.99 and can be ordered directly from createspace at this link here: https://www.createspace.com/4252763

Midnight night noise

Night sounds,
as it is past 12:00 AM, and clearly
time for my bed.
but instead i listen softly,
to the man i love breathing even in harmony-
with a natural peaceful state of sleep.
Sometimes he snores.
this is natural too-a thing which once annoyed me-
yet now i've grown accustom too.

It's reassuring-if he's snoring,
definitely for sure then,
I know he has not stopped breathing.

my light tapping on my laptop-keys,
have awoken the mighty
husband beast, from the depths
of where he sleeps.

So yeah, I will probably have
to ends these words soon,
or hear another lecture,
on my manic-depressive nature,
and all doom and gloom.

in general, i do try
to keep a normal bedtime.
it's normally midnight for me.
And, if i stay up a little later?

Hubby does not like it too much.
He does not approve of me
pulling another crazy pitstop,
just motions away
from the landscape
where my manias
come out and play.

Night Sounds.
Midnight Night Noise.
Right before I fall
into a dream-filled sleep,
of hazy things I will be unable
to recall in the Morning.

Once I was the Rain. is now available for sale on Amazon.com/kindlestore/

This link will take you directly to my new book, "Once,I was the Rain." now available for sale on Amazon.com's kindle store:http://www.amazon.com/Once-I-was-Rain-ebook/dp/B00CFPWVUA/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1366419444&sr=1-3

I decided to have the free-promotional period right away, so starting on this coming Monday April 22,2013, which is Earth-day, this new work will be free to download using the link above for 5 entire days straight in a row. That's right folks, you can download a copy of this lovely little 48 page poetry and artist chapbook completely free with no strings attached, at anytime between 4/22-4/27/13.

All I ask, in return, if you do download it, and even "enjoy" it, will you consider writing me a book review on Amazon.com? You can do this by visiting my Authors page at www.amazon.com/author/emilysturgill and just clicking on this books link after you have already downloaded it and hopefully-read it-onto your kindle. Sometimes Amazon.com will email you begging for reviews of kindle e-books. Please do not mark those emails as trash or spam. Writing a positive review for a relatively newly self-published Author, is liking doing a good deed. Karma will smile down on you. Good reviews help sway readers who are on the fence about investing in a e-book. Good Reviews help Authors sell more books and Authors can/may NOT review their own work-this violates amazon.com/kindle policies. Reviews are easily written, Amazon uses a simple 5 star scale. You rate the work, how many stars you feel justified then write a small paragraph on your thoughts about the e-book or printed book or MP3 or anything else in the world you use Amazon.com to shop for.

Thank you, for reading my new blog. I will try to write more frequently in it, during the next few weeks.  

Upcoming New Release: Once, I was the Rain: poetry and art by Emily Sturgill

http://sexinthekitchensink.wordpress.com/2013/04/19/upcoming-new-release-new-art-and-poetry-chapbook/

Upcoming New release:

Once, I was the Rain.: Poetry and Artwork
Authored by Emily H Sturgill
Kindle version:$6.99
List Price: $11.99 paperback version
8.5" x 11" (21.59 x 27.94 cm)
Full Color on White paper
48 pages
ISBN-13: 978-1484165959 (CreateSpace-Assigned)
ISBN-10: 1484165950
BISAC: Poetry / American / General
This is a collection of poetry and artwork. It is roughly 48 pages in length. It is all original poems and artwork by Emily H. Sturgill. This is her 9th publication since joining the kindle family in jan 2013. The poetry centers around themes such as Nature, Animals, People, Love and Music. There is even a small entry concerning the recent Boston Marathon Bombings on Monday April 15, 2013.May all who suffered needlessly find peace and serenity as Earth Day approaches.Let us be reminded that the Earth does not belong to us: We are part of the Earth.

If shiba Inus could speak

If shiba inus could speak-what exactly would ours say?
He has all the wisdom inside him,
of a dog 11 years old-77 in dog years.
Of course we assume, he has in fact
bilingualism, being that his breed
hails from Japan.

Yet we raised him in English,
teaching him to sit,stay and give paw.
Even up until this day, his stubbornness, overcomes any
ability to come when called,

If I were to write him words,
what would he say to us after all these years?
Probably this:
Please come out and play, I have
had a hard day
of watch-dogging your house,
while you were away.

Let's go on another walk, or if you wish,
you can leave me here to sunbath and twist
into the rays of sun which hit the back porch.

If you do not mind, I could use a belly rub.
I am the leader of this pack,
and they are a motley crew, it's tough
to keep the other two
dogs in line-not to mention those damn cats.

My job is not easy. I am ever on vigil, always on guard.
When you let me out near bedtime,
I will sit there and howl.
Howling at the shadows and the sounds
the noisy neighbors make.

I love my pack and family
very much. I am loyal almost to
a flaw. Once I swear alliance to you,
then that's forever.

I will be your ever loyal Shiba Inu.
I will go out of my way for you,
all I ask of you,
is that you love me too.

The Alligator of Alliteration by Emily Sturgill-originally published on sexinthekitchensink blog on wordpress 4/14/13

The Alligator of Alliteration
always eats poets first,
first and foremost,
elegantly eating everything
in sound or sight,
whichever comes first.

Slender slightly bloated
and bulging stomach stretched tight.
As the Animalistic hunger devours
complete works by the Masters.

Significant, serenades,sonnets
searching for the deeper meaning
between a reaming of so many
consonants,

Our fat Alligator is purely gleaming.
Fed on so much verse, full to the bone
of so many long lost souls,
once made merry-

by their odes, and symphonies of sound.
Literary greats make the tastiest treats,
for the Alligator of Alliteration.

Be ware, be wary, that he does not
catch you, writing Poetry!!!

An ode to the Surreal

An ode to the Surreal-

It's invisible song
a surreal revolution.

It's helping anger
slamming small skateboarder
priest.

A little Coral
mud-puppy
fish.

A Greedy Lamp
eating Lizard's Wisdom,
into two great huge
gulps.

Summertime

Summertime-
The softest taste
of peaches,
basking in the summer sun,
lemonade and the Lazy days-
the heat won't stay away.

Stuffing into bathing suits
made smaller by
the winter-time blue.

Legs like sausages,
stomach rolls haplessly
like a donut loose and
powdery.

Sundresses and Strappy sandles
as the children build
sandcastles.

Life in the 90 degree weather,
is hot and sticky
brings dreams of
colder cooler weather.

Sunblock lotion
and lots of anti-depressant.
Hair is frizzy and lips sunburn,
for real, and yesterday's tan?

It is chipping away,
all the years, flaking and peeling
back yesterday.

Summer is the time
for dark-sunglasses,
and lost love, love the color of molasses-
sugary sweet-sex on repeat.

No worries, No cares-
Summer blows in on a kite,
and then leaves during
Autumn's longest night.

Free E-book Promo starts tomorrow

Just to let everybody know, my latest artwork and poetry chapbook,"Lavender Surprise: Poems and Artwork." will be available for free kindle download starting at midnight. The promo runs until Sunday April 14th at 11:59 pm. The poetry in this latest chapbook is different from the poems I share on my blog.( with two exceptions, the poems "Concrete Hornets Nest." and "Artistically Inclined." are both included.They were first published on my wordpress.com blog) It features both color and black and white artwork.It is roughly about 39 pages long.

Here is the direct link to download: http://www.amazon.com/Lavender-Surprise-ebook/dp/B00BT4QBDG/ref=la_B00B1GC5LY_1_8?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1365711860&sr=1-8

You can also visit my amazon.com Author's page at: www.amazon.com/author/emilysturgill

the word detective by Emily Sturgill

 From my other blog at
 http://sexinthekitchensink.wordpress.com/2013/04/10/theworddetective/

I have written 14 poems,
since yesterday,
and I have not written on my blogs in two days.

I'm unsure of what to share,
or give away,
and what to keep for a rainy day?

Which poems are ripe-for the picking?
and which are rotten,
to their core?

So many words,
create a flood
drowning me in a sea of inadequacy.

I spit out words,
into my journal, just so
I don't choke on them.

they taste like bad and broken down,
leather.
no. They taste like black licorice
 and black magic.

Just because you can
think of something, to write about-
does not make it something worthy.

a free-verse flies by me.
It's buried in a coffin
and travels by hearse.
It's darkness looms by the assumption-
I cannot bring it back to Life.

-to resurrect some sort of poetry,
by giving it mouth to mouth.

words are everything,
but so many words
do not matter in the end.

As a writer you
must pick and choose,
which word equipment to use.

I read through my litany,
of literacy.
I read through my garbage salad,
searching for the juicy, the crazy, and the unique.

It's hard to make choices,
to be uber-selective,
to play the part
of the poetic
word detective.

thought-puddles

This is being re-posted from my original blog, sex on the kitchen sink@wordpress.com.

It is called "Thought-puddles" and I wrote it today,
 Puddles of
thoughts-
at first knee-deep,
and then they disperse.

they begin to evaporate
as quickly as they occur.

they occur random,
like a flight of birds.

Thought-puddles,
I try to gather them together
but
they overflow-between my
outstretched-arms,
             into the emptiness-
                 forming
nothing much or less,
then puddles
of mud,
that cake my mind-
into an eternity

of endless rhyme
          and silly poetry.

                        Least am I ever tempted,
                                 to take myself, one bit,
                                                  too seriously.

A Portrait

A Portrait- by Emily Sturgill 4/9/13

A portrait
remembers
its name,

as it dangles
upon a wall
strung up
and hangs.

A flourish of brush-strokes,
concentration of colors,
combining to create,

a likeness,
of a figure,
an object
of the Artist's mind.

Thunder-song

Thunder-song-

     Thunder
breaking into a song
as the rain sings,
the sound of a storm
begins.

thunder between
momentary heartbeats-
from the Lungs of Mother Nature,
herself.

this storm
is Her Song-
her melody,
and a release of
her tears.

pound the pavement
so strong-
that there is nothing left,
but acceptance of,
her song.

Nuts and Bolts by Emily Sturgill 4/10/13

Nuts and bolts-

Trying to get to
the juicy stuff
the random nuts and bolts.

the mechanism
of a spinning mind
which is unable to decide;

on one word
or the other.

nuts and bolts
to begin to connect
the dots of random mechanical
thoughts.

sirens howling in the distance.
some sort of accident
slices my silence and
invades my space.

A sudden momentary
shrieking in the silence,
as I vaguely wonder,
what's the matter?

then the moment passes on by.

Where are my tinker-toys?
Where are my nuts and bolts?
Where is my steel?
Where is my out-
          how can I seal the deal;
             Where is my poem-shout?

link to other blog

past recollection http://wp.me/p2WuEd-xF  via @wordpressdotcom

poetry from my other blog, Sex in the kitchen Sink @ wordpress.com

Painting Pictures by Emily Sturgill April 6,2013

Painting Pictures

Painting pictures,
I always begin background first.
A abstract melting of colors
unto a crisp white canvas
or piece of cold-press watercolor paper.

I play and I watch as the colors
run into one another.
Then they begin to tell me
stories. Of what is next to come.

I take my time.
I watch until the painting
speaks my name-
it tells me when its done.

When I use that part of my
brain to paint, to play, to create
I am not concentrating.
instead I am letting go.

The paint will help tell me,
the places it needs to be.
I am a happy observer
of an accidental drip
down a page.

to paint is to be free.
for me at least, it means thinking less,
not more. I just do it to be happy,
and if I am lucky, it will make
other happy too.

Music is a gift that keeps on giving.

Music melodies are both rich and required.
Music soothes my soul.
Music calms me, uplifts me,makes me happy,
or sad. the music tells my mood where to go.

Just listening to the beat, following the lyrics,
a tune that makes you want to sing along,
and dance too. Music is a richness.

It is all ear food, and if its done well,
it takes you the gambit between
Heaven and Hell.

Music is an escape. It is an endless road.
Music is the light at the end of the tunnel,
because Music is the tunnel.

When I stop listening with my
whole heart,
I find, that I begin, to fall apart.

Music melodies are both rich and required.
Music soothes my soul.
Music calms me, uplifts me, makes me happy.
Music are the directions on my compass,
they lead me, where I long to go.

Without songs, then life would be
hungry, impoverished, and lonely.
I need the background noise
of a favorite CD, to keep me

settled and focused,
relaxed and serene,
music is a gift,
which keep on giving.

trying to relax

trying to relax,
admist
waves of agony-

it takes much effort.
i am all worn out.
from pain and nauseous stomach aches.

I feel dull aches everywhere.
I accept this as my fate.
My allotted due, in life.

to deal with
chronic pain
and to shut up
to not complain.

it does no good
to admit, I do not feel fit.
that i stay in bed most days.

that i do not even want
to leave my house.
trying to relax.

it is just so hard-
when everything hurts-
so much.

i try to relax,
to not feel sad-when
the pain gets bad.

because i know,
nothing will help.
i just got to keep on keeping on.

to hope for the best,
and leave the rest
along the wayside...

Fear settles

Fear settles,
fisted and angry, in all of its glory.

fear settles -as the flames of fury
burn out quickly...
the embers soothe me

a taste of irony
like a Phoenix rising up from
the ashes

I rise up from my anger,
as my lips kiss a story.

There is not much,
that words can say,
once the rage builds up into
a blind moment.

so mad you cannot think straight,
you short-circuit instead,
trying not to be
once again, somebody

out of control and crazy,
yet you cannot help it-
cuz fear won out.

fear owned you for today
at least and fear repressed
bubbles deep down
into frustration colored red

red the color of blood
red the color of anger
red the color of passion

So much just lingers
in kool-aid blood stain
puddles, of raw emotions
I would take my reddest crayon

out and color the
entire sky bright red
today for that is how i feel,

yet simmer down
wait, breathe in then out,
because fear settles.

Free Promo ends tonight: Butterfly Rimmed Eyeglasses and the Trouble with Tuesday

This is the last day of my three day free promo on kindle of "Butterfly-rimmed eyeglasses and the trouble with Tuesday." by Emily Sturgill, 2013.

It is roughly 41 pages long, it has original poetry and artwork by me Emily Sturgill. It has some prose, a dash of short-story/ mostly fictional. Here is a direct link to download a free copy for your kindle or e-reader:

http://www.amazon.com/Butterfly-eyeglasses-Trouble-Tuesday-ebook/dp/B00BMSC15G/ref=la_B00B1GC5LY_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1365023745&sr=1-3

All I ask, in return, if you do download and read it, would you be willing to write a short review on amazon.com for me? I can always use feedback. It helps me to become a better writer. Also it encourages others to try out my books-thank you. The free promo-ends tonight at 11:59 pm.

Meltdowns from madness

In the past 48 hours,
I have had expert doctors offer,
to give me a complete and total hysterectomy-
that was on Tuesday, now on Weds,
a different doctor
is trying her best to suggest
i just let them remove
my entire right kidney

that in my situation that is by far the
best approach and considered "standard"
treatment.she then ordered blood work
her vast mistake was to leave
"us" me and my husband alone way too long.

Because my meltdown was going to happen,
we both could feel it -the tightness, the tingling right
before a thunder-storm.
My eyes began to tear up in frustration.

My husband saw this,
wisely he said, if you are going to cry about it,
then lets get the hell out of here.
so we did.
I felt better after our flight-

running out to the car.
ugh, so much angry.
how dare you tell me what i must
do with my own body?

I tried to tell her, I am very uncomfortable.
I do not wish to come back.
I tried to say fuck you I am leaving
in ways less words than that and not so crass.

I cannot take this shit.
Really right now?
oh on,top of living with chronic pain-
you are going to insist
that I need to remove an entire kidney,

just in case its kidney cancer?
no biopsy-no proof- you refused
to even give me a PET scan...

Gemstones

Violet Gemstones
of amethyst,
lie solid in secret at
the bottom of the sea

jewels dripping
from forgotten treasure,
that a pirate so very long ago,
just completely grabbed and stole.

a thief in the night
violet gemstones
they sleep
with the fish.

a thief in the night
came and flat out
stole my precious tear-drops

ripping them from
my empty yet righteous
soul, running water
drips no more.

i awaken
without the sorrow
of the dawn,

yet i feel exhausted,
as if sleep betrayed me.
I look down at my fist,
crumpled I am holding,

what appears to be
a tattered and worn
pirates map.

my dream of purple and violet
gemstones? They crashed, and lapped
upon a sea, filled with dreams,

I will not recall,
at all, in the morning.
retaining only fragments,
of a dream, here or there,

one or two, a crumpled map,
a seashell and some sand
and an empty recollection

of a visit from,
a man made up
entirely of sand.

Free promo now on kindle butterfly rimmed eyeglasses and the trouble with tuesdays

I have one of my artist/poetry chapbooks available as a free download it started yesterday. It will run through till tomorrow.The promo will end at 11:59 pm , on weds April 3,2013.

 It is called,"Butterfly-rimmed Eyeglasses and the trouble with Tuesday." by Emily Sturgill, 2013.

http://www.amazon.com/Butterfly-eyeglasses-Trouble-Tuesday-ebook/dp/B00BMSC15G/ref=pd_rhf_dp_p_t_1_PZ7G

 This book is roughly 45 pages. It consists of prose,poetry, and all original artwork. It can be yours to keep for free if you download it using the link above. I only request, that if you do do that, could you please consider writing a review about it on my Authors page at Amazon.com? My Author page is: www.amazon.com/author/emilysturgill. 

Did you know, that you can even review kindle books that you downloaded during a free promo period?

Also reviews are very excellent ways to help newly self-published Authors such as myself.

Think about it, are you more likely to buy something if somebody posted awesome nice things about it veres nothing, no reviews whatsoever?

Now, if you do download, and absolutely love it-stranger stuff happens everyday!-I want you to know that there is also a paperback copy available to order. It is 45 pages, white paper with colored images and it is 8.5 x 11, soft-cover. It is available through Amazon..com and Createspace. 

You want fries with that?

You want fries with that?
I imagine my ob-gyn saying,
as he nonchalantly suggests,
what i really need,
is but of course;

a total and complete
hysterectomy, uterus,ovaries
everything out...because
that would "cure" me
absolutely for sure...

I look at him rather blankly,
he says it as if its no big deal
this sterilization of everything

female and mine.
He does acknowledge, once again,
the bare facts, that my husband and I
would like to have a baby.

He insists this with false cheer,
that we should definitely do IVF then
get the hysterectomy later, on the side so to speak.
As if i were as simple as marching right up
to the local IVF store and buying a single
baby gift card. Yeah, right, I'll be sure
to get right on it,

in a jiffy, as soon as I win the mega millions jackpot.
And, I will certainly consider your "promised cure."
as soon as I decide to give up on everything
and opt for dangerous surgeries,
that come with instant menopause
attached.

So pissed off right about,
NOW. He even said at my age, pregnancy is highly,
unlikely, in 8 weeks I will turn 39.
So yeah, I guess I will go with

the king-size, large order of hysterectomy, to go
with a appetizer of IVF, a large sweet tea, some infertility;
oh yes, I would like fries with that.

Did i mention I fucking hate doctors?
It's ridiculous. I'm not going to have anybody remove all
my lady parts, just because, they would
like a hefty paycheck-bonus.

i think i can see the future.
I'm getting a vision right now,
clear as day, this is the last visit
to your office for me.

Goodbye. Nice knowing you,
but nothing personal,
just go screw you.
thanks, I think i'll take the fries,
but hold off on everything else.

promotional video for latest book

The top 10 reasons you should consider buying my newest book,"Memoirs recalled Madness: a personal account of living with manic-depressive illness." by Emily Sturgill, 2013

Available on Amazon.com at www.amazon.com/author/emilysturgill

the drama of words

http://sexinthekitchensink.wordpress.com/2013/04/02/promo-video-no-2-top-ten-reasons-you-should-buy-my-new-book/

This is from my other blog. It is called Sex in the kitchen sink and it is at wordpress.com

I thought I would attempt keeping two poetry blogs,
going at once, simultaneously,
as if i were an eight year old girl again-
attempting to jump-rope
with friends.

but hey, not eight years old-
anymore closer to 31 more years to
that. and I think with writing more than one
poetry blog, i just threw out
my back.

i'm under attack.
clearly i'm an idiot either way,
with one lump or two,
please pass some sugar,
damn you!

i'm bitter, i'm old, i'm old-fashioned
i'm punk-rock, i've moon-rocked, and i recall,
the days when MTV was the next big thing,
nowadays everyone's obsessed with fruit-

an apple a day keeps the doctor away,
my mother used to say,
but these days if you aren't talking Apple,
then clearly your not Z-
PAD, or "EYE" ready...
for the next nifty
gadget.

times better spent,
reading old books, then surfing
the internet,
I would much rather
be staring at a starlit night
then my laptop screen-on all night.

I've ran the gambit,
and lost my entire point,
to my overflowing prose,
sometime ago,
long long long,
ago

see above.
i was 8 years old and
I was skipping jump-ropes,
when suddenly I freeze
begin to gag and choke

on the power of
the emptiness of
the drama of

words.

Troubled Mind

Troubled Mind,
Trouble,trouble,trouble
all the time.

caught like a snake,
in a metal grate
are words
stuck snake like
slithering in my

troubled troubled troubled
mind,
it happens all the time.

these thought bubbles follow me,
all around my day,
like comic-strip voodoo..
my thoughts just hang out with,

my heart on my sleeve.
and the two of them
just gossip
like silly old women

yak,yak,yaking away
all night and all day,
this troubled mind
can be ever unkind.

I'll trade you a freckle
for another Mary Temple
I will spin the wheel to win
fabulous prizes...just don't
ask me to explain

me rapid,quick-fire,lightening
brain or my troubled mind,
or my dirty thoughts
or my huge inflatable
-(but full of hot empty air) EGO, to you.

I cannot resist, blazing with fits
of stupid cliches, silly punches, attempts
at dumb humor, all to disregard,
your stare-apparent-at my
oh so, troubled, troubled mind.

Welcome to my thought dungeon

Welcome to my thought dungeon.
You, dirty filthy butterfly...
I have a bad, mean-ass, case of the blues.

The type of Blues,
that people sing stories about.
The type of Blues,
that make ya wanna get out of your seat-
and shout...

NO,NO,NO,
Oh my God, not me...
these are the types
of blues I am talking about.

The kind of Blues,
which leave you standing at the crossroads,
with no way but out...

The kind of cross-road Blues,
that come equipped with
there own shot of tequila.

The kind of Blues,
full of Friday Night Terror,
and Saturday's secret
shout out.

These Blues gotta hold of me,
trapped like in a box,
there is no way
out.

Welcome to my thought dungeon,
you filthy dirty little butterfly
butterfly blues-
i got lots of 'em

all the time.