Apr 21
poem 2 comments challenge: Senses
Emilia Perry's picture

A Walk in a Wooded World

In Vermont,
the middle of spring means everything is brown.

The mud that churns and splashes under tires on the dirt roads.
The bark of the newly-budding trees,
Wet with the rain of promised flowers to come.
The grass that remains pale and scratchy,
Newly free of its heavy winter coating.

A walk in the woods brings new life
To this time so devoid of color.
Though, it does not come in the form of visible hues.

It comes from the chirps and songs of birds,
Who have returned and brought with them such pleasant noise,
Breaking the silence of the winter months,
As barren as the cold landscape itself.

It comes from the sticky sweet sap
Oozing from the maple trees,
Collected in metal buckets,
To later coat your tongue and breakfast,
Thick and rich like honey.

It comes from the smell,
That is so strongly the smell of spring,
Feb 01
Emilia Perry's picture


I walk into the empty house, sunlight filtering through the open door behind me. I've never been here before, and I am shocked with a sense of such strong familiarity, I can almost taste it. But it's not a bitter, unwanted taste. It's sweet and thick like honey, and propells me forward. I continue on, my feet knowing exactly where to go, as if following a predestined path. Despite the peeling paint and splintering wood, there is such a strong energy in this foreign place. The dust particles seem to vibrate, sending out shockwaves that lift the hairs on the back of my neck. It is in this moment I am struck with the realization of why I was drawn here, of all places. It was not my home, but it was someones. I can sense the generations that have lived and loved inside this space, the years of sunsets, and sunrises, that cast a golden glow, much as it is doing now.
Jan 31
Emilia Perry's picture

Earthly Beauty

She was beautiful, but in a different sort of way.

Her hair, frozen white wisps,
Stark against a clear blue sky.

Her eyelashes flash in blurs of color,
Petals falling with each careful blink.

Her eyes a stormy, unfathomable gray,
As easy to get lost in,
As the choppy sea itself.

Her limbs, fragile twigs,
Bend and sway in the slightest wind.

Hidden inside,
A steely will,
Strengthened by a rough skin of bark,
Yet with a force so gentle,
It mirrors a mother’s loving touch.

Her freckles, innumerable dots of light.
Multitudes of stars,
Sprayed over her cheeks and nose.

Her brain is the sun,
Holding thoughts that are bright, clear,
And glowing.

Her heart an incandescent orb.
Love as uncharted, mysterious, and desired,
As the dark side of the moon.

For she is the earth.
The air,
The wind,
The sea,
May 11
Emilia Perry's picture


Yellow. A color that is so often underrated. It falls far behind green and blue on the pyramid of favorite colors. We don’t often realize how important it is. How it is part of the color spectrum for a reason. A very important reason. This color has an innate ability to cheer us up. Even so, some may say that yellow isn’t cheery. That it is merely a color too blaring and bright to be appreciated. But as we look around, taking in the world, yellow is a color that is ingrained into many of the things we see and use every day.
Apr 05
Emilia Perry's picture

Land of Dreams

I am barefooted, walking through a vast field. Miles of flat land surrounds me, stretching into the far distance. Grass scratches the bottom of my feet, creating red marks on my heels. I ignore this and keep walking. The wind rustles the tall grasses around me, tickling the backs of my legs. My hair blows into my face but I don’t bother to push it back. A few tendrils escape my ponytail. I do not know where I am going. I am only possessed by the feeling to keep going forward, that whatever is in front of me I desperately need to see. I raise my arms into the air, moving them along with the wind. I sway along with the grasses, dancing a choreography that comes directly from the earth. The sweet smell of the soil infiltrates my nostrils. I inhale, letting the scent fill my brain, full of images that depict sun rays shining on meadows of wildflowers. As I move forward I see a building in the distance.
Mar 29
Emilia Perry's picture

Sorting Thoughts

      Scratchy bark. Heavy scent. Slight winds rustling the branches, now free of their leaves. This exposes skeletal arms that reach and dance when the autumn breeze blows. I sit, surrounded, hiding within these arms that wrap around me like a comforting hug. I look at the ground. Stark against the brown and green of the surface, is a yellow pencil and a pad of paper. Homework. Write a poem. How can I do that if I can’t even focus on a single thought? There is so much going on outside. Inside as well. This is how I find myself here, in this tree, surrounded by grass. Open stretches of ground, roads, people, buildings, and trees all line the outskirts of the field, bustling and talking.