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Best Poems Written by Emma Gregory

Below are the all-time best Emma Gregory poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Emma Gregory Poem

I Want To Be a Child Again

I want to be a child again…

When it doesn’t matter what’s right and what’s wrong,
When you don’t know the words to your favourite song,
When the town that you live in’s as big as Hong Kong,
And your parents tell you when to just run along.

I want to be a child again…

To feel like everything’s going my way,
To live on the moon for a year and a day,
To run around carefree, with friends, and just play,
And nobody takes all my dreams far away.

I want to be a child again…

I’d look at the world with my rainbow eyes,
I’d read about wonders and not just hear lies,
I’d shake off my shackles and take to the skies,
And eat a dozen blueberry pies!

I want to be a child again…

So everything bad would just run down the drain,
So I’d graze my knee and that would be pain,
So nothing I do is for somebody’s gain,
And maybe, just maybe, I’d feel whole again.

I want to be a child again
But this time…
I don’t want to grow up.

Details | Emma Gregory Poem

Tender, Bruised and Scarred.

Grief that constricts my heart,
Cages its screaming walls,
Grinding its bars roughly into its flesh…
Where they meet, blood oozes, 
Life does what it chooses,
Heart shies away from the pain of its mesh.


[unsure as to whether to continue]

Details | Emma Gregory Poem

Wait, My Secret.

My heart sleeps.
I lead it to, tell it to,
Want it to, beg it to. 
Slumbering, breathe 
Painlessly in and out. 
In… and out…
In… and out…
Quiescent, breathe
Painlessly in and out.
Sleep my secret, sleep.

Details | Emma Gregory Poem

When I Fall Asleep

Waking up in swirls of gold,
Relax and let my dreams take hold.
Silk of crimson, skin of ice,
Something strange, but don’t look twice.

Many clocks give many times,
Random words give many rhymes,
Bed of chocolate, sea of cream,
But don’t jump if I hear a scream.

Rabbit leaps around a witch,
Little bird that seems to twitch,
Mix of feelings playing cards,
Fish tie ropes around bollards.

I see things amongst my dreams,
Groups of splodges fight in teams.
Desert penguins sipping juice,
Vicious wars that reach a truce

Flying high in clouds of pink, 
Made of something sweet I think,
I’m as happy as a pup
As long as no one wakes me up.

Details | Emma Gregory Poem

Float Until Your Eyes Glint

Numbness and blindness
Just floating along through
The blanket of kindness 
With a sky that is not blue,
But white with a harsh hue,
That can blind if inspected
So don’t look too close.
But all is expected 
On morphine of this dose
To halt she that’s morose.
The muffled outside world,
Looks to the cloudy cocoon 
And sharp hurts are hurled
With intent to, quite soon,
Show the inside the moon
And the stars and the sky
By shattering the shell
Of the beautiful lie,
And letting the heart swell, 
And the eyes see cold hell,
And the mind be bombarded
With all of life’s matters,
Stop the flesh, disregarded, 
When life stumbles and batters;
Make it feel the patters
Of lukewarm raindrops
Unnoticed through fog
But everyone else stops.
They mean to unclog
The tear ducts and keep log
Of progress and days,
Not merely walk on
In an unfeeling daze
As they know she has done.
But they let her along
On her path, keep her stride
To a mirror that before
Her bubble should hide.
But now there is more,
Her eyes, they implore,
The mist has evaporated,
The eyes flit and dart,
The emptiness dissipated
As the glint is her heart, 
And the meaning my art.

Details | Emma Gregory Poem

The Court of the Twisted Dead

In the court of the Queen,
With her eyes to the ground,
Who is shrouded in darkness
And silence profound

With her skeletal hands,
Wrapped in gossamer skin,
Rest on smoothed out mahogany, 
And gleam through the dim.

There is nothing to hear,
Not a wail or scream,
But the moaning, the groaning
Is easily seen.

For the twisted, the twisted, 
The warped wretched dead
Hang from tendons and muscles,
Some but by a thread.

With their mouths wrenched wide open,
And fingers like claws,
And the drained empty bodies
She loathes and abhors,

In a masque, a charade
Of their past living days;
Some dancing, some lancing,
In dead, frozen plays.

And their eye sockets drip,
As terror drove wide
Of the Queen and her smile
As she welcomed their slide.

For her lank heavy hair 
Is blacker than night,
But her eyes, her cruel eyes
Shine with crimson red light.

And her dusty bones squeal 
As she raises her head
And stretches parched lips
To welcome the dead.

For her throne in the centre 
Of the moribund scene
Entices for all 
That her beauty had been,

Though the sheen from her skin 
Is feeble, but all
That caresses the shadows
Of the cavernous hall.

Clouds of incense and musk
Swirling aimlessly round
Mask the biting of rotten 
And wet stony ground.

The stillness and silence,
Macabre tableau,
Leans out and away 
From her skins eerie glow.

The ribs of the courtiers 
Defined, stomachs sunk,
Their waxy skin stretched
As they wait for the thunk,

The echoing thunk
Of a knock on the door,
While the worm-ridden wood
Showers dust on the floor.

Then the life empty hall,
And the grey twisted forms,
Turn their thoughts to the Queen,
As all are her pawns.

With a smile on her lips,
And her eyes burning red,
As she waits for you, waits for you,
Waits for your head.

Details | Emma Gregory Poem

My Fog

The fog that shrouds my ev’ry feeling thought
And numbs the pain, the care and worrying
Is wrapped like silk around my heart distraught
And slows the world, its squirms and scurrying
It diverged my soul, my body, my mind,
And let them drift in swirls and white eddies
‘Till one should see the others hard to find
But for the onslaught of life it readies.
Yet still the pain stabs hard, light to darken
The fog moves up to cloud alone my head
And though it guards, my eyes see, ears hearken, 
Heart beats, and feels, and cleaves to its last thread
And ev’ry new hurt, its shelter will shake
‘Till something fights through, when something will break.

Details | Emma Gregory Poem

Canons Ashby

Intent winds disturb the slumber
Of the Yew trees; trimmed or humble,
Watching at the guard posts of the
Barricaded house.

Slate grey clouds above far meadows
Skulls with antlers cast great shadows
‘Bove the brick framed doorway, and owns
Canons Ashby house.

Dark wood panels, faded colour,
Cobwebs hang in lifetime’s squalor,
Gold framed lords of noted pallor,
Hardly lived-in house.

Cracks in creaking floorboards showing
Light from empty cellars glowing.
To said floorboards, walls are bowing,
Old and bitter house.

Through small windows – iron barred – is 
Grounds of austere held-back iris.
On the sill a half-mad fly is
Trapped inside the house.

‘Fore the view, deceptive flowers;
Wilted leaves of daisy cowers,
Budded stem and rosemary prowess
Dark secretive house.

Corridors seem warped and twisted,
Paintings where the eyes are misted,
Tightly lipped and balled-up-fisted
Feeling to the house.

Paranoia, people watching,
Hypnotising mirror’s blotching,
Tarnished surface, shadows dodging,
Memory plagued house.

Chilling drafts and cold oppression,
Looming presence, new possession.
Take me and commit transgression,
‘Come part of the house.

Details | Emma Gregory Poem

Believe Me When I Say I'M Hurting

How do I smile briefly, and turn my head,
Answer questions, make it light
When every mention fills limbs with dread
But I can’t descend to expose the fight

I’ve created a hardened, coarsened outer shell
That moved on quickly, barely cares
That faced the world, and shall not let dwell
The inside creature, who not well fares

The collapsing, sobbing, wailing woman inside me 
Cleaves to the floor, pulls it close
And her clawing, fighting fingers wrench me
Begging for but a lighter dose

And her haggard hair spills about her bare neck
And tears left black tracks to her chin
And a torn, worn dress her bony shoulders, bedeck
And her wrists… oh she is so thin.

So the tempest calms and, quiet now, she lies
In the cavernous, bleak, echoing hall,
And you could look to the reflective surface of her eyes
As she’s wound in so tight a ball

For these eyes are repeated outside and in
Haunted with misery, aching
But unreachable is the outer shell’s twin
As one of them stirs, waiting.

Details | Emma Gregory Poem

Errrm....

Touch my arm
With your ghostly hands,
Do me harm
Though leave me desperate,
My lips, desiccate,
And forever, I will wait.

Breathe out gently
Caress my sensual neck;
Do attend me,
And open wide my eyes, revel in my sighs;
But make me not despise.

Curve your lips,
Flash me wanton smiles.
My hand grips,
Though your hand’s not there,
Clutch at empty air;
Lips brush shoulders bare.

Whisper secrets
Make my own lips curve
No regrets
Do not think again,
Leave me to my pain;
Let my heart not wane.

I need thee
Know that I know you
Let me see
The eyes that burrow mine
You seem almost divine,
But know that I am thine.