Emily Bilman – Four Poems

poet Dr. Emily Bilman is London’s Poetry Society Stanza representative and hosts poetry meetings in her home in Geneva.  She earned her PhD from East Anglia U where she taught literature. Her dissertation entitled, The Psychodynamics of Poetry, was published in 2010. Modern Ekphrasis, dealing with the poetry-painting analogy from Plato to Derrida, was published by Peter Lang in 2013. Her poems are published in The London Magazine, Hunger Mountain, Offshoots VII & XII, Orbis, Poetry Salzburg Review, Iodine, and Aois 21 in America and The Inspired Heart Vols. 1, 2, & 3, and Ygdrasil in Canada. Two poetry books, A Woman By A Well and Resilience, are published by Matador in England.


The blue, green, red, purple paint
Of New York’s sky-scrapers blurred
In my eyes like movable mists
While waiting in the room limned
From the hall by a tall red arch,
The only concrete shape
I could hold on to in a room
Sprawling farther into space.

Painted cotton-clouds boosted Time
While my eyes were photographed.
While my vision’s limit was measured,
Hour poured upon hour, as through

Twin vessels, each hour lasting a century
Until my watch stopped at eternity.


Like a movie-maker remaking
An old script into a new movie,
I left spaces in our love sequence
For you to fill but, like a child,
Afraid to commit yourself,
You flew off, preferring by far
Your bird-flight to our twin-song.

Protean like the ocean, you
Became Greek one day,
Italian the next: freedom
Was your only desire as if
Too much was expected of you
Always, so you escaped
Into eternal youth in mid-life.

Come, my love, let’s stitch back
The frayed filaments of our desire,
Restore, my love, this cloth, in tatters,
Into a fabric patterned by our threads.


Like the sunflower’s corolla
The forty steps of the staircase
Expose the house to the sky,
The inner aperture of the court,
The artist’s perfect circle, oozing
In the air. When will I climb
Each of these steps, one by one,
To reach the top floor? There,
My friend lives, there she offers me
Her hospitality and the freedom
To discover the city that sprouts
Across monuments and mobile bridges,
Meandering by the river’s tide
Like a regal fluvial bride.


Weightless, as I rise into my breath, I dream
Of the caterpillar’s change into a monarch

That waters its diaphanous wings for heft
Waiting for a week before it glides with the draft.

Down my lungs’ labyrinth slowly curls
The breath becoming the voice that unfurls

The poem’s gist almost like peeling an onion
Through until the poem’s tears burn our eyes

And each tear fortifies our identity.
To merge with the world’s fury is insanity.



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