Author Archives: Susan L Daniels

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About Susan L Daniels

I am a firm believer that politics are personal, that faith is expressed through action, and that life is something that must be loved and lived authentically--or why bother with any of it?

The Rape Joke

Oh.  My.  God.  This is pure pain,    http://www.theawl.com/2013/07/rape-joke-patricia-lockwood

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , , | 22 Comments

It is dangerous to love a poet

It is dangerous to love a poet who blows emotion into rainbow animals; orange giraffes, pink dogs, purple monkeys– her balloon bestiary handed off to anyone who stops to admire her skill and their lightness. That some are shaped to your … Continue reading

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , | 112 Comments

the perfect thing

for Kyle and Holly Yesterday a child was squeezed into being and breath, was weighed and gendered and possibly named but he’s no king of mine and no more miracle than the daily 370,000 squalling, shitting, hungry just born people … Continue reading

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Bonobos

We are no better than bonobos, defining ourselves by who we screw and how often, as if everything we are is distilled to those few inches of skin and what we do with it. No nun, but as an experiment … Continue reading

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , , , , , | 51 Comments

the algorithm of voice

The probability of one voice wielding words the way the muse swings mine so it is identifiable is unlikely: a probability of 99.95% against, like a DNA test disproving kinship, the punctuation I choose unique as DNA base sequences rising from … Continue reading

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , , , | 39 Comments

Women Write Resistance to Violence

Originally posted on BroadBlogs:
It is easier to program a child than a VCR. Only three steps. Easy, time-tested, ancient, a sure thing. First, hurt the child. Hurt her a little, hurt her a lot, threaten to do more, things she can’t imagine. Since she couldn’t have…

Posted in New Free Verse | 2 Comments

shards

I used to mill pain to fine flour, call it love; this ground-glass kneaded and risen to bitter bread cutting my tongue, but nothing can live on a diet that simple, that sharp,  forever.

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