small, flat feet frantic
in their rush through the dark hallway;
breathless, he tells me
how his nightmare
about a monster
shook him awake
& he is here now, safe
sleeping between us;
so sweet, how his
big-boy head
still fits perfectly
under my chin
when your son is 5
it is easy
to protect him
from imaginary fears
the real stuff
comes later
***since my son woke me up in the wee hours, it is only fair that he inspired this cute little poem, which will embarrass him in a few years 🙂
Your eyes opened
47 years ago,
May 9,
the perfect Mother’s Day present
born a month early.
I knew this story
before I had words
to tell it myself,
heard it
repeated
by our mother
in the litany of births
women chant,
turning memory
into personal legend.
For 28 years
we were friends
the way only sisters
can battle & forget
& come together again,
a force inevitable
& strong
as the plates of the earth separating
& colliding together underground.
Our quaking is over forever,
& today I will toast you
with Little Love Drops,
that sweet Delaware wine
you loved–
even the name
is too honeyed
for my tongue
yes, I now drink 1 glass
once a year,
in your memory
& I still
hate that taste
We are no first man
& first woman
in an ideal garden–
no, you & I
have fallen several times;
this last,
we fell together
with eyes open, aware
of the price of love
& willing to pay it.
We knew the risk.
I have loved men
wiser & more attuned
to my nature
than you, but none
with the singularity of purpose
with which I handed you fruit
already bitten,
& you tasted,
so we both atone
you would think
a poet
& a musician
would have more
to say to each other
at the end of the day
than this:
I am making lentils
& rice
for dinner,
unless
you had something else
planned?
Yes,
at the end of a day apart
my lover,
let’s not talk
about what’s for dinner
& instead
have a banquet
where we fill ourselves
on dreams
the things
that should feed us
because together
we are starving
*****Uhhh ohhh, she launches into true emotional poetry–someone call Blue Mountain Greeting Cards–a star is born! 🙂
I wrote these in 2010, on Gardenweb, so I guess those 17 years weren’t completely dry. Marie’s poems regarding Japanese beetles tripped my memory, and I went and dug them up to share….
It’s a little early for both pole beans and Japanese beetles in my neck of the woods….
pole beans in summer
reach higher than trellising
how will I pick them?
***
Japanese beetles
glow copper in July heat
ignoring my traps
I. Piano
My parents paid for lessons
for both girls
on the baby grand;
my sister was the artist
who caressed the keys
& the piano
played for her
as if in a fever dream,
notes dancing
beneath her fingertips,
almost before she pressed them;
rippling and purring
pure music.
I was not so
blessed.
That gorgeous piano
demanded that I count
& play
at the same time;
a lesson
of 1-and, 2-and, 3-and
repeated
by my teacher
beneath faltering, wrong notes
on the same instrument
that carolled
30 minutes before.
The metronome
was my enemy.
We all could hear the difference.
Still, my mother
insisted I practice;
because this was a gift
I was offered,
the pleasure of learning
to play a piano;
no joy
for any of us
when I was dragged,
kicking my legs
& screeching
to practice.
So, eventually
they gave up
& let the piano dance
for my sister
& stay mercifully silent
for me.
2. Voice
That perfect pitch
& time
I could not teach my fingers
to follow
on the piano
found a home here
where it could wake
in my throat;
stretch,
& show me scales
behind my eyelids
all I had to do
was open my throat
& let go
all day resonating
like a struck tuning fork
I could tell you
the escalator hummed
in B-flat
& our doorbell
called out in G
now, this music
I was made for;
my voice the only instrument
I needed
By Noel Ihebuzor and Susan L. Daniels
Susan:
Can I write this
or is this you
breathing in my poetry
& exhaling constellations
as I do yours
Let us write a truth
together
that resonates
across 2 continents:
of ogene and cymbal,
our voices
braiding organically
some new construct
Noel:
The song of twin voices twined and intertwined
linked by a bridge of rainbow,
a rainbow that links to an eternal truth
that bonds are color blind and see through blinds
communing across space and tongues with no tongue
sharing messages and vibes even in silence so total soft that feather falls sound like shouting waterfalls
the ogene perfumes the airwaves with lusty melodies
the cymbal charms and caresses aroused ear drums
as the flutist weaves and paints soft echoes of universal amity
feet begin to tap and waists begin to sway
to a spontaneous rhythm that speaks, that bonds, that creates, and announces a bond that baffles space,
time, clime and culture,
the bond and truth of the huge seeds and power of shared creativity that resides in us,
waiting to be released to waiting, warm welcoming spaces
Susan:
I pipe a melody
on a single pan flute,
and you answer with full orchestra;
a rainbow ocean of voices blended
I swim within gladly,
a song
echoed in conch shells
lifted to hungry ears,
or is that
the echo of a pulse
that is eternal,
life’s beat
is the rhythm of this dancing
out feet move inside
what will spring
from this planting
that I accept
in cupped,
trembling hands
& cover
with echoing silence?
Noel:
The planted seed bursts to life
and a sapling bursts to life
singing unheard melodies as it leaves unfurl,
branches reach out
embracing the open skies
its roots penetrate firm and deep
soon the bewitched seasons conspire
to fast track the season of seeds
the season of sowing
the season of birth
new songs are unleashed,
voices twine and intertwine
combining, creating and co-creating
new rhythms and fresh amities
and fresh rainbow bridges link people,
connect earth and sky,
people, places and spaces,
bodies and kindred souls in bonds of sharing,
bonds that penetrate, interpenetrate,
bonds that sing, hum and creating
warm synergies and energies
outflowing with enrichments
booming, blossoming and blooming
with life and unbounded possibilities
and boundless vistas
****My new friend Noel and I wrote this in 2 voices, from 2 different continents, and spanning God knows how many time zones–don’t know what time it was when he finished this last part–it is midafternoon here, in Western New York. This was a lot of fun to do!
All I can say is, it was a joy to have a conversation in poetry, and I am humbled to have my words intertwined with those of a master wordsmith….. His name goes first, as he is a far better poet than I, and it was his idea….
If I read this in public, I am going to have to have the help of a male poet who reads with a deep, booming voice, as I believe that is how Noel’s voice should be carried in the reading—not my smooth contralto 🙂
Susan Daniels Poetry 