Susan Daniels Poetry

He says for me everything
is a mind fuck-fuck game
each action a calculated move
sacrificing pawns to a queen on rampage
but I am not player or plaything

spinning scenarios,or
worse, caught in a groove–
a stylus scraping the same
ridged vinyl of something old and staged–
a diamond worn,

not a glittering gift, but misshaped–
the rasp of a song losing precision with age
and repetition.  There is no blame
assigned to erosion through over-use–
a predicted pattern without escape

but molded forms on poles don’t know free–
any flight illusory.  Wind does not tease sculpted manes
and there is no easing of a bridle turned noose
to choke the guilty or prod what’s unmovable–our circular war waged
and we two the only refugees.

***This draft poem is using a form is  called a Karousel. It is a twenty line poem, four stanzas of five lines each. The rhyme pattern is the following: abcda  ecdbe  fdbcf  gbcdg. The three inner lines (bcd) rotate in each stanza until they circle back to their original bcd form from stanza one. Though each stanza is enclosed in a rhyme, there are no metrical restrictions.