Posted on January 5, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

Oh, if only I were this precise. But, thank you! You have given me something to aspire to.

davidtrudel's avatarcreatedavidt

She uses so few words

To say so much

Her verbal dexterity

Is as precise as a gymnast

Defying gravity
 with a flourish

Creatively observing each object

And every action and inaction

Rhyme, reason and contradiction

With the insight of the ages

Sculpting verbal works of art

That should be cast in bronze

Or chiseled from Carraran quarries

By some modern Michaelangelo

But instead

Even better

Her words are winged electric

Appearing wherever they need to

Now

And now

And now

To you

 

 

David Trudel  © 2013

 

 

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Posted in New Free Verse | 2 Comments

1/5/13

Posted on January 5, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

If I am still enough the four colors that are here will perch on my fingers.  If I am still enough, the shadows that are blue in midday will curl in my lap and sleep, growl only when I stand to wipe bounced light from my eyes, too much light burning memory into retinas.

Posted in small stone | Tagged , | 7 Comments

the epistemology of roses

Posted on January 4, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

I believe bloom
and know of red
and have a passing acquaintance
with thorns

but there is more to this
being a rose
than what’s visible

and I know nothing
of what those roots touch

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , | 31 Comments

that man who does not worship at the altar of two

Posted on January 4, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

I’ve never smelled perfume
on his collar that’s not mine
or tasted another’s kiss
skimmed over his lips–

still, men in my life
have had mistresses–
that slut work
that bitch scotch
that whore crack

easier to name a Nancy
because I can meet eyes,
learn voice, paste
the face on a woman
most likely

like me
who adds pennies
for rent
and saves what’s left
for shoes–red ones

either way
I don’t blame her
because she might not know
there is a me, and booze
is just booze in a bottle
innocent
until swallowed

if there are any fingers
to be pointed
they point one way–
to the man who chooses
some(one)thing

over and past us, and
his kisses
will always taste
a little stolen

*** inspired by this:

Poet At Play: The Other Woman

Posted in New Free Verse | 26 Comments

what snowmen know

Posted on January 4, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

through I write my name
there is no permanence to
what’s written in snow

Posted in haiku heights prompt | Tagged , | 27 Comments

1/4/12 small stone

Posted on January 4, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

In the long dark of this tilt away from heat we call winter, I do not know what my eyes are hungrier for–green or the sun.

Posted in small stone | Tagged , | 17 Comments

phoenix

Posted on January 3, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

Thanks, Mike

I want to sing in flights of us–
not from this tuneless sob
you call instrument and I call broken flute;
not from this stave that stalls, half-crafted
you call talent and I call wasted;

I want to joy in you–
not sit and sift ashes
you call collateral damage and I call evidence
not to blame, but identify the bird bones
you call phoenix and I call birthless.

There is no arising for this us
you would name after legend.

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , , , | 10 Comments