Tag Archives: love

shards

Posted on July 20, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

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.

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , , | 9 Comments

If fate is a weaver I make my own cloth

Posted on July 10, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

Weaving is a woman’s craft, and I have pulled art out of air, the shading subtle.  I had strung the warp, risked it, knowing some patterns fade before they become weft, pulled apart and combed smooth, rewoven beneath the shuttle. Before … Continue reading →

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , , , , | 16 Comments

No fairy tale

Posted on July 8, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

I am no princess waiting for rescue. Any tower I am inside I own the keys to and the dragon coiled at the base is of my own making.  You might bleed the price the thorns I planted as seeds require, surrounding … Continue reading →

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , , , , | 65 Comments

the dead don’t love

Posted on July 1, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

The dead don’t love the way we know it but they yearn, a sealed sweet sleeping like jarred honey inside pyramids until what’s clay breaks, releasing open and live what sustains lost under all that dust

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , | 27 Comments

memory

Posted on May 14, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

  We all have shadows, person-shaped thrown against our hearts sometimes, mine dance.    

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , , , , , | 29 Comments

what we are

Posted on May 14, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

for T   I don’t read tarot any more or enumerate names, but there is safety in archetypes predicting the obvious and blaming a planetary dance for the outcome. What we are is more real than a construct of cards fanned flat on … Continue reading →

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , | 63 Comments

cooking with honey

Posted on April 23, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

I could simmer gold prettiness steeped with rosemary and a hint of balsamic– a glaze to drizzle over something delicious, but now, right now, I want my honey raw and stolen, a comb sweetened by stings and primal, the way bears … Continue reading →

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , , | 78 Comments