Tag Archives: poetry

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

paper airplane

Posted on July 19, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

we are as fragile, he says: fingers pleating paper as if he knows the constructs of heaven and hell the alignments of life and death; place and dust a casual and random flight loosed once and nosedived, airplaning into what’s forgotten

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , | 9 Comments

seventy times seven

Posted on July 18, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

That’s 490 times I’m supposed to forgive you but who’s counting? Eventually this math of us becomes less additive and more subtractive so that somehow we two together are less than the whole we were at the start.

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Faking it

Posted on July 16, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

There’s no twerking in this commercial by the fish by the cakes by the light bulbs. It’s the new Walmart they’re selling now: the squeeze cheese glows Chernobyl yellow, stocked by a simulated employee who talks about paid for education and … Continue reading →

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , , , , | 37 Comments

peak

Posted on July 13, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

What’s unseen is still there– the worms within vines that fail at the peak of greening.  Like cancer, there are hints if you’re trained to know them, how to cut what kills, and nurture what’s left until frost. A rainy June softens … Continue reading →

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The texas statehouse–a tanka (or, if you’re packing, make them deodorant)

Posted on July 13, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

No longer hidden instruments of discretion, these bullets, shot straight through this red state rhetoric will bring some needed freshness

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

Ophelia–A poem by Susan Daniels and KB

Posted on July 13, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

I. He sent me to a nunnery, either convent or whorehouse Did not matter, as long as it was away, the great Elizabethan F— off for a tormented soul’s manic pixie dream girl. There was nowhere I could end up … Continue reading →

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , , , , , , | 66 Comments