Tag Archives: poetry

memory

Posted on May 14, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

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

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the promiscuity of pollen

Posted on May 14, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

Summers, I drive past regimented rows of patented plants weedless and well-watered behind signs saying where seed DNA was spun, like gold from straw was once, magic from a mundane wheel; but centrifuged stiltskin-like and greedy for progeny. There’s no stopping the … Continue reading →

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

when the weather breaks

Posted on May 13, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

Spring is an egg, chipped and spilling rain (not the blue robin’s egg we know, but the gray marble sky reflected in the nests of house sparrows). Impatient, we pace, count steamed breath, wait for weather to break, for what stirs under … Continue reading →

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

temptation

Posted on May 11, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

there are kisses that never taste skin but, once dreamed brush across lips a stinging emptiness of air ***we are writing about temptation over at dVerse today.

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Spinning

Posted on May 9, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

slap-happy I own no mysticism even though so often I turn that other cheek set in permanent spin– darvesh one hand directed to heaven but this is no ecstasy the center dictating my direction skewed (pa)inward.

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , , | 23 Comments

bereavement (2 short poems)

Posted on May 9, 2013 by Susan L Daniels

1. We have a word for loss: a formal time to reel inside grief: bereavement. More civilized than burlap and ashes in the hair it never gets old though we grow used to it, spooning skeletons in the closet: feeding peanuts … Continue reading →

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