Tag Archives: poetry

melt

Posted on March 20, 2014 by Susan L Daniels

spring begins not with crocuses or tree budding but with snow softening over raw mud not so much happening as unmaking that slow thing in the north we call thaw

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , | 13 Comments

Patience

Posted on March 18, 2014 by Susan L Daniels

My spin and fidget are past, though I toy with the right word for this waiting: A quietness thinner than paper slides between the gun magazines and last year’s parenting tips, a business of eyes and mind learning a recipe … Continue reading →

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , | 25 Comments

Mud (fragment)

Posted on March 15, 2014 by Susan L Daniels

The paths that I walked are grown over, impassable from melt a mud that holds everything still in its need for footprints and bones, not yet hardened to shale a process that kills and preserves you call fossilization but I … Continue reading →

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , , | 3 Comments

March is not spring (micro)

Posted on March 11, 2014 by Susan L Daniels

March is not spring promised in seed catalogs other places here, it is unbloomed, precrocus want a softening, finally naked and waiting

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , | 38 Comments

full worm moon

Posted on March 11, 2014 by Susan L Daniels

The robin’s voice breaks the back of winter. You can see it if you know where to look: the rise of sap pinking the tips of maple branches or dripped to thin cicles snapped from tap mouths and tasted, a … Continue reading →

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

like a toothache, like herpes

Posted on March 11, 2014 by Susan L Daniels

What can I say here.  I had to revisit the poem from 2012, because the man that inspired this told me yesterday that he missed me.  TMI?  Perhaps.  I still really, really like this poem.     If I say … Continue reading →

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , , , , , , | 26 Comments

March is not spring

Posted on March 10, 2014 by Susan L Daniels

March is not the spring promised in seed catalogs other places here, it is the unbloomed, precrocus want of mud under ice a softening, finally naked but still waiting

Posted in New Free Verse | Tagged , | 23 Comments