Less Is More

I spread myself too thin
put too many ingredients in the pot
forget to remember that less is more

I get caught up in quantity
when quality shines so much brighter
by nature, I amass rather than discern

A single rose can be studied
seen for its individual perfection
twenty is just a bouquet of flowers

My thoughts say why write one
when ten are flowing from your fingers
but who will listen to ten, when one would do . . .

There is stillness . . .

. . There is stillness on the banks

. . . . . . ..... . ..... . .of the flat shallow lake

. . . . . . ..... . beneath the towering branches
. . . . . . ..... . under the wide open skies
. . . . . .with the sun beating down
. . . and the gentle rain falling
and the birds singing

he sits and whistles
. . . . . . and he watches
. . . . . . ..... . and he waits

and the watching sky is full of silk
. . . and the spinning threads reach down
. . . . . . . . . . ..... . .and wind him round, binding him
. . . . . . . . . . . ...weaving him into the tapestry
. . . . . . ..... . in readiness for the cocoon
. . . . that will give him back
when the day is done


- Susannah Bec 2010

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This was written for the prompt - Fisherman
Taken from my prompt writing blog - Panopticulated

Individual

She was never one for pastels, her colours were bold
too volatile to have ever been considered demure
she screamed when others merely whispered
it was not her intention to offend, it was just her way

August bought forth a fiercely individual spirit
she couldn't, wouldn't, dull her shine for anyone
her voltage was high, she contained the electricity
but you could still hear it, popping and crackling

Under the shiny surface a golden heart was beating
as it pumped the ruby red lifeblood through her veins
Dancing flames licked around her head, a fiery halo
while all around her ankles the angry ocean roared

She walked the winding road, with bells on her fingers
and rings on her toes, painted toenails gleaming against
the rich dark earth, a carefully thought out disguise
that fluttered through the blank pages awaiting her pen

She came alive when poured into words, she breathed...
sentences became her tree lined avenues of expression
and houses filled with buddhas and peacock feathers
sprung fully formed from her swift and elegant fingers


- Susannah Bec 2010

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Written for a prompt, the task - use the words - demure, offend, volatile
Taken from my prompt writing blog - Panopticulated

Handle With Care

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I am bound around with sticky tape marking me fragile

this sturdy parcel of me is not robust, It bends and tears

If I am handled roughly, little things inside me shatter

I'm swaddled in wadding. . . the extra padding helps

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

If I am handled with care, moved gently, not jolted

my tune plays, the ringing charm of me begins to sing

the air becomes light and sparkles, fractured with laughter

the peaceful gliding doves land and feed without danger

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Scattered seed, strewn like confetti a feast on the dark earth

the soft grey feathers of them, a balm that dresses all wounds

dark night swooping, falling in graceful folds around my neck

the tattered, battered, packaging of me falls gentle at my feet

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

- Susannah Bec 2010

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This was another written for a prompt, where the aim was to use the words - charm, feast, robust
Taken from my prompt writing blog - Panopticulated

Them

*

She was
luminous, lit up
she bent like a willow
so that she wouldn't break
touching the ground
with green fingers
she was reaching
down into the
earth

he
studied
the negative
stroking the surface
polishing the reflections
and making them
shine

Between them
the electrons flowed
completing a circuit
so much electricity
you could feel it
crackling
in the
air

*

- Susannah Bec 2010

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This was written for a prompt - the three prompt words to be used were - break, negative, surface
Taken from my prompt writing blog - Panopticulated

Reconnecting

*
If we become
disconnected and
separated from nature
then we step out of alignment
and we start to entangle ourselves
in the wrappers of the man made world.
We start to believe that that's all there is
the cities, concrete, cars, and the 'things'
(there are always SO many 'things')
and all of the unimportant things
wrap around us...like vines
creeping and covering us
until we can not breathe
until our connection
has been cut.

So we wander alone
through those city streets
and turn on a television to see
what todays weather is going to be
and we forget to look at the sky
and walk on the green grass
springy under our feet.
We begin to believe
that the world
is cold, hard
artificial.

but

if we step out
into the wild places,
the forests, the fields,
the mountains, the oceans,
places beating with the pulse,
the heartbeat of life itself, and
we attune again to natures voice
begin to dance those rhythms
then all of the life force
laying subdued
within us...
will come
alive

*

"As you sit on the hillside, or lie prone under the trees of the forest,
or sprawl wet-legged by a mountain stream, the great door,
that does not look like a door, opens." - Stephen Graham

- Susannah Bec 2010