.
That yellow headed summer
when we drank time like coffee.
Wired and reckless, we abandoned
what was known, for what was not.
We peeled back layers and tore down veils.
Hidden in plain sight. . . we were illuminated.
.
Linked to Poets United poetry pantry for the prompt Freedom
© Susannah Bec 2011
Thursday, 30 June 2011
Thursday, 23 June 2011
The Missing Sky. . .
one moment
and all its nuances
fell from the long gone hour
like an edge dweller, a maverick
a loner screaming at the wind
and in its outstretched hand
layed the silent moon
like a peach
like a pebble
like an untold story
it knocked me over with its silent glare
with its unspoken prayer, with its modesty
and it stung like a nettle
a barb wrought from metal
jagged and potent
it burrowed like shrapnel
stinging and singing under my skin
.
© Susannah Bec 2011
and all its nuances
fell from the long gone hour
like an edge dweller, a maverick
a loner screaming at the wind
and in its outstretched hand
layed the silent moon
like a peach
like a pebble
like an untold story
it knocked me over with its silent glare
with its unspoken prayer, with its modesty
and it stung like a nettle
a barb wrought from metal
jagged and potent
it burrowed like shrapnel
stinging and singing under my skin
.
© Susannah Bec 2011
So that birds may drink from me. . .
I am a bowl
a useful vessel
an empty space
waiting to be filled
I am clean and shiny
hollow and expectant
I wait for your need
but I dream of the day
that I may enter the garden
and catch the sweet raindrops
so that birds may drink from me
and when the velvet night gallops
sweeping fleet across the sleeping land
I will hold my circle up to the sky
and capture the silver moon
and all the million stars
dancing and shimmering
on my dark water surface
no longer an empty receptacle
but fulfilling my purpose
gathering starlight and tending to birds
The last line keeps changing, this is third one that has been published! Not to mention the two that weren't. It may well change again. . . I am having trouble settling on one purpose - but then again, perhaps that is the nature of bowls? ;-)
Inspired by the thursday think tank prompt
- to write from the perspective of an inanimate object
© Susannah Bec 2011
- to write from the perspective of an inanimate object
© Susannah Bec 2011
Tuesday, 14 June 2011
Afterwards. . .
You stretched the sky
with your poets hands
trailing feather fingers
across my acres of blue
Windspun and wanton
the high flying bird of me
cartwheeled and blustered
on the thermals of your breath
After you had gone...
becalmed and bewildered
I fluttered down to earth
my soaring song, silent
© Susannah Bec 2011.
with your poets hands
trailing feather fingers
across my acres of blue
Windspun and wanton
the high flying bird of me
cartwheeled and blustered
on the thermals of your breath
After you had gone...
becalmed and bewildered
I fluttered down to earth
my soaring song, silent
© Susannah Bec 2011.
Friday, 10 June 2011
tiger tiger burning bright . . .
My love was a tiger
it chased you down
and ate you, raw
It consumed you, limb by limb
lingering over your eyes
relishing your beating heart
You became part of my body
ingested and nutritious
you fed my desire
Striped and sated, I slept
your sweet life still pulsing
inside my belly . . .
© Susannah Bec 2011
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