Tuesday, September 27, 2016

This Is How We Are Blessed

 © Susan Marie

Selfless and passionate
birds cry, melodic.

Rivers and lakes
streams and oceans,
the great majestic seas
roil like thunder,
yet rest our weary souls

This is how we are blessed.

The trunks of trees
bear limbs
reaching down and out
from heavens sweaty brow
holding out hands
made of elm and birch
of oak and fir
thunderous heads of hair
crowns of chakras
all colors
falling, falling as leaves
blanketing grass,
emerald and awake
blinding our senses stupid
as children playing hopscotch
drawing chalk lines
of castles and kings
of princes and queens

and this -
this is how we are blessed.

Listen -

the human heart beats
like tribal drums,
circled by ancestral fires,
drumming and pounding,
treble and bass,
prodding the spirit -
onward towards destiny,
towards fate,
towards the next step -

In this mad world,
this great globe,
this utterly insane
human existence
is beauty.


This is how we are blessed.

Words/Photo © Susan Marie

Friday, September 16, 2016

Harvest Moon

"She embraced me beneath the firmament, pulling my sternum forward, magnetic. I heard the crack of ribs and cared not, for my heart opened wide and swallowed this Earth, whole." - SM

© Susan Marie 

Friday, September 2, 2016

Too Much, Too Raw, Too Real, Too Quick

Too much,
too raw,
too real,
too quick.

Life bursts
wide open,
like a wound festering,
gaping, infected.

Life is like birthing babies,
again and again,
within seconds,
never having time
to recover,

Life is a bullet
breaking skin,
hitting the heart
deep within chambers
of orchestras playing,
sustaining lungs.

Life is time, clicking
the clock goes

tick tock -

in the deepest, darkest parts of my soul
the bleeding is endless,
like the ever changing faces
of Mother Nature.

Time is short and long,
when attempting to maintain
some semblance of sanity,
in a world gone
quite insane.

And the soul takes flight
every single moment of breath,
like that of the eagle,
yet grounded,
on Earth.

This mundane society is killing me,

The constant incessant chattering of tongues
that do not recognize my speech
stare at me -
wild eyed in wonder,
like that painting, The Scream -

I stand, horrified and shocked,
turning my back
on millions of children
screaming -
millions of people
hurting -
billions of souls
crying out -


Oh, but the birds, wildlife
even the trees -
the sky knows my name
and calls to me at dusk,
to show me its bright eyes
and diamonds dancing
in the endless abyss of the universe.

The mighty hand of wind
changes direction,
in milliseconds
causing my neck
to crack,
spine misaligned,
a constant whiplash
of my senses,
reeling into dimensions,
I have not yet traveled
and have no choice
but to stand and face

For I am woman, strong,
born of the cracked and wounded hands
of immigrants,
who built this land
we now reside on,
stolen from others
now sacrificed in vain.

I am not the woman I was
five minutes ago.

Dear Great Creator,
crown my head
with great golden angels,
and send me into places of peace,
to meadows and sunshine,
to deep waters of dolphins diving,
and the vast free wilderness
of Africa.

For my body is tired,
yet my soul is exploding
supernovas of senses
tethered in this human shell,
my head feels
like it is about to crack
wide open,
and all the secrets of this place we stand upon
are to be known,
yet my feeble human mouth
is not enough
to report my discoveries.

I need ammunition.

Please send recon,
a backup,
something to tell me
that I am not alone,
to tell me
that my blood is not spilled in vain,
to let me know that all of my breaths
have not been wasted for nothing.

I need a sign,
Morse code,
a telegraph,
take me back to the days of trade,
cover my body in pelts of wildebeests,
and sit me down by fireside.

Explain to me
why I have chosen
this path for myself.

My dear Lord,
I understand
far too much,
too raw,
too real,
too quick.

is like birthing
again and again,
within seconds,
never having time
to recover,