Fixed to the spot

Cumbersome words, black and unwieldy,
sharp and sticky, they set like cement,
hindering the fluid flow of my progress.

I am aware of the faint murmur of my answer
as it bypasses my senses and emerges fully formed
- tumbling haphazardly from my lips like rain.

And I want to run - full pelt - away from the intensity,
away from the looming insanity, the spitting shadows,
but inertia gone, my body is reluctant to move.

For I fear I may disturb the dense atmosphere,
I am afraid I may finally lose my place on the map. . .
a stray bullet ricocheting off the smoke stained walls.

So I stay put, fixed to the spot, petrified in my place.
Entranced by the slow motion movement of his mouth
as it carefully enunciates the words I never wanted to hear.

Written for the sunday whirl using the words below.














Image - Susannah Bec

Haunted by her leaving. . .

I see her petulant mouth,
pink, pursed, and pouting,
as she lifts the heavy latch.

I wince in sharp anticipation
of the metallic clang as it falls. . .
a klaxon announcing her departure.

Her flashing eyes full of fire,
a last steely dart of rebellion
before she storms outside. . .

into the vermillion twilight,
her staccato heels echoing
down the bloodshot sidewalk.

Such a harsh,
spare, soundtrack
to accompany her exile.

Spun gold hair billows
as she burns bridges,
and ruins best laid plans.

Her leaving
will pick at the scar,
the crusty scab that would never heal.

The one that fuses the dubious union
that spawned and raised her up.
She stayed and she survived.

Until the house got too tight
and she feared she might die
- suffocate in its bitterness.

And I still see her petulant mouth
as she opened the latch
- and left.


Written for the Sunday Whirl - wordle 42 - using all of the words.

This collection of words bought forward this story. I love how these wordles do that! :-)

When Darkness Come Again . . .

Spread your whispering story.

Those glittering shards that sing
of instinct and fine urges.

Scatter some of your charm
upon this ashen soul.

Scald me with your joy.

Let me steal from you
the knack of carrying light.

So that when the darkness comes again,
to pour its inky stains and crush my violet hope.

. . . I can shout out to my sisters.

With their hair streaming
and wild voices splitting the air.

They will coming running.

Whooping and hollering
and dancing in circles.

. . . Until all of the shadows are gone.

Written for Wordle 40 at The Sunday Whirl.

Image and words - Susannah Bec

A Greater Depth

kneeling, praying, feeling
the rich black earth
alive beneath me

still, quiet, aware,
as I contemplate
the illusion

that broad panorama
streaked and dotted
with people and cars

it flows like a film reel,
bringing to life the
big city spectacle

while I, vain and proud
eschew the crisp notes,
sure in my resolution

that beneath the surface
there's a greater depth
that is full of meaning

and it is only dormant
to those, with no desire
to walk through walls


Written for The Sunday Whirl using all of the words.

Undeserved

Your trust in me
was brutal
unflinching
undeserved

and I
with sullen pout
and that fire
within me

never let on
just how much
it meant


(for my father)

Written for Three Word Wednesday
using the prompt words - trust, brutal and sullen

Painting by Susannah Bec

Maybe it will take an Angel

My love doesn't need a manger
to hold the new born sun.
My heart has known glad tidings
and that joy and peace will come.

For we can not all be shepherds,
and our voice may not be heard.
In among the haste and flurry,
of this very modern world.

No matter how long we've pondered,
this strange life and its bold decree.
I know that most are still afraid,
to be all that we could be.

So maybe it will take an angel,
to whisper gentle in our ear,
to tell us that it's okay to shine,
that it's the reason we are here.

Image: Three Angels by Susannah Bec.

Written for the Sunday Whirl using all of the words. Not great poetry, but I did my best! :-)

Wishing you all

love, peace and much joy!
- Susannah x

Three Seconds. . .

In the three second lag
between your action
and my reaction
I saw it happen

That hint of trouble
began to surface
instigating the game
we swore we wouldn't play

This year has been one
of calm surfaces and blue sky
one in which I could believe
that luck was on our side

That you were no longer
a citizen of that dream land
a denizen of those altered states
convinced that you could fly

Feet firmly planted in the black earth
something in your eyes gave it away
and in an instant the blue sky changed
becoming purple and black like a bruise


Written for The Sunday Whirl
using all of the words.

This story just arose out of the words as if by some strange alchemy. The wordle seems to instigate that happening! - pulling tales out of nowhere and pouring them onto the page.

This is not autobiographical.