Sunday, 11 August 2013

Illuminated

Oh, that stark light you sent to illuminate my pounding heart.

Your striking colour - a stain on the grey concrete of me.

This fire you ignite... incentive to race, to scatter seed, to love.

I strain at these self imposed chains that hitch me to myself.

I wallow in my indecision, as you circle ...and wait.




Written for Wordle 121 at The Sunday Whirl

Sunday, 26 February 2012

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

Sunday, 5 February 2012

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! :-)

Sunday, 22 January 2012

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

Sunday, 15 January 2012

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.


Thursday, 12 January 2012

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

Sunday, 25 December 2011

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
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