Friday, November 17, 2017

The Lift

The prompt was to write a poem inspired by the following image:

The Lift
©2017 Susan Noyes Anderson

His spirit crawls a lowly road
with little will to rise.
Leaves falling from the trees reprise
tears falling from his eyes.

Shoe leather, laced with mud and muck,
greets shadow on the wall.
The trap once set, now cruelly sprung,
yields no escape at all.

An ill wind blows no body good,
and sometimes life just blows.
Could be that he comes out all right,
could be all wrong. Who knows?

Balloon man, can you spare the fare?
One magic taxi ride.
A free lift for a sorry soul,
jumpstart to the bright side.

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Friday, November 3, 2017

Hold Fast to Hope and Fireflies

Hold Fast to Hope and Fireflies
©2017 Susan Noyes Anderson

I used to have a firefly inside me,
a certain spark against the dark of night...
her wings translucent threads of hope and dreaming,
her glow as magical as soft starlight.

I knew she was a gift; I always knew.
There was no capture, no attempt to snare.
She simply was, and so we simply were.
Partners in joy, staunch allies in despair.

We carried sunshine as we walked through shadows,
found springtime in our hearts on wintry days.
She danced and floated, every gloom dispelling.
We were as one; and oh, I loved her ways.

But graceful wings of hopes and dreams proved fragile.
Sharp words cut them away, blew out the spark.
She vanished in a flash of light extinguished,
left me to wander, broken, in the dark.

I used to have a firefly inside me,
a healing glow to warm my weary soul.
I bide my time, seek her in clouds and rainbows,
wish on bright stars, Come home and make me whole.

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Wednesday, October 11, 2017

The Uncool Kitchen

The Uncool Kitchen
©2017 Susan Noyes Anderson

My kitchen is a clone of me,
and at its very heart
hums one cold, stainless giant,
covered in graffiti art.

Refrigerator magnets. {wince}
They do not make me proud.
Unhip, uncool, oft-parodied,
mocked freely and aloud.

My critics can be merciless,
yet I am undeterred.
Some twisted slave inside me
clings to every magnet word.

HOME RULES: The list is lengthy,
unoriginal, and lame.
But everyone who sees my fridge
must read them all the same.

If Grandma Makes Life Beautiful,
and Love Is Spoken Here,
then Life Is but a Song to Sing.
Blech! {gagging on good cheer}

No worries. Home Is Where the Hugs Are.
Family Warms Our Hearts.
There's No Friend Like a Sister.
Home Is Where Your Story Starts.

Time Flies. (It does; I'm almost done.)
Snap Out of It, you say?
I'll try, but When It Rains, It Pours,
and magnets Seize the Day!

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Friday, September 22, 2017

Secrets of the Sea

Secrets of the Sea
©2017 Susan Noyes Anderson

When my own tides are at low ebb,
I stand beside the sea.
Bright waves of truth I used to know
come washing over me.

The sand dampens beneath my feet,
connecting me to ground.
A sacred message to my soul
rises in every sound.

Its rhythm whispers ancient tales,
soft secrets of the deep, 
reflections of the promises
my spirit longs to keep.

And I embrace the mystery:
the pulses of the earth,
the highs, the lows, the ebbs and flows,
the watery rebirth.

Peace lands so gently on my shoulder,
lifts me on its wings.
My freed heart opens to the sea
and every gift it brings.

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Sunday, September 10, 2017

God Watches Out for Me

Art by David Bowman

God Watches Out for Me
©2017 Susan Noyes Anderson

In ways I cannot always see,
I know God watches out for me––
His loving instinct to protect
expressed as I might not expect.

Storms threaten, and I beg release;
instead, He leads me to His peace. 
I call on Him to still the sea;
most times, He simply buoys me.

Illness descends; I pray for cure.
He lifts me higher to endure.
This mountain is too steep, I plead,
yet He removes it not from me.

Ease keeps us small, too weak to stand;
struggle and strength go hand-in-hand.
Still, when woes rush at me in pairs,
sometimes I wonder if He cares.

Then in my heart of hearts I kneel,
as He assures His love is real.
In ways I cannot always see,
I know God watches out for me.

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Friday, August 11, 2017

Depression: Cornering the [Black] Market

©2017 Susan Noyes Anderson

You don't understand me,
he said.
No one knows
of the suffering
stored in my soul.

I told him of dark days
I stumbled 
and bled,
days when life nearly
swallowed me whole.

But it wasn't the same,
he insisted;
his pain
was unique and mine
could not compare.

My empathy suspect,
my counsel
in vain,
I held back things
I wanted to share.

It bruised me to look
 at him,  
caught up in
misery, claiming
it all as his own.

He holds the black shadow
so close to 
his chest
that he's left
to do battle alone.

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Friday, June 23, 2017

Taking Back the Knack

©2017 Susan Noyes Anderson

I think I may have lost the knack
that surely was my stock in trade
in days gone by. The years have made
me less adept. I've gone off track.

Relationships: I had a gift
of sensing need, meeting it well.
But lately, I am empty shell,
and every comer gets short shrift.

Oh granted, things are crazy here.
A drooping sun. A spinning moon.
Wheels of (mis)fortune turn too soon.
No respite. Toxic atmosphere.

Machine gun miseries from all.
A clip of trouble raining down.
Can't keep my people off the ground.
Can't always see them when they fall.

It rankles when I fail to see.
Not used to it. Don't like it much.
I'm fading, dropping balls and such.
Not quite the force that once was me.

Used up. Burned out. Like melted wax.
Point taken. I'm no northern star.
But they're my heart. Straight up, they are.
And I'll not drop them through the cracks.

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Friday, April 21, 2017

A Postcard Wave

©2017 Susan Noyes Anderson

Just jotting down a word or two
to let you know that I love you
and miss you, too, if truth were told.
(The bathroom grout is sprouting mold.)

Just blowing kisses o'er the sea,
hoping you'll blow some back at me.
I've also blown a bit of cash.
(Got super bored and drained our stash.)

No need to fret. I'm A-OK.
Don't hurry home and save the day.
I'm muddling along just fine.
(Wait! When's that income tax deadline?)

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Sunday, April 16, 2017

What Will We Give?

What Will We Give?
©2017 Susan Noyes Anderson

The Savior in Gethsemane
consumed our sins on bended knee,
took every sorrow, every loss
and broke them on the rough-hewn cross.

Christ sealed His gift in grief and pain,
renewed each heart in sacred rain
of Living Water, lifeblood spilled.
The ransom, paid. The law, fulfilled.

His temples pierced by thorny crown,
He laid His tortured body down.
The sacred flesh, abused and torn,
roused heaven and earth to weep, to mourn.

The tomb received Him as her own;
disciples wavered, left alone,
forgetting promises profound:
The ties of death would be unbound.

For Christ the Lord atoned for all;
no grave could hold Him, nor forestall
the blessings of eternity.
He lived! He lives! to set men free.

A Brother gave Himself in love.
The risen Lord now waits above.
What will we give? May our lives be
reflections of His charity.

Happy Easter!
He is risen!! 

Friday, April 7, 2017

The Path of Peace

©2017 Susan Noyes Anderson

I love those peaceful moments of the heart
when mind and spirit finally run free,
the fleeting moments, seldom set apart,
when every soul is stilled to breathe, to be.

The quiet morning, jeweled in drops of dew,
the dusk as sunset colors fade to gray,
the mountaintop with wildflower view,
the friendly clouds to float each fear away.

A white dove calls; an eagle takes the sky.
A raindrop freshens bits of budding spring.
The redwood tree sends branches reaching high.
Soft sweetgrass waves its welcome, beckoning.

Across the earth, the beauty is profound:
serenity and nature, hand in hand.
The senses rise in sight and scent and sound,
collecting peace from grove to sea to sand.

And yet, absent the grace and power of God,
no wave would crest, no blossom bless the air.
It is His path of peace that all must trod,
and He waits patiently to lead us there.

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