Friday, January 31, 2014

Knowledge Has Its Price

Knowledge Has Its Price
©2014 Susan Noyes Anderson

The phone rings.
Innocence answers cheerfully,
vanishes on a sigh.

Lightning shouldn't strike twice.
Children should be bulletproof.
Hasn't the freight been paid
for this (and more) already?

There is no King's Ex,
no Not It,
no fingers-crossed immunity.

No substitution or proxy.

Life happens, happens and happens.
Comes at you full force,
teeth exposed, jaws open.
Swallows you up, spits you out.
Takes another bite.

You can teach the Ninevites,
cling to the belly of the whale,
or swim free, wiser...

Ready to struggle,
embrace the process,
live in fear. 

Humility. Submission. Acceptance.
Jonah missed the message
in the end.

Was taught again.


"Trust in the Lord with all thine heart;
and lean not unto thine own understanding."
Proverbs 3:5

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Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Snow? Mais non!

The Mill by Andrew Wyeth

I'll take my snow behind a window, please.
Let it fall freely past the frosty pane,
whilst I sit in my parlor quite at ease,
boots dry, exempt from sidewalk, stairs, and lane.

I will not fault its beauty, nor its grace.
In truth, the sight is pleasing to my view.
Yet I've no wish to feel it on my face,
no urge to build snowman or don snowshoe.

Snow is a splendor better left alone
to drift or swirl or hang upon a bough.
I cannot like that icy undertone
and shall not breach my refuge ere the plow.

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Saturday, January 25, 2014

Journal Photos

A photo of me from my Journal

©2014 Susan Noyes Anderson

One faded girl in sepia,
eyes bright and opened wide.
Her life was sweet and simple then,
with nothing much to hide.

No worry bubbled through her veins;
no sadness scarred her soul.
The world was hers or nearly so;
she traveled without toll.

The sun shone warm upon her face;
each storm but cleared the air.
When lightning danced, the thunder clapped;
foul weather bowed to fair.

Her photo whispers, draws me in,
reminds me of a day
when innocence was all I knew
and troubles passed away.

The glow of faith had yet to face
the darkness at the door,
and loss had left no lasting stain
upon the unmarked floor.

What would it be to turn back time
and dwell behind her eyes,
when answers came in black and white
and truth steered clear of lies?

I still remember joy unbound
by grownup woes and cares,
untempered by the ups and downs
a wife and mother shares.

Those narrow shoulders left no room
for burdens on my back,
and every hope was still alive
and every dream on track.

Sometimes I long to be that girl.
Just once more, I would be
the little girl who thought she could
control her destiny.

And for a day I'd sail away
as far as I could go,
back to the years when clouds and rain
bespoke a bright rainbow.

Yet seasons change, all in their time.
Each foe and every fight
made of that girl a woman
who has learned to seek the Light.

Not only for herself but for
the ones that she holds dear.
Sweet memories in sepia
yield now to pictures clear.

Today, her golden hair is white,
and years have lined her face
with hard-earned knowledge, wisdom, and
no small amount of grace.

When courage wanes, sometimes I mourn
the girl I used to be.
And yet, to lose what I am now
would set me back, not free.

So I will keep my lessons earned,
embrace the roles I fill,
and treasure up the little girl 
that lives inside me still.

Life calls for guts and glory and
a forward-looking view.
The burdens bring forth blessings.
God sees His children through.

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Monday, January 20, 2014

On Art and Artists

Musician in the Rain by Robert Doisneau

On Art and Artists
©2014 Susan Noyes Anderson

Never keep your art too safe and warm;
it isn't right.
Abandon it to sleet and hale;
strip it in harsh sunlight.
Ignite in on an open flame.
Pierce it with jagged ice.
Beat it; break it; brand it.
Splay it raw, as sacrifice.
Seize pen or chisel, brush or bow,
but let creation be.
Art cannot move or breathe until
the artist sets it free.


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Thursday, January 9, 2014

Happy New Year!


©2003 Susan Noyes Anderson
from His Children by Schiller (photos) and Anderson (poems)

photo by Anita Schiller      

Times Square with all its cheer
cannot revive a year.
And no amount of pique
will slow a passing week.
No force on earth can stay
the closing of a day.
So give in…Count some sheep.
The dawn will keep.

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