Checkmate

photo by Damien Derouene

Checkmate

©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson

Your every move is cagey, I suspect;

and thus I am a trifle circumspect

in interactions co-opted by you.

It's true. You are the barefaced bane of banes.

That I must keep my eye on you explains

my sheer distaste when I must take that view.

I see the games you play. Oh yes, I see.

And I shall counter each one warily

until your sound defeat signals we're through.

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The Love Note

The Love Note

©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson

She loves him with a love profound,

but not that well-expressed.

The sweetness sings inside her heart 

but rarely leaves her chest.

She is too plain and he too fair.

How dare she seek his favor?

Ah, but he smiles…traces her face…

seizes her lips to savor.

She rides a seesaw of emotion,

coupled, yet alone.

Behind her dusky eyes she yearns

to be more fully known.

Unnerved, she pens a love note,

words that she has longed to say,

traps them inside an envelope,

kisses it on its way.

Written in response to a picture prompt from Tess Kincaid.

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Christ in the Wilderness

Christ in the Wilderness by Stanley Spencer

Christ in the Wilderness

©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson

Larger than life am I, thy Lord, and yet

I too must wander in the wilderness,

must wield the crushing weight of man's distress,

must cleanse the fallen earth in blood and sweat.

Until my vow to save and bless is met,

such godly power in me I do repress

as would escape the pain and wretchedness

that summon me to pay my brother's debt.

There is no gentler sacrifice for me;

of my own will, I drink the bitter cup.

For I must conquer death to set men free,

that all the world, through me, be lifted up.

My life I lay down gladly to this end

and hope that every soul might call me Friend.

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Away and Away

photo by Caroline Knopf

Away and Away

©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson

Away and away to the black-bottomed sea

sailed her man on a whim and a wave.

"No creature above or below escapes me!"

was the promise his blushing bride gave.

Harpoon in hand, she stood vigil by day

and by night cast a net in her dreams.

Her veil was the mist, trimmed in fine ocean spray,

and her tears ran in saltwater streams.

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In Weather

Adolphe Valette

In Weather

©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson

I went to England once.

London, not Manchester.

Rained cold, a bit sideways.

Dark, dreadful, dingy.

Under the weather.

I ran watered streets.

Unbooted, blithely undone.

Up, down, willy nilly.

Slowed through Piccadilly.

Magic.

Steve Lavelle 2015

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Be Still and Grow

photo by Francesca Woodman

Be Still and Grow

©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson

Sometimes, life's colors spin away and set us spinning, too.

The air about us thickens, and we lose our point of view.

Each breath a gasp, we cling to light, unwont to disappear;

but still we feel our edges fading, blurred by swirling fear.

We call for help in urgent tones, but none can penetrate.

We spin. We spin. Inertia has become an active state.

When balance fails, we land once more in stark reality.

The truth awaits us all. Be still, and grow. Let go. Walk free.

∞§∞

"Be still, and know that I am God."

Psalm 46:10

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La Luchadora

image by Ed Ross

La Luchadora

©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson

Her hair is dressed in roses:

a waved trellis,

verdant and visceral,

rooted in animus

(head-as-hostile-soil).

She likes the irony,

invokes contrast.

Her eyes speak thorns

quite fluently,

scalp blooming.

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The Cause of Freedom

The Cause of Freedom

©2015 Susan Noyes Anderson

The parched soil drinks their holy blood.

They lay their bodies down like wine:

last dregs of fleeing innocence,

surrendered on the sacred vine.

With colors flying in the breeze,

stout poppies stand in full array.

Brined roots draw horror from the ground,

releasing it to light of day.

The horror and the loss, the loss.

Destruction never counts the cost.

Freedom remains an aching need.

The soul and body bleed. They bleed.

∞§∞

On this and every Veteran's Day, my heart is filled with gratitude for 

all who have placed themselves in harm's way to serve the cause of freedom.

The origin of the red Flanders poppy as a modern-day symbol of remembrance 

was the inspiration of an American woman, Miss Moina Michael.

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Under Cover

image by Jacek Yerka

Under Cover
©2015 Susan Noyes Anderson

I draw my sleep beneath a golf ball moon,

where verdant trees sprout tiny, ticking clocks.

Deep waters hold me close in rippled arms,

enfold me in a soft, white bed of rocks.

There is a calm, a strange but present peace.

All that I need is waiting on the shore.

My spirit slumbers, dreaming of release.

Night holds me helpless; dawn unlocks the door.

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Loving the Land

Loving the Land

©2015 Susan Noyes Anderson

Their roots were in the land;

the land was everything.

The old ones took a stand,

inured to suffering.

Hard work was what they knew,

hard work and sturdy hearts.
They held God in their view,
gave Him their sacred parts.

He came by storm and flood,
breathed wind and uttered rain.
He smiled in sun-warmed crops,
frowned droughts of wasted grain.

Like Job, they persevered
and counted blessings twice.
The land was theirs, revered,
worth any sacrifice.

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On Grace and Gravity: A Message from Mary

On Grace and Gravity: A Message from Mary

©2015 Susan Noyes Anderson

believe me, I adapt

carry me with you

then and now I bring

some substance

to the ins and outs

of living

this throwing-me-away

no longer needing

is a ruse

won't stop the bleeding

(je m'excuse)

is self defeating

the air is getting thin

all up in here

count down, lift off

fly free

but do remember

space can leave a void

and gravity is grounding

woos the oxygen

beware out there

the molecules are few

and far between

the grace unseen

so wear your helmet

like a rosary

breathe in, reach out

and keep me

keep The Baby, maybe

even keep the bath

it's holy water

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Life Train-ing

The tone may seem a bit ominous, but this poem is mostly a reflection upon our inability to control circumstances in life. Of course, we still need to participate fully, learning and growing as we adjust to situations not of our choosing. Faith is key. As Rick Warren said, "Life…is a journey of discovery. There are moments on mountain tops and moments in deep valleys of despair. Transformation is a process." (Still, those train rides can be pretty scary when you don't know where they're going!)

Life Train-ing

©2015 Susan Noyes Anderson

A new train chugging round the bend.

I wish I knew where it would end.

So much momentum, smoke and steel,

unstoppable from stack to wheel.

High in the air, it hugs the rail,

accompanied by high-pitched wail

to destination still unknown.

The captive pilgrim rides alone.

When I was young, I could pretend

that every train would count as friend.

But now I parse each sway and clack.

I've been on trains that jump the track

or stay the course disaster chooses.

Minus faith, the rider loses.

All aboard! It's time to ride.

The trains keep coming. Step inside.

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Do Not Speak a Word

Not One Word

©2015 Susan Noyes Anderson

Do not speak a word; I tell you.

Utter not one word.

These days your every phrase strikes me

as patently absurd.

The syllables that leave your lips

bedevil me no end.

If you keep blathering, I fear

I shall not call you friend.

So do not breathe a word, not one.

No wanton, witless word.

Your dialogue is best, I find,

entirely unheard.

∞§∞

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Keep Fighting Black

Keep Fighting Black

©2015 Susan Noyes Anderson

When trouble steals the blood that flows

beneath my rosy cheek––

when ashes gather round my eyes

and lips refuse to speak––

I let the sorrow carry me

on silvered wings––so high

that even in the darkness

I return as butterfly.

∞§∞

Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all the darkness.
–Desmond Tutu

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Exposure

Self Portrait, Vivian Maier

Exposure

©2014, Susan Noyes Anderson

Just when I think that I can see

all of the angles that are me,

another flashes into view

and makes me question what I knew.

So much depends on light and lens.

Great captures fade to try-agains;

and shutter speed, while in my hands,

falls short of what my heart demands.

I thought I had a good eye. Strange,

to watch the composition change

without my knowledge or intent,

by happenstance or accident.

Despite my heartiest denials,

no matter how I twist the dials,

control eludes me and the frame

finds parts of me I cannot name.

I miss the days when I felt sure

of ISO and aperture.

Exposure offers ways to see,

but is it friend or enemy?

∞§∞

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Susan's Season

Autumn in Madeira - Jacek Yerka


Susan's Season
©2014 Susan Noyes Anderson

Fall is a cozy season, made

to match my patchwork house.

What better spot for cider hot,

doughnuts for man

and holes for mouse?

Fall is a spicy season, round

as pumpkins, brisk as tea.

Red-orange leaves tumble from trees,

crunch crunch and crumble,

all for me.

∞§∞

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Illumination

Illumination

©2014 Susan Noyes Anderson

Moths are drawn to light

and so am I,

wings awave against

the darkened sky.

Free to fly yet 

bound by naked need,

anchored to a source

I can't concede.

Moths delight in light

and so do I,

seeking shining answers

to my Why.

∞§∞

(I fear, sometimes, to meet
their tragic end
and pray the light I choose
is proven friend.)

PS. For those who are interested in family topics, I am guest posting here
today on the subject of how to help our children become friends.

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A Nod to Starry Night

Starry Night by Alex Ruiz...a tribute to The Starry Night by Van Gogh

Nod to Starry Night
©2014 Susan Noyes Anderson

In the mind or in the meadow,

we must find our starry night.

From the green hills to the ghetto,

we are moved to set things right.

Through the bars that block our windows,

past the cells our souls create,

we contest the way the wind blows,

brushing off the hands of fate.

Man is weak and prone to stumble.

Let the daylight count the cost.

But the moon will never tumble,

and the stars shall not be lost.

Sailing on a ship of crystal

or a van Gogh-ing to hell,

wrap that starry night around you

and believe that all is well.

∞§∞

The Starry Night was painted by Vincent Van Gogh in June of 1889. It is based on a view from the east window of his room at Saint-Remy-de-Provence, a mental institution. "Through the iron-barred window," he wrote to his brother, "I can see an enclosed square of wheat...above which, in the morning, I watch the sun rise in all its glory." In the end, however, Van Gogh opted for what he called a "night study" of the scene, one which he deemed a failure. "Once again," he wrote his friend Emile Bernard, "I have allowed myself to be led astray into reaching for stars that are too big..." Of course, time has proven Mr. Van Gogh to be considerabaly more successful in his efforts than he imagined. (Perhaps the stars are never too big for our reaching.)

Vincent van Gogh

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Collecting Peace

Collecting Peace

©2014 Susan Noyes Anderson

Collecting is a testament

to life already lived––

a witness of the future

still in store.

The past holds value far beyond

the grave in which it lies;

we are wraith-ed in peace and yet left

wanting more.

Our ghosts inhabit weathered woods,

etched glass, revolving clocks––

every tick marks a beginning

and an end.

So we gather warm and lovely things

to comfort and surround,

ground ourselves in new tomorrows

with old friends.

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Call Me

photo credit: Terri Windling

Call Me
©2014 Susan Noyes Anderson

I'm waiting for my master,

but the rascal doesn't care.

I wish he'd get here faster, 

but I haven't got a prayer.

He takes me quite for granted,

though I'm at his beck and call.

So call me disenchanted.

Mine's a dog's life after all.

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