Santillana del Mar, Cantábria, España

lundi 23 décembre 2013


The sun is out 
and even baby hedgehog
 is sniffing around
the compost heap.

in full light
in cosy coat
of Christmas
wishes and lore.

May souls soar
above the tree tops,
fan out and settle
once more.

Beside the fire
of inspiration, the twinkle
of the stars.


wishing you a Merry Christmas for you and your loved ones.

©Susan Baury Rouchard
Dear friends,

a quote from Dr Seuss :

 Be who you are and say how you feel, because those who

 matter won’t mind and those who mind don’t matter.

Thank you Yvette.

jeudi 24 octobre 2013

talking about the weather

Warm here in Toulouse today, the cloud cover is fairly high and the leaves are starting to take on beautiful colours: crisp yellow and ripe green.

lundi 9 septembre 2013


back from Stratford Living Shakespeare Course. A splendid As you Like it at RST and intriguing Candide at the Swan.





poem inspired by my own hand at amateur theatrics over the years.


Theatre Magic
To bask in the limelight 
just for one night.
 Like David Jones would say : 
' a hero just for one day '.

To prance about the stage 
for one performance only. 
A year in the making. 
Summer through Winter.

To design the set, bright 
colours, soft wood and sweet- 
smelling leather. To paint the poster, 
coarse brush on rough canvas.

Learn your lines on cue. 
Melodious voice shoots 
out over the arena and bounces 
back from the far brick wall.

Take up space on the shiny, 
creaky floor-board. To fondle
a vase and set it down at the exact 
same spot, a white taped cross.

To choose your dress, satin press. 
Change the colour of your hair. 
Ruby blond, golden brown, velvet-blue. 
Pick out a new self, try them on, 
for size, one by one. Not too loose, not too tight.

On the big night, to relax under the make- up 
brush. And then launch onto the stage. 
A Chinese junk, wind in the square sail, 
taut, for a nonpareil journey.

Just enough to polish your self-esteem, 
vent your spleen until next spring


©Susan Baury Rouchard

mercredi 24 avril 2013

reward is in the writing


Rejection and Reward (June 2009)

It was a spiffing bit of poetry.
Rhyming lines and bouncing
rhythms. It was about my wee
Alice who when just a babe,
bubbling bubbles would rock
herself to sleep.

Startling images and rich assonance
it held. Meaning seeped up
from colourful words, reverence
for darling daughter peeped
out from stanzas, beats and feet.

Oh woe that my reader should
reject this wonderful piece.
See what you're missing; if only
you could I shouted to the heavens
in Greece. Reward lies in the writing,
that's the feat !


©Susan Baury Rouchard

vendredi 12 avril 2013

writing buddy near Toulouse

Dear Fellow writers,

looking for writing buddies near Toulouse, FRANCE.
Welcome Marilyn.

http://glowwormcreative.blogspot.fr/

jeudi 28 février 2013

samedi 9 février 2013

birds

A sparrow and a robin red-breast
bicker over a piece of bread
thrown onto the terrace
this morning.

Robin lurches at Sparrow.
Sparrow is content with his meal.
Why ? Other bits wait not far
away but Robin wants the catch
Sparrow is pecking at.

Beat of feathers, stab of beak.
Then they both fly away,
perch on the bush
and wait.

Blackbird pruning his dress
on the tallest branch
of the lime tree in the rain
swings down and seizes
a fat morsel. Ripping at the rim.

Robin and Sparrow swoop
back and fight again.
Two other sparrows share a bite.
All fly off to the bush

and watch the stage by the kitchen 
window. They enter one by one, two
by two to dance about the offerings.
A patter of feet, a ballet of wings
a battle of beaks.



©Susan Baury Rouchard

vendredi 11 janvier 2013

Diane Setterfield

Currently reading The Thirteenth Tale..mesmerized and so fascinated that I would like to share.

The book and the author.

http://authors.simonandschuster.com/Diane-Setterfield/38679211

http://www.bookbrowse.com/biographies/index.cfm/author_number/1376/diane-setterfield



jeudi 10 janvier 2013

skies clearing up, the sun glancing a yellow hue


Bug in the Bath


There's a bug in the bath
scuttling on the tile
away from the light and gush of water.

It meanders on the pattern
of a pink and grey flower
following an invisible thread
in a labyrinth.

The steam rises and the feet clamber
then slip, plop into the water.
There pedals like a U-boat.
I scoop it up and land it lightly
on the bath mat.

The bug climbs, frantic
over hills and dales and finds
the cool floor. It sights a haven
in the recess under the pipes,
home of the spider.

Avoiding the predator's gulp,
the bug burrows into the safe earth.
Whence it comes. Wherever it goes.





©Susan Baury Rouchard