Life in Poetry reading, writing, reflecting

Life in Poetry reading, writing, reflecting
April showers bring May flowers

Wednesday 19 November 2014

Paragram Anthology

I've just been published in the Paragram Anthology with my poem
My Father in my bones.
my writing buddie Marilyn Hammick has also been chosen for two of her poems.
http://para-gram.com/

It should be available on Amazon shortly.


Friday 3 October 2014

Storm


The rolling rumble
choked my lungs.
Through the glass pane,
the sky lit up,
a wave of white light.

The stars were thinking
beyond cloudless heavens.
No air seeped through
the barricade of shutters.
No reprieve from damp heat.

The downpour came and went.
And when darting daytime broke
only sparse puddles
circled the house,
had settled on the bench and chairs.



©susanbauryrouchard

Monday 22 September 2014

The Thin Line

The Twit has made a bath
of the roof gutter. Could I
change into that bird, shed my scales
and spread my wings.

I am just aflutter in the wind.
A sum of countless mothers
and fathers on the brim.

Squeezed between forbears
and children, who, like peaceful
doves, take off and find their twin.

My sister now gone and I alone
have caught up with her age,
her rage.

The Caan and Able myth
sealing her fate, one Saturday
morning.

A train of thought led to
her demise at a solid station.
The driver, a pawn in her scheme

unable to go back to sleep and face
another day at his post.
A farewell letter lingers

passed from hands to heart
forcing on us the irrevocable.
The thin line

changing our lives forever.
Were I to become that twit
enjoying its bath,

careless, free,
no cat predator to be seen.



©susanbauryrouchard

Friday 19 September 2014

inspired by Billy Collins' The Barometer

On the wall in a dream house
next to the polished card table,

It hangs with hands
imperceptably shuddering.

Between the clouds and rain
it shivers. And when summer comes

it glides frankly towards sunny
spells with a hint of a drizzle.

When the air turns about,
gusts from the South,

dampness rises
from the meadow and wood.

The atmosphere becomes
a static bomb on the verge.

Its hands edge
towards a storm undeclared.

After pelts of water and hail
the cycle resumes.




©susanbauryrouchard

Thursday 28 August 2014

inspired by Billy Collins' The great American Poem.

If this were a novel
it would tell a story.
But characters rounded
to meet a rewarding suit

disappear into their actions. 
Who and what is left
but the narrator
and the reader ?

To get across to you
what must I do ?
Paint a picture
of the cottage in the woods.

Yellow lattice shutters
keep the narrative
snuggly inside.
And what about

the lady trapped within ?
The decor of her morning
room, the sun
seeping in ?

She sips at a cup
of strong tea
and reads the paper 
cover to cover

before sitting down
at her desk, to let
the pen flow
into a poem all her own.


©susanbauryrouchard

Friday 13 June 2014

Other People



You hope to understand the world,
to be able to speak your mind. To learn
the language of others.
Be it Spain or Japan, or under your own roof.


©susanbauryrouchard


Sitges near Barcelona: keeping your balance


Wednesday 4 June 2014

One day at a time
the pretense flakes away.
The washing and chores
rhythm my day.



©susanbauryrouchard