Spring

The cherry tree in full bloom in the rising sun
deserves a picture so I rush out and take it.
To cherish in Winter when the dark wet cold
sets in and my heart is sunken.

©susanbauryrouchard

To my Daughter

She is sailing without the wind,
bobbing on the waves.
Without direction she bales
out onto a smaller raft.
Deadlines on the horizon 
closing in.

What can I do to help her ?
She relies on us but in her mind
a storm struggles
with the sunlight.

Just out of reach the goals she sets
herself flounder with the dusk.
A long time will pass and once again
her eyes will open on the wonders
of the world.

©susanbauryrouchard

What if

Drizzle steadily coming down.
What if I could jump ship
and be folded into the arms
of oblivion. What if we could
spend our time walking
perusing the landscape under
a benevolent sky.

What if we
didn't have to think
about day in, day out;
sink into a cosy bed
sleep the time away
Listen to music and dream
our lives astray.

What if the sun lightened
every moment. The robin
and the wagtail brighten
the silence. An eternal spring day.

©susanbauryrouchard

a House, a Haven

A house set in the hills
with blooming hollyhocks
and sweet lavender.
The pool, a fairy-tale mirror
laid in friezed stone.
You can sit in the shade
or bask in the sun.
You can free your thoughts
and explore your mind
among the woods nearby.

Treading on bright moss,
the horizon the limit.
The meadow stretching far.
The goats bleating
in the barn.

©susanbauryrouchard

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.

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

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