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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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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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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Unknown

photo by Kelsey Hannah

Unknown

©2014 Susan Noyes Anderson

Talk to the hand,

but hurry.

It's about to disappear

inside a rush of light

so bright

it melts my skin.

And there are secrets 

to unfold. 

Mysteries, washed in

gold and hidden 

from my view.

Unknown, like you.

∞§∞

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Looks like my new poetry website will be up and running sometime next week. It looks great, and I'm excited to welcome you there! Still have some work to do, but I couldn't be happier with the results. Anyway, hope you will take a minute to stop by susannoyesandersonpoems.com once it goes live. (Or now, for that matter. If you click over today, you can check out the old site and compare it to the new one when it debuts.)

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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Maitresse

Danseuse ajustant sa brettelle, 1895-96, Edgar Degas

Maitresse

©2013 Susan Noyes Anderson

It's music I remember most of all.

Soaring strains of winged Tchaikovsky

brought to earth by steady beat

of wooden cane against a parquet floor.

The ballet mistress, mean with added weight,

despised her torpid flesh and tortured ours.

Through us she danced, each arabesque

a thrust against our firm yet fragile borders.

I foiled each foray, held her off with

grand battement, changement, changement, changement.

Her face was rouge, piqued by my piqué turns.

She chastised us for nibbling a cruller,

gorged herself on crepes and jam.

∞§∞

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Redux

Resurrection Reunion 2, 1945, Sir Stanley Spencer

Redux
©2013 Susan Noyes Anderson

Death is a many-splendored thing;

especially when it ends.

The shroud is shed; the raised heart sings

and everyone pretends

that life is bound to be brand new

the second time around,

and all along they knew, just knew

they'd break free from the ground.


∞§∞

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