Posts Tagged ‘inspirational; emotional; poetry’

Oh Forest!

Oh Forest!

So you would teach me hunger,

surety of hoof and wing,

all that would join in tamed song,

          goodbyes cloaked in

                   hums and whistles

or fail to show up at all

come the lonely dawn.

I would weep,

heavy as sheets of Monsoon,

drone expel from wicked sky

opening those liquid doorways


brittle bones.

I am forever unsatisfied.

I taste the bitter leaves,

          how unassuming

                             beauty falls.

Touch thorny weeds and feel

cold pebbles that

                   mattress rivers

or weigh out the

slime from demon bogs.

          Sleep on fallen wild berries,

stamping into sweet existence

crimson raspberry mash as

I go.

Who can fathom loss, its mighty

soar with amber eyes like

a splendorous Owl, hint of

          tweaked thunder hidden

in the limp of a Silver Wolf.

Wide-eyed stallion never falters,

neither my faith nor plight

          of splintered lust.

For I am what I am,

          immortal below

Divine smile,

without remorse

          or blind curse

                   broken with

                             edges of mathematical pain.

Show me evolutionary stars;

a great fire’s center,

spit of Cactus tear

or the Sequoia’s core that

                   reeks of musk millennia.

Nothing can halt me,

                   or help me turn

                   pages any faster.

Not your faint love,

a fading perfume unsure

                   of prowess,

not twigged claw or

                   crooked beak.

Oh Forest!

So you would teach me

it’s not just the Dreamer who

stays hungry,

                             but the Dream.


© Susan Joyner-Stumpf



There, a streak of dawn light

just glimpsing over the horizon

breaking into the first brink of life,

          and would lay across the

                             pond’s still surface,

a sheet of perfect, laser glass

gifted from a generous,

new-birth sun.

Expanse complimenting an

otherwise empty space

hovering above eerie mist

                   the type that hides our secrets

and our frozen hearts,

                   forming its vaporous body

                                      to compete with fluctuating

shadows seeking valid form, wafting like

athletics in electric air.

Am I apart of this, or merely a

spectator to nature’s dance;

and I’m clumsily aware that

I just happened here, to a concert

that started

                   long ago without

my being there.

Welcoming me, as it were,

now that I’m here.  I think

                   being mortal means

different things to different people.

To me, it means the stars,

          the concerto of breaking

day, doesn’t need me to

open beautifully into

          the song of a waking robin.

Where gymnastics of dark and light

intermingle like tamed fire.

And an ocean’s retreat or a tornado’s

          unwelcomed screams

doesn’t need us to perform

their rituals of eclipse

                                    and equinox;

Only reacts when we attempt to

re-direct its meaningful course,

                             twist its velvet message

or re-write its ancient story.

Why is it we want to interject

our infant babble,

                   our cruel interplays,

slice her painful bowels with curious,

                   insatiable fingers…

Is it we’re not ready to admit

we never were nature’s


                                      its catalyst.

It’s the other way around.

Were we ever its rightful Caretaker?

It wanted nothing in return but our

acceptance, our distant admiration,

                   to let it be as it always was

                             and always will be….

its own beautiful, dancing,

                             mysterious and

                                                lonely thing.


© Susan Joyner-Stumpf


A ball of pandemonium

and yet you choose

(with pinprick decision)

to hear only the graphic


echoes of goodbye

its delivery

as exact as deliberate cruelty

as fundamental as a climax.

One can only cheat

the system for so long

before injured repercussion

(scars and all)

add up

come to their raped senses

and bounce back three-fold

like an abused Tiger

cornered in his cage

pacing the perimeter of smallness

Topaz eyes ablaze

with golden sorrow

staring out to the

blistering disregard

for his animal needs

the same we possess

once confronted with

searing uncertainty

swiping us down like

a wingless fly ~

like a shiver

in water-proof boots

but not a bullet-proof

projectile of targeted


Soaring through atmospheres

no destination  in mind

merely this journey of

dimensional fear beaten

down to unfathomable madness.

One gauntlet of misconception

guiding ill-fated psyche

that normally would have

prayed for remorseful amnesia

if given the courtesy to mourn

but instead is left to remember

that sometimes,

love falls like fuselage

out of tortured sky

just as quickly

as evil catches us

off guard, at times,

rises to the peaks of Heaven

and they meet

but rarely

in cohesive unity

except in the

mind and Soul of Poets

born to cosmic rupture

and who survive just

long enough






© Susan Joyner-Stumpf