Welcome to my Poet Lady Chat Room. I would like to invite you to click on the chat box and type in a question, a suggestion, submit a poem, in other words – “chat with me.” I may, if you submit a poem, decide to feature it in my Poem of the Week section or, we may simply exchange ideas and suggestions about your poem.
This is a place to “talk” poetry with someone who has loved it all her life. I have a true passion for the possibilities of poetry and would love to hear your thoughts and/or read your poem. I will be happy to offer my reaction to your work and, based on over 40 years of teaching poetry, organizing, and conducting poetry workshops, working as a book review editor for an international poetry magazine, authoring five books of poetry and two textbooks on teaching poetry, send along my thoughts on ways to make your poem stronger and more impactful.
If you’re on my site, you have a connection to poetry. Feel free to connect with me – right here -right now, by typing your message into the “chat box” and clicking send. I’m waiting…
Your friend in poetry, Susan
FEATURED POEM
It's again a busy day,
monday blues as we call it.
He fixed the tie only to feel a hindrance around his neck.
People with slouched shoulders, wrinkled foreheads
eyes on the logos of engagement.
The bitter sweet rays of the winter sun
illuminated her tired face.
Made her eyelids heavy,
From all of yesterday's late night-
The deadline madness.
Running in circles, people with geometric faces,
pied piper of life
endless rat-race.
Fast paced cars blowing off smokes
the city air is bristled with greyish dreams,
choked voices.
Heaviness of dirt settled on the
facet of leaves, the green-numbing cold
disrupted photosynthesis.
Of love, longing and hope
this crowd only dares to whisper.
A pause, a detour against the flow
brought me to this wonderland.
Flesh and bones - like an alchemist's art mingled into one
the night before, might be a lovers spat.
The sparrows are in the search of food,
cold breeze and chirpings cuts the silence
erratic rythymns.
The joggers are on a routine journey
swaying to the forbidden tune.
The morning market is quite a scene
You call necessity, I see an artist's palette.
By winter's boon
the canvas is bountiful.
Jaggery - the sweet crumbles, it feels like a mother's touch.
I made small earthen pots of these,
when I open the lids
this crowd penetrates and lingers in
my soul,
Even after I shed off the skin of
the parched being.