02 December 2016

Who Is the Thief who Stole our Time?

My time’s been running out since we voted—
I mean, time’s lost, as in time is stolen.
Have you not felt it leave?  Not time passing
or aging, not feeling we’ve just lost a fight
(though that is true) but like time slipped away.

There used to be more time to do things in
but hours are gone so there’s less time to meet
and greet and eat when on our feet—
less time to sleep.  Truly, I could—will—weep
for lack of joy and promises to keep.

Because with time goes peace of mind and plans
to resurrect my Christmas tree.  I will
not mail out cards and gifts—no time—will not
call friends afar, or see them here.  Too rare
the rest between the fear and restlessness.

I still wish time was here to share yule cheer
and beer, to sing carols and build snow deer
in our empty front yards—but we’ve no time
to share since thieves stole seconds from our hands,
minutes from minds and hours from our hearts.

I am sad to say I've missed several of Elizabeth's prompts at 1sojournal, and this is my attempt at her Creativity Challenge Day 11 for the writer/artist to choose a word and expand on how it fills and unfills experience of now.  I'm paraphrasing, so visit the link.  Today is really the 12th day when the prompt is "diversity"—something I'll think about tomorrow (which rather speeds than creeps along). Sigh.

My blog poems are rough drafts.
Please respect my copyright.

© 2016 Susan L. Chast

Post-Thanksgiving Possibility

Good pain, the ache of smiles
from grateful gatherings
where humans give kindness

This love permits us to 
answer existential 
questions with yes, I am

Yes* Though frightened, I am
ready to dismantle 
systems to start anew

People did it before
so We, the People will
plan More Perfect Unions

Yes*  Although we only
commence the march toward
solutions, we will, yes

Yes* we reject ending
in period, end of
sentence, we tried, we lost

Like gardens we re-plant
each year hoping this turn
around to come down right

Last year, one rose opened
this year another bud joined in
a dozen ere death takes

Yes* we cross boundaries
but know resurrection
yes* is continuous

Revised 3 December 2016  to strengthen for Elizabeth's 
Creativity Challenge Day 13 ~ Imagination.  
Posted at Poets United Poetry Pantry. 

My blog poems are rough drafts. 
Please respect my copyright.

© 2016 Susan L. Chast

30 November 2016


Olaus Magnus - On the Violent Wind Circius.jpg

Am I duckling that swans must gawk?
Among songbirds a hungry hawk?
An angry cat out for a walk?

Someone again has told my tale
because it never seems to fail
that when I glow others turn pale.

And whisper. Talk is sheathing me
who else might pierce all that I see
with sharpened blades of mystery.

For my prompt 

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Social Stigma

My blog poems are rough drafts. 
Please respect my copyright.
© 2016 Susan L. Chast

23 November 2016

Hyper Bully

He must have been a beautiful Bully
     Because DT look at you now.

Details about his childhood are still scarce—
his Uncle John revealed him rough when small
and when thirteen, his parents transferred him
to military school where his leader-
ship ended “after the alleged hazing
of a new freshman in his barracks” by
someone under his own command.  That’s it.*

He must have been a beautiful Bully
     Because DT look at you now.

That’s also the extent of his career
in the military that gave him such
expertise.  How tempting to embroider
tales of alleged mistreatment of classmates!
To imagine him swapping his costume
at night to fascist togs and leading trips
into the fields of bigotry and worse.

He must have been a beautiful Bully
     Because DT look at you now.

But let me err on the side of caution:
Imagine him instead as sensitive
as the small puppy he must have cuddled.
Imagine him unloved and bullied by
his siblings and wanting more of his Mom’s
attention.  Imagine him growing from
success into a man we all could love.

*Donald Trump, From Wikipedia

For Sumana's prompt 

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Hyperbole (Stretch the Truth)

My blog poems are rough drafts. 
Please respect my copyright.
© 2016 Susan L. Chast

22 November 2016

Fallout as Red as Blood

File:Red (2).jpg
Red by by User:Fæ

Two lines conformed ahead:
one to receive free love
and one rejecting it
(or at least skeptical).

He took the love-free line
unwilling to believe
freedom will give true love
or he can receive it.

Both lines forged routes along
mountain ridges toward
the peak, but could not see
each other’s progress up.

Climbing was hard so he
grew curious about
the other way.  Do they
have it much easier? 

But, paranoid, he can
not voice his question nor
ask fellow travelers
if they regret this choice.

His group trudges in line
brushing off rose petals
that drift, petals they think
float from the love parade.

As they continue, some
start accumulating
the red velvet fallout
in hope of infection.

But he imagines that
the petals also land
on those walking with love
who think they come from here.

He doesn't notice those
starting to help others
climb, doesn't look to right 
or left, just stays in line.

For Elizabeth’s Creativity Challenge Day 2 ~ Love

My blog poems are rough drafts. 
Please respect my copyright.
© 2016 Susan L. Chast

21 November 2016

After the Election

De Alice's Abenteuer im Wunderland Carroll pic 07.jpg
Illustration by John Tenniel

A new ritual emerges
to build safe space
in the well of our fear

We check-in gingerly
until we hear an equal
devastation and then—

Pour out astonishment
about fascist take-overs
and our less-free world

Splashing words and strokes
of angst, we dog paddle
toward each other

We didn’t believe for a minute
did you read, watch, hear
evil find its homeland?

We overlap excitement
at confirmation and warmth
welcome kindred spirit

And out of moves, we wait
for the call to come—now 
that we are not alone

After the ritual, we have courage
to preserve the alliances
hard earned over years.

After the ritual, we still have love,
still want justice. We’ll stand up
to fascism, hearts above fear.

Thank you for the prompt, Elizabeth, 
to write about fear and find some 
light for these dark times.

My blog poems are rough drafts. 
Please respect my copyright.

© 2016 Susan L. Chast