Five Poems by Susan Mayer Brumel

 

circle of seasons

 

rain drips soft

on green grass

loud in bucket

 

fevered foliage

imposes and crowds

-  summer boughs out

 

painted branches

flaunt then tumble

- autumn leaves

 

snowy tempest’s

coveted land

- winters over

 

warming earth’s

elysian snowdrop

- springs up

 

rain drips soft

on green grass

loud in bucket

 

 

Lullaby of Many Moons

 

One night I walked the foggy wood,

beneath a five moon cluster;

Observing it through leafy hood,

charmed by its golden lustre

 

Sleepy thicket, quiet and still

but for the tree frogs on the boughs;

The air was musky, dank and chill-

a fear in me it did arouse

 

Impervious path, I had to kick

away the thick and thorny vines;

I held fast to my walking stick,

and carried on toward the pines

 

The moons then shone more bright than day,

as if five suns were in the sky

A trail they painted for my way;

their comfort to me did abide

 

When from the forest’s edge I looked,

there, in the clearing, boldly stood

a buck whose massive antlers shook

to warn of something dire afoot

 

Most careful not to make a sound,

my body quaked in discontent;

I quickly turned myself around

and back into the wood I went…

 

The five moons led me to a field

where wildflowers dance into the night;

-No need to tame away the weald

of thick and thorny vines that bite

 

Instead, I laid my body down

upon a tufted quilt of blooms,

and fell asleep to whispered sounds-

a lullaby of many moons

 

 

Time’s Comedic Architect

 

The vision in the mirror illustrates

reflections of an aging woman’s face

Gnarled lines enshrine the many years embraced

But starlight in her eyes still radiates

 

The lips are pale and drawn a little thin

The teeth once bright have grown a wee bit dim

The jawline softly hangs with sleepy skin

But faithfully, her beauty glows within

 

The thickened neck still holds the head erect

The arms and hands are weak, with frail effect

The breasts no longer plump, profiles detect

But she laughs at time’s comedic architect!

 

The dimpled belly sits a little round

Upon the hips more padding can be found

Downy wisps grow scanty on the mound

But longings deep within her still abound

 

Once shapely legs have lost their sex appeal

Swollen knees make it difficult to kneel

The ankle bones more often are concealed

But her feet yet strong, still walk her through the weald

 

The aging woman’s changing self belies

greys and wrinkles that are but the years’ disguise

Brilliance emanates yet, from her thoughtful eyes

And her brave and youthful spirit still abides

 

 

On High

 

Like ribbons on a kite,

I am taken to the sky

Surrendering to flight,

as curls of clouds drift by

 

Upon uplifting winds,

I am traveling higher still

Far from a life that’s been,

and not against my will

 

No worries weigh me down

in obsessive, doleful thought

By no burdens am I bound,

no hopeless feelings wrought

 

Soft the air, and lighter,

boundless skies cerulean blue

As sun shines even brighter,

old mem’ries fade from view

 

Beyond its mortal being,

my timeless spirit climbs

By revealing light I’m seeing,

as if for the first time

 

Ethereality is blissful,

My spirit-heart beats free

Hereafter ever peaceful-

On high, eternally

 

 

Of Dreams and Time

 

i.

If age dulls not

the sense of time

or passion poised

on poem’s rhyme

then in my dreams

when slumber comes

I’ll see myself

forever young

ii.

If sunset lulls

the world to sleep

and dawn

within her breast,

light keeps

then as I wake

if light I see

a world of peace

will ever be -

But if I wake

to darkening sky

and dawn’s bright light

not in my eye

then back to sleep

with hope in me

to dream of

better days to be

iii.

If tulip touches

lips of spring

in dreams of warmth

that springtime brings

then when it blooms

with colour bright

will warm the chill

of darkest night

iv.

If treetops tickle

skies of blue

and sunlit stars

fall onto you

then you will see

beyond your dream

stars not ever

what they seem

v.

If fire crackles

through the wood

and leaves its scent

where trees once stood

then I will breathe

the smoke of sleep

and in my dreams

their essence keep

Susan Mayer Brumel retired from a thirty-five year career in hospice social work a few years ago, at which time she began writing poetry. Susan's work is inspired by the journeys of her patients, the compelling beauty of nature, and the human condition. She also enjoys music, long walks in the forest, flower arranging, and jumping in puddles with her grandchildren. Susan lives in New Jersey with her husband and Bernese Mountain Dog, Dottie.