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.
