Susan Noyes Anderson

Lifelong

admin — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 17:47:40 +0000

Artwork by Ruth Trobe

It’s harder now to tell where your part ends,

or where my part begins, as time goes on.

I only know that when I speak of friends,

I always name you first. You are lifelong.

We’ve breathed each other’s air enough to know

that suffocation will not be our lot.

Sometimes I wander to, you wander fro.

But lonely’s something you and I are not.

We’ve been together two-thirds of our days.

Safe home. The years roll by. The years roll by.

We know where all the bodies are buried.

And we know when. And we know how and why.

The Word Nymph Talks on Water

admin — Sun, 15 Jan 2012 16:14:21 +0000

Even turned to stone,

I can't stop talking.

Water-logged (and -lunged)

I burble on, blow

bubbles with my words

and watch them rising…

till every bit of heat

and hope is gone.

When I run out of air,

I bide my time.

But groups of letters still

clique in my brain.

They gather there,

await the resurrection…

ensure this drowning, too,

shall be in vain.

Resolution, Schmezolution

admin — Sat, 07 Jan 2012 07:01:10 +0000

Resolution! Schmezolution!

This year, I’m resolved

to make no resolutions

because failure is involved.

No plans, no goals, no promises.

No journal, chart, or list.

No calendar that goes unstarred

for every day I’ve missed.

No weekly ruminations over

changes not achieved.

No self-defeating burials

of good intentions grieved.

No self-recrimination or

disparagement at all.

No personal experience

of how the mighty fall.

No feeling like a loser as

the year rolls to an end.

No starting fresh on New Year’s Day

and trying to pretend.

‘Cause this time WON’T be different.

Join my cause and face the facts.

The Resolution Revolution:

"Just give goals the axe."

Christmas Past: The Afterglow

admin — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 05:46:31 +0000

One melancholy sight to see:

a brittle, barren Christmas tree.

The lights that twinkled are no more,

pine needles lie upon the floor,

the beads and balls have all come down,

and every branch droops to a frown.

Removed, it leaves an empty space,

but hope steps in and holds a place…

a lingering whiff of forest air,

a memory for all to share,

a sense of loved ones gathered there.

The Sandman Strikes Again!

admin — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 07:06:13 +0000

Up the stairs with golden dust

the sandman softly sweeps.

He sprinkles magic from his hand

until the whole world sleeps.

On Judgment Day

admin — Sun, 11 Dec 2011 11:44:29 +0000

The day I stand before the bar,

I hope to find in me

the person my beloved Savior

knows that I can be.

I hope I will have earned the pow’r,

enabled by His grace,

to look into His eyes and feel

the warmth of His embrace.

I pray I will have gathered light

sufficient to withstand

the brilliance of His countenance,

the glory of His hand.

The wonder of His presence and

the right to have Him near

are everything that’s sacred,

every gift my heart holds dear.

One day, I long to hear Him say,

“Well done. You passed the test.

Come, good and faithful servant,

enter now into My rest.”

Divine Nature

admin — Fri, 02 Dec 2011 00:05:48 +0000

Proof of divinity is all around.

God's handiwork transcends His mystery.

We hear His voice in every sacred sound:

the trill of birds, the pounding of the sea.

His whisper reaches us in sunrise stillness,

when all the earth awakens from her sleep.

Betimes He warns us with an eagle's shrillness,

or speaks to us in rumblings, soft and deep.

We see His radiance in sunset glory;

His Light enlivens moon and stars and sun.

Each shining lake that shimmers tells His story.

Each mountaintop proclaims Him as the One.

We feel His tender touch in gentle breezes

that muss our hair or cool a rosy cheek.

His every gift to us is balm that eases,

to know Him is the sustenance we seek.

And yet the proud heart is not counted wise.

Only the humble and the reverent see.

Look for Him in a newborn baby's eyes,

then find Him, in your own divinity.

Grateful, We Gather: A Prayer of Thanksgiving

admin — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 09:36:37 +0000

We gather together to ask the Lord's blessing,

for richly He's blessed us, in years now gone by.

The warmth of our hearth and the love of our family

are more than good fortune; they're gifts from on high.

Beside us to guide us, His hand reaches o'er us…

protecting, directing…our good He secures.

No matter the storm or the tempest that threatens.

in Him are we anchored, and safety endures.

With love do we praise Him and ever extol Him,

our Rock and our Anchor in days that are past.

We trust Him today, and we'll trust Him forever,

until at His feet, we are gathered at last.

first picture is by Norman Rockwell

last two pictures are by Greg Olsen

Graves and Chairities

admin — Fri, 18 Nov 2011 22:30:05 +0000

What does it mean?

I am part of a scene,

and the chairs are filled

with ghosts.

If no more alive,

I would rather arrive

in a field graced by

heav’nly hosts.

Angels with wings

sing and strum at harp-strings;

a ghost is unshriven

and moans.

Unholy, it seems,

to surrender my dreams

in a graveyard whilst flesh

coats my bones.

Chairs to the right

and the left as the night

inches into me. Nay,

let me go.

I turn around,

seeking; but oh, the ground

pulls. It pulls…how it pulls

me below.

Climbing My Family Tree

admin — Mon, 24 Oct 2011 22:07:08 +0000

Climbing My Family Tree

When life is less than kind to me,

I climb right up my family tree.

Stout branches turn to arms of grace

and lift me to a lofty place.

As brightness shines through every leaf,

my sunlit soul finds sweet relief.

Their foliage enfolds my heart

and shelters every sacred part.

Embraced, protected, raised by love,

I like the view from up above.

And oh, how clearly I can see,

high in the nest of my family tree.

My greatest joy comes from my family.

Because of them, I plant my roots deep.

And that makes me strong.