©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson

The world does not depend on me, I know.
I am no expert here, no talking head.
My currents drive no universal flow.
Wisdom will not go missing when I’m dead.

©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Noah Holm on Unsplash

Religion is no bullet in the night,
no savage spewing of self-righteous might.
Truth is not verified by lifeblood shed,
nor does proof correlate with tallied dead.

©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Andrew Pons on Unsplash

Remember them with pride, not shame.
Don’t taint their sacrifice with blame.
When evil fought to have its way,
young soldiers marched into the fray
and offered lives that they held dear.
The principles, to them, were clear.

©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Ronak Valobobhai on Unsplash

The cynic in me flirts with gloom
when something makes me grieve.
But I won’t let it rent a room.
HOPE is what I believe.

©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Ed Ross

Her hair is dressed in roses;
a waved trellis,
verdant and visceral,
rooted in animus
(head-as-hostile-soil).

©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Patrick Schneider on Unsplash

The heavy desert heat
assaulted her,
shut down her cool,
absorbed her essence,
stole from her the
right to breathe.

©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Tyler Nix on Unsplash

She loves him with a love profound,
but not that well-expressed.
The sweetness sings inside her heart
but rarely leaves her chest.

©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Rick J. Brown on Unsplash

Your every move is cagey, I suspect;
and thus I am a trifle circumspect
in interactions co-opted by you.