Lovenotes
©2016 Susan Noyes Anderson

image by Carly Mackler on Unsplash
Each whiff of Mama’s bread
rose in his heart
infused his head
with wafting warmth
and scented joy.
He was a happy boy.
Each whiff of Mama’s bread
rose in his heart
infused his head
with wafting warmth
and scented joy.
He was a happy boy.
My love called me a rose.
I’m happy, heaven knows.
And yet, my stem is torn
‘twixt beauty and the thorn.
i cannot write
it’s all gone wrong
my words elude me
like a song
that i’ve sung
many times before
and yet recall
the tune no more
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.
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.
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.
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.
Her hair is dressed in roses;
a waved trellis,
verdant and visceral,
rooted in animus
(head-as-hostile-soil).