Lightyears of Letters

Mitch Burns, a poet and writer from Michigan, listened to my poem "let me love you" and read my article "Leave the Pages Bloody" and sent me these messages:

CREDIT: Susan Marie, for all of the words before i say "I wrote back to her." This poem was COMPLETELY inspired by her poem "Let me love you" and my words are an extension of it.

After reading your words in "Leave the pages bloody" i became very inspired to get something out today and then i read your poem "Let me love you" and i had the line "I'll ask the Nebulas to wait until the morning" stuck in my head so i just went for it."

I am so honored and humbled, I mean this is the highest form of respect any artist can hope for: to inspire another to create from their own creation. 

Please listen below and check out +Poetlike Poe on Soundcloud. 






Thank you Mitch! Keep writing and inspiring others! You are one fine writer.

Buffalo Small Press Book Fair

The Buffalo Small Press Book Fair is a regional two-day event that brings booksellers, authors, bookmakers, zinesters, small presses, artists, poets, and other cultural workers (and enthusiasts) together in a venue where they can share ideas, showcase their art, and peddle their wares.

The 9th Annual BSPBF will take place at the Karpeles Manuscript Library Museum, Porter Hall, on April 18th from noon to 6pm AND April 19th from 11am-5pm. 

Remember this event is FREE and open to the public!

For the third year, Chris Fritton will be hosting the book fair on two separate days. Its incredible growth has continued, and it made it necessary to expand the fair so that more artists and audience members can experience the event.

In 2014 there was over 140 vendors and over 5,500 participants! Keep your eyes peeled for all the events before and after the Fair as well!

Website

Facebook Event Page

Twitter

Please direct all press contact to:

Chris Fritton
61 Elmwood Ave.
Buffalo, NY 14201
(716) 392-7305
chris@buffalosmallpress.org

let me love you

you light me
up
like the sun
burning eons
of bloodink and breath

like fireworks
blazing
across a velvet night

like Spring
sweet
like peaches in summertime
the sweet essence of
desire and passion
bursting

you light me up
like dynamite
like one million
explosions
detonated in my

heart
my soul
speaks

in words
in thyme and
time
means nothing
between you and
I
for my body
is yours
my breath
belongs to your
lungs
my mouth is meant
to be placed

oh, ever so softly,
upon your own

my eyes
speak
your words
my hands
touch
the nape of your
neck
winding downward
spiraling
to your
lower back
muscles
ripped

my palms
electric

come here, my love
let me wipe the sweat from your brow
ease your tired mind
place your head in my
lap

and let me
love you


© Susan Marie

look how they sing

I recorded the birds, live, as they sang and mixed that with my spoken word

Look!

Look at the birds
how they sing for us

they take part
in this
most joyous union
a majestic embrace
of sky to earth
from mouth to lips
from hips to eyes

your eyes

oh, how they glitter
and gleam
like confetti
falling from the sky
caught and held
in my eyelashes
batting

and the choirs
the creatures of nature
recognize
what is just
what is divine
what is meant

sacred

and look!
look my love

look how they sing for us
as I sing for you
and you dance with me
and together

We
are
creation.


© Susan Marie

Fundraiser for WNY VegFest

ON WGRZ Ch. 2 HERE

WHAT:     Fundraiser for WNY VegFest - Beer! ($5 in locally brewed beer included with your ticket!) Pizza by Allentown Pizza, Wings - no chickens involved, Cupcakes by Sweetly Simple Treats, munchies and appetizers, Live music by Sleepy Hahas. 

WHERE:  Resurgence Brewery 1250 Niagara St, Buffalo, NY 14213 (716) 381-9868
 

WHEN:    April 22, 2015 7pm-10pm 

WHY:       Help keep WNY Vegfest free for al! Join us at Buffalo's hottest new brewery, Resurgence! All proceeds go to WNY Vegfest.

Get tickets here: http://www.wnyvegfest.com/events.php

The WNY VegFest is growing rapidly each year and quickly becoming THE preeminent healthy lifestyle festival throughout the entire region. The community came out to enthusiastically support the inaugural WNY VegFest in 2014 with over 5,000 people attending and enjoying all the varied the plant powered fun!

Buffalo and Western New York have seen an explosion of interest in health, compassion and plant-based eating over the last few years, and together with the help of local veg advocacy groups and sanctuaries the WNY VegFest is helping to spread the life affirming message of a plant based diet.

Contact: Albert Brown: 716-465-3927 albert@wnyvegfest.com 

Check out the Tofurky Trot: Tofurky Trots are designed to support both the health and vitality of local communities and raise money for local groups supporting plant based diets. The race is 5k (3.1 miles) and is a run, trot, or walk open to all levels of physical fitness.

 

Click here to register --> https://www.eventbrite.com/e/tofurky-trot-2015-in-buffalo-tickets-15041208660

Leave the Pages Bloody

Published first on Rebelle Society HERE

Leave the pages bloody…

Leave them ripe with summer sweat, hard work, no work, lust, love, pain, grief, messy sex, no sex, lovemaking, mouth to mouth, warm hugs, spiritual enlightenment, rebirth, rain, fire, ice, ashes, matches, gasoline and lastly, most integral, life. Leave the pages of your mind drenched with the ink of the breath of every solitary subconscious thought.

This is what writing is all about. It is not just about proper syntax, sentence structure, grammar, punctuation, heck, even spelling. I make up my own words, just like Jack Kerouac did, like sistermoonchild, lightingrites, bumblehum and numerous other misfitlike combinations that happen to pop into my skullbone while writing.

Sure, literary people will tell you that this needs to be fixed and that word is out of order, and that is much appreciated for I am no editor, but to take the meat out of writing, the lymphatic fluid, the millions of veins, arteries and capillaries selflessly pumping oxygen and blood that berths within the lungs, to the heart of the artist, is quite simply, utter and irreversible, literary death.

So leave your pages bloody. Tainted. Sheet stained. Leave them so moist with emotion that when you whip them out the window of your rusted and beat-up 1967 Plymouth Fury convertible, driving 90 miles per hour down some random road to someplace you have never been before, yet shall soon discover, after ripping them out of a 99-cent notebook you bought for no reason whatsoever, make sure whoever catches them, is fully and properly, ignited.

I do not mean just lit up either. I mean changed, awakened, alive, Make sure your words set fire to cities and nations, to hearts and minds, to the very core of every human spirit who is paying attention. Make sure your words seep into the skin of the reader, leaving trace minerals that sustain the ailing human shell.

Make them pay attention.

Set fire to the soul.

Anything less is an abomination to creation.

The entire and main purpose of writing is to make a point. You can choose to share it or hide it; I write for release. If I cease writing, I fully understand and acknowledge that my head will burst like a pumpkin smashed on the sidewalk in October. It does not matter what your point is; it can be business, family, science, work, nature, passion, bliss, love, hate, light, dark, pain, death, love, a voice for the oppressed, suppressed, depressed, obsessed and impressed.

Like a fine tattoo, your words must imprint the reader so deeply that they begin to create, and begin to form different thoughts; quite possibly, they may start to see, if they already do not, this crazy beautiful ugly fucked up lovely mess of a planet we exist on momentarily, I hope always and forever, differently. Anything less is selling your own precious soul, and how dare you call yourself a writer if you refuse to reach into your own dank and dusty closets, yank out those nagging skeletons, grab them right by the damn neck, shake them loose, let them dance around for a while, smack ‘em around, show them who is boss and make them work for you.

You experienced all of that love, loss, pain, grief and bliss for a greater purpose:

To leave your pages bloody.

Don’t get me wrong, rhyming poetry and fictitious love stories are nice and all, but is that reality? How many people do you know call you up gleaming about the sun shining and the robins singing and the shore meeting the waves? Okay, sometimes I truly do feel this way and often write like that, I sound like a hypocrite, I know, but that is not my point. My point is, do not write chicken soup. Everyone knows how to make that anyhow.

Write Miso or Acquacotta, dip those words into some Caldo Verde. Toss them around in Soto and let them swim in Rasam.

You get the picture.

Right now, the sun is shining ever so magnificently. I opened all the blinds in this place I come to write, and the warmth of the great star is soothing my ever-thinking brain that is, undoubtedly, on fire today. It is as if I am in a cell and she, my dear sunshine, is attempting to set me free. Her smiles sneak through the blades, coaxing me to come out and play, although my brain knows it is freezing cold outside. It actually started snowing again. I ignore all thought. I rudely tell my brain that it is an outright dirty, sneaky liar — and often, it is — and continue to type to you now, choosing whatever random thought pops into my head, and hope to cause you to think about your own surroundings.

Look around you. What do you see? What are you ignoring? What are you grateful for? Use all six senses, and even more, ones you do not know yet exist, and tell me, what do you hear?

Sssssh…

The low humbuzz of the fan in the bathroom sounds like a drone overhead ready to crush innocent souls.

See?

Easy.

Try it. Then write about it.

I will catch you on the other side. I will be the one hitchhiking, and I do expect one of the pages from your notebooks, matchbook covers, napkins, and random sheets of paper to fly by my nose so I am able to sniff it out, grab it, read it, grasp it for just that mere moment, and have my eyes whip open ablaze, almost popped right out of my sockets, until deep in my diaphragm the thrushes start to congregate that berth there, impatient to fly right out of my thorax, through my lips, causing me to choke, only to be set free to this glorious, most holy Spring skyline.

Can you do that for me? Meet me there on that freeway?

I am going to go play with the sun. The birds have now joined the sun in her chorus and the daylight is fading quickly. The wind has melded into this orchestral dance, howling so utterly hideous, that it excites me.

Immensely.

Fault Lines

the lines
drawn
before this birth
from fingertips
in sand and snow
that align a path
invisible
from my spirit
to yours
are fault-lines
that cause
this weary planet
to quake and quiver
during earthquakes
tsunamis
hurricanes
and mad crazed
awakenings
of Vesuvius

and like rich
molten lava
you push onward
endless
volcanic

meeting me in sweet slumber

reminding me
of what is
was
and may be

and i greet you
with open arms
hair wild
natural
wind
whipping
tresses

as your chin
rests
in the crook of my
shoulder

oh, such utter
peace

and we watch the world
we were born of

together


© Susan Marie 

Artwork © Lynne Meredith Golodner

Dog Ears Bookstore and Cafe 4th Friday Poetry Series

 

   

Dog Ears 4th Friday Poetry Series

Curated by Fred Whitehead featuring Jennifer Campbell 

joined by several fine writers in Western New York. 

This was an evening at Dog Ears Bookstore and Cafe during The 4th Friday Poetry Series where Jennifer Campbell was the featured reader. To purchase her outstanding writing, listen to audio, and to review her books, visit Jennifer Campbell, HERE.

[Click each name to listen]

• Fred Whitehead 
• Jennifer Campbell 
• Roy Bent 
• Ryki Zuckerman
• Samantha Gonzalez
• Lynn Ciesielski 
• Scott W. Williams 
• Susan Marie 
• Sinead Tyrone
• Joel Lesses 
• Fred Whitehead

  

Please visit the bookstore, contact Fred about the series and check out Think Twice Radio below.

  

My Radio Show 

Think Twice Radio

Fred Whitehead

Dog Ears Bookstore and Cafe

above, below, beneath, behind, beside

Published on Poems and Poetry HERE 

above
below
beneath
behind
beside
me
your spirit resides

an eternal yearning
met in dreams
and moments
of existential
bliss

with you
there is no
thought

an inherent
knowing
that our spirits
have met
will meet
collide like atoms
in this universe
undiscovered
like lands yet birthed
before the age of man
before languages
were spoken
when nature existed
in her
utter
holy
glory

this is where we met
the wind whispering
through pine trees
the sun loving soil
the rain drenching valleys
when lightning was born
from a solitary
cloudburst

this is how we first met

above
below
beneath
behind
beside


© Susan Marie

Black and Tans [Jackdaw and The Ruffians]

Every St. Patrick's Day I put this out, a fine Celtic Rock Band, my dear brothers, all of them, in rare performance with The Ruffians. 

I recorded, engineered and edited/mixed this at one Irish Feis in South Buffalo managing so many boards I am shocked it turned out good. 

This includes the most mind-blowing version of "Black and Tans" with Danny from The Ruffians playing bones. 

Be safe, enjoy, and Slainte! 

Photo © N. Vargo in Ireland 
Audio © Susan Marie and Jackdaw