"Left Ajar" {poetry} by Arshia Qasim, Aisha Sharif and Susan Marie

First published on MOGUL  

On The Poet Community

 © Arshia Qasim

A door half shut
a door half open,
Mysteries to unfold
promises to hold.

A heart that thunders
a mind that ponders,
One-step travel bound
one-step firmly ground.

In-between go, stop and if,
Life shapes, bit by bit.

Left ajar,
my heart.
Much like keys that fit,
perfect,
like hips and curves
of notes and clefts,
and question marks and apostrophes,
hanging midair
in breath,
caught and held,
as sentences
never spoken,
yet felt.

The door left ajar
what does it mean to the air,
It can push it either way
as it goes from here to there.

Love waits on both sides
unhurried, calm and patient;
There is no room for despair
hope lies in what is vacant.

There is choice,
freewill,
like flight.

Hurry love!
Do not make haste,
the door is open,
this is now,
the ever fleeting moment,
glimpses
into past, present, future,
the making of lives and losses
the jump, the fall,
climbing vines into aether.

My dear, my love,
how shall you choose?

Skeleton keys that fit
like skullbones,
crying the most holy tears
to heaven.

So enchanted are we with the lock
so enamored our hearts to the door,
That oft our eyes cannot see
there’s more, and so much more.

The soul does not knock three times
the heart does not ring the bell,
The space does nothing to choose
who in there will come and dwell.

When it permeates through the walls
all locks and keys go astray,
It is said and known all along
that love will find a way.

Left ajar,
my heart.

Much like keys that fit,

perfect.

* * * 

By Arshia Qasim, Aisha Sharif and Susan Marie

One Hour With Celia White

Published on Medium 

What a beautiful conversation with Celia White, poet, writer, librarian, educator and she read "Kali Yuga" and I start crying. This is one hour of history about life, writing, art, music and writing. She reads from her book "Letter" and speaks about the artistic scene as a whole. www.celiathepoet.blogspot.com/

You Make Me Beautiful [For Sir Muhammad Iqbal in response to “I Desire”

© sayyidali.com

First published on Jaggerty 

[South Asian Lit Journal]

 
Your voice is that of millions
wandering, lost,
bedraggled and confused,
seeking peace and enlightenment
everywhere,
but from within.

Yet you seamlessly describe
the pure beat of thunder in your veins,
indigenous drums,
ancestral circles,
of smoke
rising.

Your breath is my own.

Thoughts that scatter
inside my skull,
you have written of them,
reaching into my heart
with open palm
behind my sternum,
gently,
you take one tip of finger
and tell me
what my own soul
already knows.

Dear Sir, you make me beautiful.

I am lost in your words,
unable to do anything
but melt
within the beauty
of the divine.


– For Sir Muhammad Iqbal  
[Shair-e-Mushriq, Poet of the East]
in response to “I Desire”

The Nature of Things

                                      First published on Rebelle Society

The great eye of heaven

hides behind clouds

not on purpose.

This is the nature of things,

change.

Like leaves

kamikaze

brave,

helpless to their fate.

They adorn

the mighty oak

unconditional

with beauteous wonder

tresses of hair

every hue imaginable

an Autumnal bridal gown

only to one day

be let loose

without warning,

arms outstretched,

wailing for one last embrace,

before flailing through the sky

relentless,

tumbling within the fierce wind,

once recognizable,

once friendly,

once home

landing upon pastures

foreign to them

left in the wild of this world

to converse among blades of grass

and finding nothing

but incessant

chatter.

And the morning dew

once refreshing

turned to frost

unannounced,

unplanned for,

and breath

turned to smoke

in the crisp cool dawn

once warm,

inviting,

safe,

once loving.

And words

now fall flat

upon lips

that no longer yearn

for a kiss,

so utterly precious

and eyes

no longer view beauty

once divinely adored

by sight

and the heart hardens

to ego

and begins to close

when one ceases

adoring

the sun rising

everyday

just for them.

And it makes one wonder

if the mighty oak

feels any emotion at all.

For actions are louder than words,

silence shows disinterest,

and apology —

after repeated apology —

now means nearly

nothing.

I told you this would happen.

You smiled and laughed

said “There’s no possible way”

as you stared at me,

staring at you,

lovingly

and you liked that

and I smiled back

knowing the truth

yet to pass

my chest

full

my heart

pounding

trying not to

cry

I smiled

because you needed me to be strong

and I was a pillar

like now

spitting out bits of blood and bone meal marrow

seeping from the tips of fingers

that write words

beautiful,

like you

but you threw me away

like some secondhand

thrift shop

used shoes

human

being

with

a

heart

and it has taken me a long time

to accept this absurd existence

I have chosen for myself

but you threw me away

and I kneel under this dank, grey skyline

hovering upon the Eastern shore

palms raised

lined, in supplication.

These weary hands of mine

writing words such as this

to deaf ears,

to blind eyes,

to uncaring hearts,

to the bleeding mouths of those who suffer.

Yet, I rise

because

I am love,

I rise

because

I am free,

I rise

because I am

different.

And I rise

like the sun,

and rise

like constellations,

and rise

like mountains echoing time

after time,

that the sky

is

crying

thunder,

again.

You see,

you once saw,

like the others.

Yet, you threw me away.

Like seasons,

change,

is the nature of things.

I have been letting you go

for months

and

you

cannot

even

tell

the

difference.

West Seneca Art Society/Charles E. Burchfield Fall Art Exhibit

 
West Seneca Art Society
  Fall Art Exhibit
  Charles E. Burchfield Nature & Art Center
                    2001 Union Rd. West Seneca, NY 14224
                    716-677-4843

                    Directions

October 9th 7-9 pm, show runs to November 5th. 

Artists of all genres, ages, backgrounds will be exhibiting artwork for enjoyment and sale. There will be food, snacks, wine, beverages. This exhibit includes a diverse array of people,  an evening filled with music, positive energy, visual stimulation and creativity in support of the arts in Western New York and Buffalo. 

For more information, contact West Seneca Art Society V.P. -  Virginia Koeppel

*My son William [West Seneca Art Society, WNY Book Arts,  UB Center for the Arts, is displaying two pieces, a glass mosaic and a still life both created with Susan Nowak, Director of Fine Arts at Bishop Timon-St.Jude.

Maureen Burns [Timon Communications] was so kind to start promoting this event below.]

The Sound of Moonlight

A collaboration between Susan Marie & Mari McDade 

First published on Poems & Poetry  

A whisper
the caress of a gentle breeze
on the nape of your neck.

The stillness
of the breath of night,
a lone bird in the distance,
wailing,
calls to me,
this song.

Running along dew-damp grass,
I search for you
singing back a song of oneness,
though not of one.

Feet bare,
emerald blades brush my skin,
gently,
adding to this chorus,
a most glorious union,
a beacon of illumination,
rumbling ground,
thousands come to heed the call.

Our tribe has gathered once again.

The fireside smoke rises,
calling tired warriors back home.
 Autumn permeates the air.

What is above is below,
what is below is beside,
what is beside is beneath,
what is beneath is inside,
what is inside is the sound of the moonlight,
like the caress of a gentle breeze

on the nape
of your neck.

Like This [Urban Blues Remix with Nikki Richard NYC]

Trust in the Divine

First published on Rebelle Society

Collaboration by Susan Marie and Kathy Anderson

© Jean-Paul-Avisse 

Pregnant and solemn,

sentinel against a blue velvet backdrop,

she sheds light upon this dark Earth

in silent keep

over our weary human souls.

I gaze at her in absolute awe and mystery.

This one moment,

the moon,

full.

Her energy draws me up

and I atone in sleepless nights

of dreaming while awake.

She is pure like fresh fallen snow,

serene and stoic.

My heart bursts,

knowing

that I am witnessing

the divine.

She is ageless and old

like the sun inside the shadows,

where I once stood and wept,

for her beauty moved me

to see such perfect grace.

Before my entrance on this plane,

she spoke to me in languages unknown to mankind.

Her silver gown trailed along grasses,

emerald

and I begged her to embrace me

like Mother to child.

Light songs emanated from my soul

and whispered

from the lips I adore her with:

the symphony

of the universal consciousness.

Amen to her children on this earthly continuum.

Like roots and limbs of trees

and leaves that sway in the breath of sweet breeze,

the songs that drift

in this most holy night

heal those attuned to her sacred touch,

stitching golden threads

soul to soul

strung as beads

in the mandala of life.

We are blessed by her woven divinity

and unconditional love.

The electrical lines buzz and hum,

static and alive.

My palms are on fire,

begging to touch her face.

 I reach my hands

upward

towards the heavens

to give back

this gift

of healing,

 receiving new eyes to see

ears to hear,

and the illumination

of body and soul

combine

on this majestic night of nights.

My third eye blind

and chakras blocked,

it was as if a thunderbolt

descended

from the death of day

like phoenix

rising.

The ashes departed,

the clouds parted,

the dream catcher caught her fish

in nets of sea

surging waves

cresting upon our hearts,

washed fresh

as Spring in mid winters slumber.

I lay in wait as lover,

a gentle kiss

awakening clarity and connection.

 An insurmountable freedom

from all human weight,

my chest is light;

my breath comes slower than before.

Dear Mother Earth,

the distance from you to me

to this glorious wonder

is buzzing up and down my spine

from my sacrum to my axis.

The Earth spins

upon the tips of my fingers

and on this night,

this great golden eve,

I am awake.

This Is My Truth by La Owsia

 © Susan Marie

This. Just. Listen. She speaks the truth of all truths. Mind-blowing, lovely, beautiful soul. La Owsia [Lauren] names this "This is my truth" and this IS also my own truth.

 

This is my truth.
Posted by La Owsia on Thursday, March 27, 2014

Lauren is here: https://www.facebook.com/lauren.owsiany?fref=photo

The original video here: https://www.facebook.com/lauren.owsiany?fref=photo

Peace. 

Sue  

© Susan Marie

This Is How I Love

First published on Rebelle Society

 © http://www.alienated.me/wet-dreams

do you want me
to be dirty

devil and
angel 

do you want me
to stop writing
such sweet lines
and just say
come to me
bold and hard
grab my hair,
pull it 

push your entire
self
deep inside of me
until you nearly
faint
so we are both
dizzy

make me come
rivers
for you,
because of you,
due to you

hold me down 

i want to feel
your weight upon me
your sweat
on my breasts
between my legs
hot,
wet,
yours 

my mouth
hungry
for your lips
your tongue 

i want to eat you right up 

i need to smell you,
us
the scent of our
sex 

the sheets
wet,
my brow
wet,
your temple
wet,
between my legs,
wet 

my mouth
open
your hands on my
head 

my hands
holding you
just inside of my
lips

the head of your
so hard 

wanting
begging
hungry
angry

look into my eyes 

i want you
to watch me
love you 

i want you to
come in my
feel you hard
inside of my 

i want to make you
scream
for me

i want you to feel
my hips
push
back
against
each thrust
of your
mouth
open
in awe

i want you to see me
lying in wait
for you
only you
to come and take me
for yourself
for us both
to feed our souls
ecstatic
to become
enlightened
by loving
me

you

can you show me
how you love? 

i must take you
by the hand
and lead you
to me
into my
gardens
my meadows
my bed
of
flowers 

so soft and sweet

i promise you
nature
in my
open
legs
wrapped around your
midsection 

my chin
raised
slightly

your hands
turning me
over

my face
pushed down

oh, so gently

grasping my
heart
grabbing my
hips
pulling me
up
to
you

My God,
my most holy cry!

this is heaven
my dear,
my sweet release,
my lovely secret,
my deep desire

my back
arched
my neck craned
you behind me
wild,
crazed

and your sweet mouth
meets mine
as you
enter my
sacred space

the first time
we feel
each other
i will have written you
every word that exists
in a solitary moment
that feels like
eternity

the moment you
enter me
you will know
that this
is how I love
you

i want to write you
not just words
lying in symmetry
like our bodies
entwined
like perfect unions
of commas
and apostrophes
on sheets of ivory 

i want to write you
symphonies and melodies
you are able to hear
between these lines
of poetry
my cries and whines
that keep me
oh, so close

i want to write you
histories of nations
of battles lost and won
of scientific discovery
the mad minds
of philosophers 

yet all i have
is my kiss
placed lightly
upon your lips,
so precious,
so pure,
so utterly,
delicious 

i want to write you
existential truths
the wonder of God
but only my breath
comes
at the light of day
soft upon your neck 

my palms
wrap behind
your neck
the warmth of my body
against your own 

i want to show you
how your existence
heals my very own
with your
bright smile,
eyes alive,
big hands
holding my own,
guiding me
to your
masculinity,
divine 

i want to write you
deep beneath my skin
so you are able
to feel me
when you need to be
loved,
when your darkest day
is upon you,
when your happiest moment
occurs 

i want to write you me 

and all i am able to do
is
type
text
from
my
most
open
holy
heart
to
your
very
own 

i need to show you
how you take me
gently
into your being
simply by being alive,
awake,
attuned,
enthralled,
astounded,
ablaze,
and
in
flight 

i need you
to know
that this
is how i
love

you

do you want me
to be dirty

devil and
angel 

do you want me
to stop writing
such sweet lines
and just say
come to me
bold and hard
grab my hair,
pull it 

push your entire
self
so deep inside of me
you nearly
faint so we are both
dizzy?

can you show me
how you love

me?