Bringing Flowers

If  Wordsworth were to bring me flowers

I’ve no doubt it would be chrysanthemums

with pretty heads growing old

on sturdy shoulders.

They’d last the full seven days

like it says on the label

and their loveliness would slowly

fold into the ocean that sustains them.

 ShelIey’s hand  would grip the stems

of half a dozen blood red roses, thorns and all.

And they’d live scandalously for a few short hours

then die a swift dramatic death.

Susan Jane Sims

In  February 2012 I was invited to be guest poet at Words and Ears, Bradford on Avon, (an open mic event organised by  Dawn Gorman and Helen Murray). The above poem was part of my set.

The Kill

For Emily Dickinson

The surprise is

that we are shocked

at the viciousness of the kill

and the coolness

of the killer

after the act.

Watch the lioness at rest

the satiated sleep

the playful cuff of a cub’s head

the carefully retracted claws.

Rewind:

watch the lady pinpoint her target,

stalk, and strike.

It’s the covering of tracks

the washing of hands

the desire to be clean again

that marks out a human kill.

And it’s in the aftermath of rage

that we spot hope’s feathered edges

and reach.

Susan Jane Sims

Published in The Listening Walk.(ed. Sue Boyle) Bath Cafe Poets 2013