My Poems: Beau Fleuve

All posts in the My Poems: Beau Fleuve category

“A Safe Place”

Published October 16, 2011 by Susan Woodward

Where can I go when I am overwhelmed?

What place is safe from my fears of the past?

Don’t tell me to just let go of them–

That doesn’t address the pain;

It merely stuffs it within where it will eventually

Writhe its way to the surface once more.

That’s not healing;

That’s avoidance.

But where can I go to collect myself when the memories flood in?

There must be running water;

Its song will soothe my soul.

Let it wash over and cleanse me with its healing power.

Summer breezes, birds and Celtic pipes replace lies and cruel words.

Trees will be free from the insects and snakes

That threaten to crawl over, around and inside of me.

Only soft leaves providing a shelter of safety adorn their branches.

Lilacs and honeysuckle replace the stench of halitosis

While a steaming blend of brewed herbs washes away

The semen forced down my throat.

I will be safe in my garden–

As long as there are four strong walls surrounding it.

Skylights in the ceiling allow me to gaze at Orion

Without the fear of being the hunted.

Passage is granted through one door

To which I alone possess the key.

Here I will gather my strength to slay the dragons of my past,

Its construction complete in the recesses of my mind.


Published October 16, 2011 by Susan Woodward

Maslow intended movement beyond basic survival;

Intrinsic needs must also be realized through

Caution and self-trust in order to advance

Hierarchically toward fulfillment—

Anything less will result in the

Eventual deterioration of the soul,

Longing for what might have been.


Published October 16, 2011 by Susan Woodward

Anne Shirley’s Lake of Shining Waters has nothing on the Adirondak’s

Placid, Blue Mountain or Racquette;

Breezes send ripples of creamy satin

Shimmering and shining in the sun;

An archipelago of water lilies dots the surface

While the wake of a passing boat sets duck weed to dancing.

When calm, the lakes become mirrors

Conforming as images of their surroundings.

To those who keep their distance, these images are pleasing

For they see only what they want to see;

Surface appearances and no more.

But for those who dare to come close enough,

They may discover a world hidden from first view.

In gazing beyond the looking glass to what can be found there,

Crystal clarity allows for true seeing and the birth of intimacy.

Astonishing beauty abounds;

Much more so than the mere reflections of the surface.

Submergence provides for possible unity

In two worlds becoming one;

But only those who risk the dark depths of the unknown

May come to complete understanding–

Some will begin only to give up

Upon encountering jagged rocks hidden below;

Others will continue beyond

Until injury sends them paddling to the surface once more;

Only for the daring few who descend to the depths

Do hidden treasures dwell in abundance,

Awaiting discovery.


Published October 16, 2011 by Susan Woodward

Mussels, like toes dragged across wet sand,

Leave their trails below the surface,

Away from shore toward the safety of the deep,

Attempting to escape the fate of

Scattered skeletal remains of those feasted upon,

Left to collect in a child’s sand pail;

They leave behind ducks

Bickering over bits of bread,

Glad that they are not the prize instead.

“Bring Me Home”

Published October 16, 2011 by Susan Woodward

Close enough to touch,

Yet too far to connect;

I am alone in a house full of faces.

Their voices call from the safety of dry land

While I am lost in a sea of despair,

Passively drowning in hopelessness;

Arms wrapped tightly about my hollow shell,

They drag me ashore,

Working in turn to resuscitate without success…

I lay lifeless before them,

Eyes focused on their helpless stares…


A tiny voice awakens within me

Struggling to be heard from afar,

Above the roar of the deafening blackness

Comes the cry,

“Don’t give up on me…”


Published October 16, 2011 by Susan Woodward

New year,

Almost a

New century,

New millenium…

What’s so new about it?

The only thing changed is four digits…

Big deal.

I changed seven with a new phone number!

Does Y2K make the hate go away?

Times Square with its two million people invading the streets

Hugging and kissing as the ball dropped

Will revert to a place of mugging and killing tomorrow.

The world’s fireworks will again be dropped bombs

Once they all realize that the end did not come when the clock struck twelve.

And why should it?

Why would God take the time to end this world as we know it

When we are doing such a bang-up job ourselves?


A little tolerance is a dangerous thing;

It may lead to widespread understanding

And an epidemic of compassion,

Posing a threat to many people’s way of life.


Oh, that the world would be so plagued!

“Why Do I Make My Heart Cry?”

Published October 16, 2011 by Susan Woodward

Why do I make my heart cry

When thoughts of you

Fill me with sorrow and pain?

The memories of what I’m missing

The hopes for a future that I’d been wishing

But the pain of the present’s in my eyes

Looking at us now, I realize

That the love that I feel is mine and mine alone,

And there’s nothing to share

When you’re loving on your own.

I can offer my heart,

But I cannot make you take it

Your gentle brushing aside

Is more than enough to break it

So why do I make my heart cry

By hoping the wall around your heart will crumble?

You say the spark is not there

Yet I know that you care

Clinging to the tenderness we used to share…

But why do I make my heart cry?

“False Friend”

Published October 16, 2011 by Susan Woodward

Must you hurt me again and again?

How will I ever know love if you constantly

Pull me in the wrong direction?

Oh, I thought I’d had it at times

But control, lust, anger and fear got in the way…

Yeah, all that directed at me

As if I were an unappealing force to be reckoned with

And broken

While I stood there taking it

But not accepting it,

Trembling inside.


How could you let me get here this time?

What is it about you

That allows me to make these same mistakes?

I thought you were so smart…


Pain so deep I can’t cry it out;

Not enough tears to wash it away,

Hanging on a “maybe” as if it meant “yes”

Only to be disappointed again,

Crying myself to sleep.


Why can’t anyone love me?

Or should I say “won’t” ‘cause love is a decision.

All deciding I’m not good enough

Either by walking away

Or else trying to change me,

Make me conform to their image of what I “ought” to be…

Not someone to love as I am, huh?


Stop looking at me like that,

Like I should know better!

Maybe if you spoke up once in a while

My heart would be spared a trampling or two!


With a cry of frustration

I lash out in my hurt,

Propelling my fist full force into your face

Only to pick glass from bleeding knuckles.


“Along the Fault”

Published October 16, 2011 by Susan Woodward

Beneath the outward facade of quasi-calm suburbia

Beats the heart of Vesuvius

Awaiting the slightest surface crack

To leash forth its power of destruction.

Trembling rage quelled by

Semi-smooth transitions from one activity to the next–

How well the part is played!

That most are fooled into false securities that all is now well…


But the fault has been detected.

Quick-fix patchwork shoves it back below the surface…

But Vesuvius knows–

And lurks–


“China Cup”

Published October 16, 2011 by Susan Woodward

Pretty bone china– delicate and fragile;

Perfect for daily tea.

Often inlaid with near-invisible fine cracks that

Withstand the tempered liquid…

Reliable, pretty cups

Serviceable for years–

Till the day the tea delves into the delicate cracks

And the pretty bone china lies in pieces,

Serviceable no more.

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