Five Poems
by Susan Shea
Tested
I collect thorns
watch them float
in a jar of living water
staying fresh
in case I am tempted
to borrow them
prick myself
with discouragement
tell myself I am
too bogged down
to move to the next rung
on the wheelworks
of my eternal clock
in case I choose to let
the stinging mocker out
to hurt my chance
of having a good day
Consecrators
They match life forms
to home abandoned dogs
with people who have holes
in the flesh and bones
and minds of their survival suits
they ask the ones who speak
in words, to tell them
what they need to mend the empty
places in their living rooms
they want to know how much
cuddling, walking, playing
they want to know how high
the dial should be set
on the meters of energy
and jubilation
they ask and ask
until their eyes fill with whimpering
and they know they have enough
to decide which tail will feel safe
enough to wag
to the song of similar sorrows
Planning
The new old man
down the road
continues to add
two-person seating areas
to sheltered zones
inside his property
nestled within trios of trees
befriended next to
moss-covered boulders
encircled by evergreens
red bar stools sitting high
chairs made to look
like piles of books
butterfly benches
inviting and mysterious
provided by the man who
stands alone looking
in all directions
surrounded by neighbors
who are still trying
to figure out what,
if anything,
we should do
to take the weight
off our feet
New Age Night
He brought his ethereal drum
into the crowded campsite
to shake up the forest
give it new vibrations
better than the tree-speak
carried in the breezes
he knew more than
the people beneath the nearby
steeple singing hymns
of those who give full vent
to their own spirits
he waited until
the darkness became its darkest
when campfires were out
after families had tucked
each other in
he began to beat his hollow shell
telling his drumhead to cast spells
on unsuspecting heartbeats
until an enormous sacred black bear
came out of nowhere
to sit near him
to look him in the eye
to just say
no
User Friendly
Accidentally, I discovered
I could erase
your background
by pressing down
on your photo image
until a line of light
starts traveling around you
continually encasing you
in a spirited bright vibration
waiting for me to decide
if I want to turn you
into a sticker
to add to my emoji’s
so that your being
can now express my feelings
or I can choose to
copy and paste you
away from any
of the grievous places
in your past
oh
if only I had that power
BIO: Susan Shea is a retired school psychologist who grew up in Brooklyn, New York and now lives in a forest in Pennsylvania. She returned to writing poetry two years ago, and since then, her poems have been published in or are now forthcoming in Chiron Review, ONE ART, Folio Literary Journal, Radix Magazine, The RavensPerch, Cloudbank, Ekstasis, MacQueen's Quinterly, Green Silk Journal, The Write Launch, Foreshadow, The Loch Raven Review, and others. Within the last few months one of her poems was nominated for Best of the Net by Cosmic Daffodil, and three poems were nominated for a Pushcart Prize by Umbrella Factory Magazine.