04 May 2016


The Leaves of Hermes Sacred Tree.jpg
The Leaves of Hermes’ Sacred Tree

If it is alchemy,
then arrangement
of phrase, motif and sound
will turn its dross
into assets, assets
into riches
and riches into worded
truths as if pearls
of wisdom raised from
ordinary sand.

But if not alchemy,
it’s playful tone,
inquisitive motif
and readiness for
surprising mysteries
might in themselves
be rare golden treasure
and faithfulness
enough to encounter

The way is secret
or there is no way,
but poets seek
alchemy anyway—
try formulas 
and conjure up new memes
to saturate
our creations with gold.

A  sonnet for my prompt 
Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Secrecy

My blog poems are rough drafts. 
Please respect my copyright.
© 2016 Susan L. Chast

01 May 2016

May Day

The flower of the May tree or common hawthorn.
Link to the history of May Day on Wikipedia.

Are we Pagan?  Workers?  Ourselves?
Do we dance the May pole or burn it?
Ignore it?  Plant it?  Or en-grave it?

We ask help with prayers on this day
that enters jewel-like into view
and wraps consciousness around it—

Gratitude, Forgiveness, Need, Desire—
uncertain, we all pray randomly,
allemande left and right among them

And fall out of order, gracefully
defying commandments, restoring
anarchy, creating holiday.

And I cry tears of abandonment
as I watch corporations falter
and cease expecting our surrender.

This.  This is Freedom!   I call out.  Loud.
And I’m not the only Town-Cryer
lingering here in Mayday between

Destruction and Creativity.
The world turns and destroys and builds,
we say and we will and we do.

My blog poems are rough drafts. 
Please respect my copyright.
© 2016 Susan L. Chast

30 April 2016

In Translation

Wind Swept Trees in New Zealand from Earth.porm.com

When trees beckon, I listen carefully.
Who knows from whence God’s voice will come and when
powers will join in trying to reach us?

Or mayhap, we are always eavesdropping and
never the intended listener, but
it hardly matters. We must join the dance.

And any opening will do: Alarm
is all we have if we aren’t alert
to opportunities of engaging.

I’ll enter through wastelands or lush  forests
through plantain breaking concrete walkways or
the dripping water that exists to quench—

My thirst compels me to ask about yours:
Are you part of nature’s dance with spirit?
Do you understand the language of stars?

My poem for the last day of April, with special thanks for Robert Brewer's 2016 April PAD Challenge: Day 30 to write of "a dead end poem" and NaPoWriMo's Day Thirty prompt to write a poem in translation.  I did both and neither, but enjoyed reading prompts at both sites throughout April 2016.

*Note:  All April poem-a-day poems are rough drafts awaiting revision.

Copyright © 2016 Susan L. Chast

29 April 2016


"Universal Man", an illumination from a 13th-century copy of Hildegard von Bingen's Liber Divinorum Operum ("Book of Divine Works", c. 1165).
The Universal Man, Liber Divinorum Operum
St. Hildegard of Bingen, 1165 Copy of the 13th century

Unbox me, says the mystic:

Gently remove the covers and
write me back into
community where 
I can make a difference.

Kept out here alone
I find heart
but can’t apply it.

Locked in,
can I apply what 
I have not yet found? 

Let’s make conduits for Love.

My 29th poem for April.

*Note:  All April poem-a-day poems are rough drafts awaiting revision.

Copyright © 2016 Susan L. Chast

Quatrain Composed While Leaving

Endless meetings (by phone when indisposed)
break day's progress in ways, if unopposed,
will lead to branch-off trails from those God chose
and split personality gems and toads.

Late poem for April's 28th

*Note:  All April poem-a-day poems are rough drafts awaiting revision.

Copyright © 2016 Susan L. Chast

27 April 2016

Open Love

Not free, though not for any price,
does sky reach land and land stretch high
through trees and rocks, bamboo and stairs,
creating paths for deer, ostrich,
giraffe, eagles and us who walk,
burrow, maneuver, fly and race
to eat and drink and nest until
it’s time to rest.

The point is fueling spaceship earth
no matter how clich├ęd it sounds;
she lives inside, a Queen who nests
and needs our love opened to her.
Compared to this exchange, free love
is cheap imitation, fiction
on stage for entertaining those
who haven’t learned

There is no love that’s lost and dead
but blooms in other ways instead—
love stirs deep pools rich with tadpoles
and fish; love kisses open buds and seeds
and fronds and hands and hearts and deeds.
Love acts or brings chilled, stifled breath,
clogged arteries and clustered strife
we offer love or end all life.

For my prompt 

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Open / Openness

and April's poem # 27

Copyright © 2016 Susan L. Chast