Magnolia Buds

 

I’d forget about spring.

if it were not for the magnolia

waking outside my study window.

This spring watches the US President

demolish our democracy, his one man’s

revenge in action, as he ignores the courts,

strips Congress of its power, and dismantles

protections for citizens and for our environment. 

He’s destroying alliances with neighbors north and south

and with NATO, abandoning the free world to befriend dictators.

 

But the magnolia tree exists, and its buds are already two inches long.

Its backdrop is sky so blue and shiny that it invites birds to nest,

and asks sleeping animals and insects and seeds to wake up. 

I’d like to wake, too, as day equals night and the spell

of darkness lifts.  I planted love in my heart and it’s

ready to burst into bud and color.  It’s ready

to shake off idleness and stand up with

other citizens to do what it takes to

reach the equality and diversity

our country once promised.  

For my prompt "March Equinox: Signs of Spring or Fall" at What's Going On? 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

Beauty in our Times

source

 

How beautiful is a door whose
hinges work well and also
has a home attached to it.
 
How beautiful is each tree
in the woods. Standing
together is double beauty.
 
How beautiful is strength
to survive the onslaughts
of man and nature.
 
How beautiful are people
striving to right the wrongs done
by dominance and inequality
 
More beautiful still would be systems
built better moving forward, with
respect for each and everyone.

  For Sumana's prompt "Beauty" at What's Going On? 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

The Possibility of Heroes

 

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All of us righteous US citizens
go about our lives like birds in a tree
when not commenting on the immanent death
of democracy.  We who ask(ed)
Israelis to stand up against destroying Gaza;
we who judged German citizens for standing by
and letting genocide happen, we who . . . —
 
What are we doing now that clueless oligarchs
destroy the rights we US citizens
built slowly over the years?  And sentence
people to death by neglect?  We twitter
in our trees, those of us with little to lose
other than our community, our humanity,
our integrity, our safety, our authority,
our youngest looking out from their nests
and watching us to learn how to fly.
 
The trees whisper, let us calm you,
lovely birds, you who, like us,
have so much to lose.  Let us calm you.
Come home to rest and then go out again. 
Be heroes: do not stop until you have saved something,
stood up for something even small, and grown
weary in the fight.  Trees will shelter birds
as long as they can.  Will stand up with us
as we stand for them, remembering
that they too, have much to lose.
And we are not birds, but humans.

 

For Mary's prompt "Heroes" at What's Going On? 

(With apologies to birds and trees.)

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

 

Darkness in Peacetime

 

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How rare to find total darkness—
the kind in a closely draped room with a firmly locked door
or the kind with windows but no moon
the kind behind gently closed eyes
the kind that heightens other senses beyond sight.
 
Especially if you know where you are—
so panic doesn’t prevent movement and break your breath
so you aren’t waiting for blasts and sharp lights and pain
so you aren’t caught between calling out and utter silence
so you aren’t mourning loss too harsh for words.
 
In the dark, when the outlines are familiar and
when you can touch, hear, and smell comfort
when you can imagine what is outside and
can meditate on what rises inside
then creativity flowers.
 
How I love the comfort of darkness
with you helping me to feel myself
or alone, tasting the words that rise up and say
remember me until morning, remember
me until tomorrow, plant me and let me grow.

 For Sherry's prompt "The Dark" at What's Going On? 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

Lonely Light

 

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I like reflected light the best—
the kind that carves actors out of their settings
the kind that carves the moon out of the night sky
the kind that tickles the tiny moves in a still pond
the kind that lets us see anything at all.
 
It’s all reflected light unless we look directly into the source.
Light sources blind us temporarily with spots before our eyes,
or permanently as in unprotected eclipse gazing (they say—
I’ve never tried it).  Safer is the very weak light
of a match or the candle and campfire it lights.
 
I love gazing at firelight in the dark:
the kind that focuses meditation
the kind that plays with imagination
and brings story and mythic creatures to life
the kind that throws long shadows.
 
In front of long shadows, Peter Pan’s shadow
has a life and substance of its own,
and we can imagine stitching it back on.
In front of a small source or reflected light
community draws together intimately.
 
I loved rubbing shoulders with you
near our many campfires.  I loved our moonlit walks
and the metaphors that flew around us then—

the eye of God, or our guardian angel, or our guide
into the future where all dreams come true.

For my prompt "Light" at What's Going On? 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast

Quenching Thirst

Rising humidity threatens snow,
and everything here reaches upward
as if singing “I’m thirsty” in chorus.
 
Pink haze darkens the sky before noon.
At the feeders, birds crack seeds open and
sit on the dry fountain, turned off ‘til spring.
 
The parking lot spreads out, car hoods ready
for rain or snow, tires patiently waiting
for drivers to weigh down the front seats.
 
Beyond the cars, the brown meadow reaches
back to trees whose stretching bodies and bare
limbs are not yet fuzzy with spring colors.
 
A flake, two, 20 drops on cheeks and hands
and hair, and the threat becomes a promise—
a light snow starts painting everything white.
 
White everywhere in service to nature,
adding to the water supply.  Asking
nothing in return.  For thirsty earth, a gift.

 For Sherry's prompt "Landscapes" at What's Going On? 

My blog poems are rough drafts.

Please respect my copyright.

© 2025 Susan L. Chast