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Susan Baquie Poem
The horizon cuts straight, long, hard
silently declining less than a degree
like toys across a cartoon’s one frame stillness
a small yacht rocks like a child’s boat
a helicopter putters, a small jet silently
bellies over the sea thundering suddenly
against a graded blue sky
children flying a kite
a plummeting twisting tied bird in its death throes
falling from the warm seemingly red-speckled blue
broken only by a smudge of grey cloud
curling white-tipped waves swirl against rocks
a lonely Zen-meditative crab in their shade
the sand, ridged, striated, pockmarked
small holes left as bubbling miniature blowholes
fine lines webbed around
sand rippled like the sea, waved and cleansed
a poetic transgression? – Neptune’s impost?
the soap-sud foam his in-coming joyful jouissance
the thin receding water a pin-spot bridal veil
and a bridal train, its white scalloped lace edge
pleating, folding, hiding under the next wave
in rippling curving line-patterns
Copyright © Susan Baquie | Year Posted 2016
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Susan Baquie Poem
my symbolic house
my purple castle
invaded by red clowns
a dialogue
contradicting personal icons
denying synthesis
denying art
trespassing
poaching
unbalancing decentring crucifiers
tearing the paper they make of my mind
tearing tissue
cells sinew flesh blood
a pavlov’s laboratory
for a crowd
appropriation
depersonalisation
obliteration
constructs and betrayals ad infinitum
a teleological structuralism
for others
SBaquie1988
Copyright © Susan Baquie | Year Posted 2016
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Susan Baquie Poem
night green
in my Rembrandt pencil box
is green shade
sharpened
it is a pointed pencil presence
part of a pointillism
part of the paper
part of the picture
night green
in my Rembrandt pencil box
is green shade
not a light green
not a leaf green
not a yellow green
and not too blue
night green
in my Rembrandt pencil box
is green shade
the unknown in every mark
such as the shadows cast
upon and around
as the unconscious past
lives within the dialogue of life
and is only sometimes noticed
but the light not so bright
without green shade
Copyright © Susan Baquie | Year Posted 2016
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Susan Baquie Poem
nonsense
a reaction surreal
derivative
of reason
imbalance
chaos
before a new order
a rebellion
before compliance
a tower of babel
resolved into
one language
Copyright © Susan Baquie | Year Posted 2017
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Susan Baquie Poem
the lissom sea lily a testament at your death
feathered petals left in memory
but are you dead, Neptune?
I am no longer reminded of
the spotted watery wedding veil along the edge
it has now become a frozen blue veil
around a beach ball
hung or strung
in the black nowhere space
who threw you, brother of Jupiter and Pluto?
is there a rebound from the toss?
is there another dolphin to find again Salacia in the deep
to see the foaming equine ride
to find the white pin-spot veil of your jouissance
fringed again on the sands
but what dolphin can fly so high
no flutter or stutter or flop
but a high forced flipping
wings instead this time
Pegasus, (mindful of your exalted bloodlines)*
your duty
*Pegasus born from Neptune (Poseidon)and the Gorgon Medusa
Copyright © Susan Baquie | Year Posted 2016
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Susan Baquie Poem
the lissom sea lily a testament at your death
feathered petals left in memory
but are you dead, Neptune?
I am no longer reminded of
the pin-spotted watery wedding veil
along the edge
it has now become a frozen blue veil
around a beach ball
hung or strung
in the black nowhere space
can you bounce back from the throw, Neptune?
who threw you, brother of Jupiter and Pluto?
is there another dolphin to find again Salacia in the deep
to see the foaming equine ride
to find the white pin-spot veil of your jouissance
fringed again on the sands
but what dolphin can fly so high
no flutter or stutter or flop
but a high-forced flipping
(have we built one so tough?
Pegasus, your wings and strength ... aaaah
you psychopomp, you Charon,
be mindful of your distinguished exalted bloodlines)
will you come so far?
Copyright © Susan Baquie | Year Posted 2017
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Susan Baquie Poem
As of a chrysalis
the beneficent breakage
exfoliation
emergence from
isolationism
into a mosaic of group dynamics
a centring of regard
a new diagnosis
a lissom beginning
departing an empty goblet
full of peppermint concern
sbaquie 2000
Copyright © Susan Baquie | Year Posted 2016
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Susan Baquie Poem
in death
a vampire bat
the lost luscious purples and pinks
drowning deep
Copyright © Susan Baquie | Year Posted 2016
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Susan Baquie Poem
I sat on the train
travelling to my nine-to- five office job
passengers on Melbourne trains
read or sleep
meditate….
or stare vacantly…..
avoiding other people’s eyes
avoiding conversation
avoiding confrontation
I sat on the train
travelling to my nine-to-five office job
a passenger on a Melbourne train
and glanced at the blonde opposite
homely, plump, jaded, faded
a shapeless dress covering her full figure
she sat, staring vacantly
not reading, not sleeping,
not meditating
avoiding conversation
avoiding confrontation
through darker eyes
she was a beauty, porcelain-fleshed
her face suffused with light
luminous waxen-white
a moon shining
a lamp, candlelit, glowing
above a floral-garden-garment
……..a living Renoir
a worthy prize
Copyright © Susan Baquie | Year Posted 2016
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Susan Baquie Poem
perhaps prosaically I see only apples
tumble-positioned in cane baskets
light-patched, colour-streaked
stalks angled from a cleft
a stick stuck in a deep dimple
sometimes one leaf dried
a sign of the apple tree
I see no eve
no snake whispering in a shell-pink ear
no adam being so-called tempted
his blood-song inherited answering a call to arms
too young to resist the naïve young-womanly charms
his master asleep or more busy inventing new worlds
new galaxies aeons of light years away
but adam and eve are long gone
centuries ago they went on some fool’s word
that eating an apple meant leaving paradise
for a desert or a wilderness
more or maybe less than a sinful sexual symbolism
redder apples would more remind me of snow white
and her small white even teeth
piercing the polished red skin
crunching into the white fruit-flesh
delicious and juicy
but a maggot of poison
the jealousy of the queen
so perhaps prosaically
I carefully check my apples before I eat
cutting them into pieces
halves halved and again halved
or even childishly slicing them into rounds
marvelling at the wheeled flower of the seeds
and the seed cases
admiring the thin curled red ribbon strip
Copyright © Susan Baquie | Year Posted 2016
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