Suzette Richards Poems

you cannot calculate my legacy in monetary value
or in market shares
neither in some property
nor anything tangible
...

The moth mistakes my bare skin for moonlight—recurring, insistent. Its wings dust the wrist like a forgotten promise, reminding me of a question I never dared ask aloud. I had held his wrist, not his hand. A ghost of a moment playing on loop in my hypnagogic state.

moonlight
trembles
...

The hands of the Art Nouveau clock nearing midnight.
A bat, with its wings hugging itself in sleep,
the metronomic sound of Josef Kratina's clock
lulling it into a false sense of security.
...

We paid the price for hasty choices made
and cried our tears for dreams put to the blade.
The lessons learned a hefty price we paid.
Against our woes, we rail — the urgency to bail.
...

In awe, I welcome Thor with utmost glee.
The powerful celestial force set free
among the hills and over the coarse scree.  
The winds that whip and slink — the hailstones loudly clink.
...

If Time could turn the clock back; hold onto
the memories of yesteryear's echo.
Again we feast on lavish game banquets,
and Bacchus couldn't put a foot wrong then.
...

A PRICELESS GIFT
I hold myself rigid within the framework of creeds
imposed upon me by the secular world at large.
I resist the urge to become totally feral.
...

When the poets fall silent Man will not only lose his voice but also the notion of Life. ~Suzette Richards

Steeped in the pain of his slain countryman,
surrounded by the turmoil of real fears
...

Run with the idea while hot;

fun—
...

There was an old man who looked so-so,
Whose fat belly bounced like a yo-yo.
Popular once a year
For bringing some real cheer.
...