I am

that which

cannot be caged,

tamed, tried,

understood, included,

deluded, or left.

Misunderstood.

I am the fairy-tailed children

asleep beneath blankets

on a cool summers eve,

books in palms,

eyes shut tight,

warding off monsters

in closets

underneath the bed.

The angelic presence

in dreams,

the dark rising depths,

present in the time

between night and day.

I am the bleeding hearts

of artists,

music flowing

like manes

of thoroughbreds.

Strings and violins,

concertos and preludes,

the rise and fall,

of notes,

the voice

of the oppressed,

painting alone,

writing alone,

speaking to the masses

standing in front

of sculptures

in galleries,

half-numb

from having their soul

placed on a public platter,

picked apart

and critiqued.

I am the constellations,

the stars,

the ancient raiment

of the majestic

velvet night,

coaxing solitude,

and creation,

rendering you

sleepless

with desire.

The great God

contemplating existence,

tossing magic

and medicine,

electrified

towards earth,

teaching lessons to the

mere human soul.

I am.

Woman.

Man.

Child.

Mother.

Father.

Brother.

Sister.

I am a lover,

loved,

loving.

I am the volcanic rumblings

of every tired soul,

and every smile

and tear.

I am an argument

and agreement.

The birds that birth

in your

crown chakra.

Their song

is mine.

All creatures,

earth, dirt, silt

gems, stones,

twigs, and trees.

Every root and crevice,

all footholds and paths,

the waving branches

pregnant with leaves.

Every rock and shell,

the waves and oceans,

all bodies of water,

feathers, flight,

the bees that buzz

around the new bud,

the hand that guides

a sprout from seed.

The secrets the wind

whispers.

The fierce embrace

of winter,

the warmth upon

your face,

heart, body, soul,

and the sweet cool

calming waters

of life.

I am death.

Wild.

I am woman.

Here.

Now.

I am every element.

All emotions,

every fable told

by firelight,

Every word written,

spoken, uttered,

screamed and sighed.

The true Goddess,

the wild soul.

I am that

which cannot

be kept,

nor set free.

I exist

without logic,

in rational conscious

thought,

in esoteric

holy nakedness.

I am the rich man

and beggar,

the king and the jester.

I am the grass,

all species,

and the sky.

Kaleidoscopes

of spectrums.

I am good

versus

evil,

versus

self,

versus

sentience.

I am a conundrum

unto myself,

a human shell

existing

as pure

ether.

I am heaven

and hell.

I am the destroyer

and creator

simultaneous.

© Susan Marie

From "Shahada" --> https://www.amazon.com/Shahada-Susan-Marie/dp/1975992024/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

I have no idea what year I did this but am going through my radio audio and found this. I interviewed myself because I absolutely despise some of the silly questions people have asked me during interviews that have nothing to do with me, my work, my life or beliefs or what I may be supporting. It seems people always have agendas and as a broadcaster, I just like to talk to people. By allowing someone to feel comfortable and listened to, you both learn, thus, you educate the world. This makes me laugh listening because it sounds like two different people. This is fun to listen to. I am insane, what can I say? *smile*

I see hate, everywhere,

and it is not my perception,

I see hate, people,

I see people hurting people hurting self hurting all of us -

I see people shaming people,

but people, we ARE the people.

I see batons and whips and masses

that march to beats of any drums -

I see people maimed, cursed, killed,

for speaking their mind,

for being alive & living,

I see people hurting people, people -

I see our world, tipped right off its axis, like a nervous breakdown,

dear humankind,

we have entered our dark sides -

And I see light, I see peaceful protest,

I see kind hands and hearts,

I see arms reaching down

to help another up -

I see unity and solidarity,

and in between the hate,

I see people being people

helping people to be people,

for we are only human -

I see rivers and oceans,

waves of tears,

wet then dry,

hands held together,

wiping clean dirty faces made pure -

I see madness & sanity, side by side, marching towards greatness,

pushing others out of line,

another, leaning in to lend a hand -

I see mountains quake

and canyons bellow,

I hear the distant call of the vultures

as they circle in for their feeding -

I hear the cool rush sweet stream drawing all of us closer, to drink, to rest, to be ready for this vast great change -

I see masses of people, face to face, acknowledging the light and dark,

I see warriors being made

and the violent running for cover -

And I see you, me, all of us,

struggling to breathe,

to make sense of madness,

to attempt to exist

in what is nonexistent -

I see the death of this dying world,

at last, eventual,

after the struggles are done,

the warriors walk wounded -

And I see a peace,

embedded within hearts of those aware, the new world lit up

like fireworks,

in the deep dark velvet night -

So walk, lightly, dear soul,

choose your words wisely,

for this world is changing,

we are history books in the making -

And be grateful for breath,

your blood, for your life,

be grateful, be mindful,

for you are necessary

in this strange new world -

You are needed in this time of dying, dear friend.

Swear to the skies,

to yourself,

that what you do

and what you say,

matters.

© Susan Marie

Tom Yorty was featured with me in May 2017 at The Center for Inquiry. This is the audio of his reading.

Rebekah Keaton was featured with me at The Center for Inquiry in May 2017. This is the audio of her reading.

thunder

struck -

barren and stark,

against the

full moon,

howling.

a tree branch

cracked -

and I felt my heart

snap -

and my hands

shook,

worn and lined

from years of spilling my soul,

on pages

upon pages

of ink,

that turned to blood.

and you,

you, oh my dear soul,

how your silence speaks

louder than the mightiest maelstrom

and I,

my wings, white,

mourning.

I set my body

to fire -

blazing like lightning

that struck

once,

my breath

the wind,

my hair

the grass,

my eyes

cloudbursts,

my arms

rushes and reeds,

my blood,

crimson bursts

of buds that bloomed,

and my smile -

the sunburst,

that once did give sight

to your now blinded eyes.

you would not recognize me

as I do not, you

for I am taller

than the mightiest oak -

my limbs reach

through the dirt and earth,

to crevices and fault-lines

that can hold this planet together

or break it,

apart.

and you,

you once held me dear,

so dear,

oh so utterly dear,

and now -

you are a rock,

stuck in mud,

not moving,

gathering moss,

and I peer down low

and kneel,

in holy prayer,

and pick you up

once,

in my palms,

so utterly precious -

and throw you

as far as my soul

can see.

photo and words © Susan Marie

Celia White was featured with me at The Center for Inquiry in May 2017. This is the audio of her reading.

This is my featured reading at The Center for Inquiry with Just Buffalo Literary Center Cafe. I read two poems, I Am and Eulogy.

I Am

I

am

that

which

cannot be

caged,

tamed,

tried,

understood,

included,

deluded,

or left -

misunderstood.

I am

the bleeding hearts

of artists,

voices of the oppressed

painting alone,

writing alone,

speaking to the masses

standing in galleries

half numb

from having their soul

placed on a

public platter

picked apart

and critiqued.

I am Woman -

Man -

Child -

Mother -

Father -

Brother -

Sister -

I am a lover,

loved,

loving -

I am the volcanic

rumblings

of every tired soul

and every smile

and tear -

I am all creatures

every root and crevice,

all footholds and paths,

the falling leaves

- kamikaze -

every rock and shell,

the waves and oceans,

the bees that buzz

around the new bud,

the hand that guides a sprout

from seed,

the secrets the wind

whispers,

the fierce embrace

of winter,

the warmth upon

your face,

heart,

body,

soul,

and the sweet cool

calming waters

of life -

I am death

wild,

I am

Woman.

Here.

Now.

I am every element,

all emotions,

every fable told

by firelight,

every word

written,

spoken,

uttered,

screamed,

and sighed -

the true Goddess,

the wild soul -

I am that which cannot

be kept

nor set free.

I exist

without logic,

in rational conscious

thought,

in esoteric

holy

nakedness.

I am the rich man

and beggar,

the king and the jester -

I am good

versus

evil

versus

self -

I am a conundrum

unto myself,

a human shell

existing

as pure

ether.

I am heaven

and hell.

I am -

the destroyer

and creator

simultaneous.

© Susan Marie

Eulogy

The wind

howls,

magnificent and shrieking,

like some wild woman,

unabashed and naked.

Her brow wet

with brine,

upturned to the most holy sky,

arms raised

in supplication

to a dying world,

embracing,

all that is.

And she,

cross-legged,

beneath Gods and Goddesses,

hair whipping wind,

eyes brazen,

brown and soft.

Her howling

becomes one with the wind,

distress signals to the raiment,

the ancient raiment

that poets and sages

sat under and above

for millenniums.

A eulogy to the past,

a welcome to the present,

an embrace to the future.

She is here

now,

waiting for you,

to set you free

from chains

you have bound yourself with.

Grab her hand, willing,

loving,

kind,

calm,

pure and desirous.

Show her

how you have released

from your very soul,

all the toxicity

of existence.

She is Earth, dirt,

rocks and stones,

limbs of trees,

mighty oaks and maples,

the birch and elm.

She is the silt of fault lines

holding this globe

together.

She is the mighty maelstrom,

every season,

without apology.

She is you,

me.

Come, come and relish this moment,

even if only once.

Sing of the grace bestowed upon you

for you are born to be supreme,

you are born with the ability to fly,

you are born with the gift to see

with six senses,

seven.

You are powerful in your wildness,

in your pure soul self.

Let it wash upon you

like a sweet cool dream,

and come, come my dear soul.

Do not wait.

No hesitation.

Moments are fleeting.

She is here,

now,

with you,

yet not eternal.

She will share secrets with you,

teach you how to see

with eyes

that have no place

in the land of humankind.

Each blade of grass,

leaves of the trees of her mane,

like a thoroughbred racing, wondrous,

eyes staring, mad.

There is no finish line,

only now, here.

This moment.

Disrobe beneath this day.

Give thanks to the Great Creator,

to Mother Nature.

To the spirits that speak to you

in your dreams.

To the souls that have guided you

to this place,

this patch of Earth,

this precious time.

Bow your head in prayer,

dear soul.

For you are in the presence

of divinity.

© Photo and words Susan Marie

a threshold, she stood,

feet, bare, body clad,

in white cotton raiment

swirling about her ankles,

as the wind

sang like a lute,

upon the still night sky.

a woman's song

carried upon the breeze,

playing with the edges

of light and dark,

night and day,

the precious time,

between

dusk and nightfall.

her ravensong

burst forth

from mouth,

wide open in awe,

chin upturned,

jawbone outlined,

tears precious

gifted in humble grace,

against the light

of the coming

of fresh eve.

the lyrics

danced around her shoulders,

tickling them just so -

tussling hair,

three feet long -

burnt sienna skied tresses.

a dreamcatcher

she was,

weaving lives

within lives,

connecting the dots,

with her fingertip raised

pointed at stars,

moving them

across Father Sky -

to meld into one another -

just

like

lovers.

this is her solace -

the ancient firmament

where Gods and Goddesses exist,

eternal,

where celestial wars rage,

she pulls both arms outward

with heart, full -

like some majestic holy crucifixion

and met the maelstrom head on -

for this

is

all

she

knows.

- forward -

and she jumps

happily,

into this rebirth,

this knowing and unknowing,

learning and unlearning,

growing and dying,

smiling while screaming inside -

to lead

not only herself

but others -

into the great abyss,

the infinite chasm,

the unknown universe,

the holy grail,

the swan songs of birds,

the most precious calling

to the wild souls of nature,

beyond all

that

is.

a threshold, she stood

feet, bare, body clad,

in white cotton raiment

swirling about her ankles

as the wind

sang like a lute

upon the still night sky.

Words and Painting © Susan Marie

This is an interview conducted by Cara Bradley via Women for One.

Spoken-word poet and broadcast journalist Susan Marie shares with Cara Bradley how she connects with others through positivity and authenticity in our most recent Real Women, Courageous Wisdom podcast.

Here’s what we spoke about:

6:45 The power of metaphor

9:20 Why we aren’t supposed to be perfect

11:25 You are not broken

13:00 What are you doing for yourself?

16:40 The art of spoken word

19:15 What it means to stop caring what people think of you

23:05 Susan’s eulogy