Saturday, April 19, 2014

Victory: Mission Accomplished!

Well, it's a happy day! I promised myself I would accomplish my goals this year, and I've managed to finish this one before April is even over. Yep, my brand new poetry website is finally up and running…and I have to admit that I am thrilled with the result. I feel like we kept every element of the old site that I loved while managing to update the mechanics, optimize the appearance, and improve navigation. What's more, it's going to be a lot better for the kind of organic SEO every good website needs. And hey, it looks sharp, right?

I'm still working on my weight loss goal, but I have made some serious strides on that, too…though the spiritual goals may have taken a bit of a back seat to this whole poetry site thing. Having said that, I am currently refocusing my energies in that direction…

And I plan to be posting here more regularly again, so I hope you will be kind enough to welcome me back into the neighborhood. (Because I really like living here.)


PS. Sure would love to hear what you think about the new site, especially the looks and navigation. Is there anything confusing? Thanks!

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Thursday, April 10, 2014


photo by Kelsey Hannah

©2014 Susan Noyes Anderson

Talk to the hand,
but hurry.
It's about to disappear
inside a rush of light
so bright
it melts my skin.
And there are secrets 
to unfold. 
Mysteries, washed in
gold and hidden 
from my view.
Unknown, like you.


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Looks like my new poetry website will be up and running sometime next week. It looks great, and I'm excited to welcome you there! Still have some work to do, but I couldn't be happier with the results. Anyway, hope you will take a minute to stop by once it goes live. (Or now, for that matter. If you click over today, you can check out the old site and compare it to the new one when it debuts.)

Thursday, April 3, 2014

Turning 64!

Thanks to The Beatles for giving me a tune to customize for my hubby in celebration of his advancing age... ;)


Now that you're older, losing your hair,
I don't mind at all.
You will ever after be my valentine.
Happy birthday; we're doin' fine.
When I stay up till quarter till three,
you don't lock the door.
I'll always need you; sometimes, I'll feed you.
Now you're 64!

(Sure, I'm older, too.
Still when May comes around this year,
I'm just 62.)

You're mighty handy, changing a bulb
when my light is gone.
So I'll watch your movies by the fireside,
praise your car when we take a ride.
You tend the garden, yanking up weeds.
Who could ask for more?
I'll always need you; sometimes I'll feed you.
Now you're 64!

Shall we keep on renting beachfront houses down in Newport Beach,
our old heads to clear?
(Steep at half the price!)
You'll have grandchildren on your knee…
"J," Carli, and Bryce.

Send me no postcard; drop me no line.
Never leave my view.
Keep on saying all the little things you say.
Love me truly, day after day.
Help me with numbers; fill in tax forms.
Mine forevermore.
I'll always need you; sometimes I'll feed you.
Happy 64!



Quick update on the poetry website: It's almost ready to go online, and you will be the first to know when it does! Thanks for being so patient with me while I'm gone.

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Monday, March 17, 2014

BRB, Honestly!

Wow! This is the longest I've gone without posting since my blogging days began, but I happen to have a great excuse. (At least, I think it's a great excuse.) You see, a major overhaul of my poetry website is in the works, and I can't wait to take it out for a spin. The new site is guaranteed to make navigation a whole lot easier. What's more, it's built to optimize the website organically for search engine success.

I started in 2008 for one reason only: to create an online home for my poetry. I didn't know enough to find a savvy designer who would build the less visible aspects of the website well. My main focus was on cost, and I cared more about how the home page looked than how it performed. It never even occurred to me that there might be all kinds of considerations the friend-of-a-friend I worked with was either unaware of or didn't understand. (Yes, I was naive.)

As years went by, it dawned on me that the navigation was a bit clumsy and cumbersome. Even worse was the fact that my urls for specific poems didn't include category names to help Google locate them. I began to realize that some relatively simple adjustments would allow searchers to enter a topic and land on one of my poems with greater ease and frequency…an idea which greatly appealed to me!

With this in mind, I began the search for the right person to revamp my site, found that person, and here I am…happily awaiting the day when the site will go live. I hope my readers are happily awaiting the day, too, because I can't wait to share it with you.

In the meantime, I may be scarce around here for the next week or so, but know that I am thinking of you and looking forward to reconnecting on a more regular basis. Take care...and wish me luck, okay? (I may not be Irish, but I could use a little extra luck just now!)

And sure'n I'm after wishin' ye the same!!


Friday, February 21, 2014

Setting Up House

Universal Studios lot, Instagram by sessepien

Setting Up House
©2014 Susan Noyes Anderson

It was early days, year one.
Two dreamers at the
gate of wedded bliss.

We found a space that suited.
Used brick. Wood floors. Old,
to give us history.

Weekends we combed farm towns,
haggled with owners over
breakfronts and buffets.

Antiquity beguiled us.
We refinished, polished,
gloried in the sheen.

Secured green plants: fern daughters,
ivy sons. And pussy willows,
naming them like pets.

Our life was magic. Magic.
Oh the innocence,
those days we wandered free.


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Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Classic Walking

©Susan Noyes Anderson

My body is electric when
I'm walking to Vivaldi;
I shed years and pounds in minutes
moving to Rossini's beat.
Every step inspires new feeling;
I am on my way to healing,
floating on a starry ceiling
when Ludwig directs my feet.

I go marching with Franz Schubert;
Haydn is my soul's delight.
With Tchaikovsky I'm in heaven;
I could stroll with him all night.
When I trip the light fantastic
with Wolfgang, it's orgiastic.
Walks with Bach are more scholastic,
for the subtle appetite.

I'm a mover and a shaker,
overcome with joie de vivre.
Gliding up the steps with Brahms
is sheer, symphonic ecstasy.
What an unexpected treasure!
I could not begin to measure
the unmitigated pleasure
classic walking brings to me.

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Friday, January 31, 2014

Knowledge Has Its Price

Knowledge Has Its Price
©2014 Susan Noyes Anderson

The phone rings.
Innocence answers cheerfully,
vanishes on a sigh.

Lightning shouldn't strike twice.
Children should be bulletproof.
Hasn't the freight been paid
for this (and more) already?

There is no King's Ex,
no Not It,
no fingers-crossed immunity.

No substitution or proxy.

Life happens, happens and happens.
Comes at you full force,
teeth exposed, jaws open.
Swallows you up, spits you out.
Takes another bite.

You can teach the Ninevites,
cling to the belly of the whale,
or swim free, wiser...

Ready to struggle,
embrace the process,
live in fear. 

Humility. Submission. Acceptance.
Jonah missed the message
in the end.

Was taught again.


"Trust in the Lord with all thine heart;
and lean not unto thine own understanding."
Proverbs 3:5

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Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Snow? Mais non!

The Mill by Andrew Wyeth

I'll take my snow behind a window, please.
Let it fall freely past the frosty pane,
whilst I sit in my parlor quite at ease,
boots dry, exempt from sidewalk, stairs, and lane.

I will not fault its beauty, nor its grace.
In truth, the sight is pleasing to my view.
Yet I've no wish to feel it on my face,
no urge to build snowman or don snowshoe.

Snow is a splendor better left alone
to drift or swirl or hang upon a bough.
I cannot like that icy undertone
and shall not breach my refuge ere the plow.

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Saturday, January 25, 2014

Journal Photos

A photo of me from my Journal

©2014 Susan Noyes Anderson

One faded girl in sepia,
eyes bright and opened wide.
Her life was sweet and simple then,
with nothing much to hide.

No worry bubbled through her veins;
no sadness scarred her soul.
The world was hers or nearly so;
she traveled without toll.

The sun shone warm upon her face;
each storm but cleared the air.
When lightning danced, the thunder clapped;
foul weather bowed to fair.

Her photo whispers, draws me in,
reminds me of a day
when innocence was all I knew
and troubles passed away.

The glow of faith had yet to face
the darkness at the door,
and loss had left no lasting stain
upon the unmarked floor.

What would it be to turn back time
and dwell behind her eyes,
when answers came in black and white
and truth steered clear of lies?

I still remember joy unbound
by grownup woes and cares,
untempered by the ups and downs
a wife and mother shares.

Those narrow shoulders left no room
for burdens on my back,
and every hope was still alive
and every dream on track.

Sometimes I long to be that girl.
Just once more, I would be
the little girl who thought she could
control her destiny.

And for a day I'd sail away
as far as I could go,
back to the years when clouds and rain
bespoke a bright rainbow.

Yet seasons change, all in their time.
Each foe and every fight
made of that girl a woman
who has learned to seek the Light.

Not only for herself but for
the ones that she holds dear.
Sweet memories in sepia
yield now to pictures clear.

Today, her golden hair is white,
and years have lined her face
with hard-earned knowledge, wisdom, and
no small amount of grace.

When courage wanes, sometimes I mourn
the girl I used to be.
And yet, to lose what I am now
would set me back, not free.

So I will keep my lessons earned,
embrace the roles I fill,
and treasure up the little girl 
that lives inside me still.

Life calls for guts and glory and
a forward-looking view.
The burdens bring forth blessings.
God sees His children through.

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Monday, January 20, 2014

On Art and Artists

Musician in the Rain by Robert Doisneau

On Art and Artists
©2014 Susan Noyes Anderson

Never keep your art too safe and warm;
it isn't right.
Abandon it to sleet and hale;
strip it in harsh sunlight.
Ignite in on an open flame.
Pierce it with jagged ice.
Beat it; break it; brand it.
Splay it raw, as sacrifice.
Seize pen or chisel, brush or bow,
but let creation be.
Art cannot move or breathe until
the artist sets it free.


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