Fleeing Triage


A clay king, an idol

A god without form

Armed with a bible

The fearful conform


Lend power to bricks

And flesh and time

Barricades and limits

Amass the mind


Steadfast and permanent

Illusory – cling

Look not to the firmament

“Hail to the King!”


In sleep, submit

In sorrow, awaken

A good slave, commit

A soul forsaken


Trickles of light

Flicker in doubt

Vision ignite

Reflections about


It’s all interwoven

This cosmic design

Where nothing is broken

And all is divine


A king’s mirage

A cryptic wave

Elope to triage

Wounded slave


Freedom – omniscience

King’s demise

Salvage innocence

And slavery dies


~ © Susan Ance ~ Image

Image from The Indian Economist

Sketching Hearts


Full circling around in synchronicity

A parallel divine, once mine, is missing me

Beyond all reason, a trip into history

Through warps in time, exposed to the mystery


Deja vu from the blue slips clearly out of view

And times once sublime won’t replay in my mind

I give what I need, hand over my dues

‘Til I have nothing left but the rhythm and blues


Repeat what I think singing word for word

Intoxicate heavily my need to be sure

To wrap my legs around the truly absurd

To wrap my mind around the myths of the world


Sketching hearts wrapped in death, or ice cream, or zoos

Sketching hearts wrapped in comics, or snakes, or booze

Synchronicity springs, puts the bounce in my shoes

And I bounce, and I bounce…there is nothing to lose


~ © Susan Ance ~ Image



To Breathe Water


Everything’s intensified

Quiet music, amplified

Slow drive, a jetted ride

A tiny fear, I’m petrified


Innocent saint, a hidden gun

Waiting on the Holy One

In total chaos, having fun

A sudden end, that’s just begun


Voices haunting, comfort me

Imprisoned soul, and I am free

It’s someone else, I long to be

Land animal, tossed into the sea


Careless whispers in the breeze

Atheist upon her knees

Broken pieces that I seize

A hardened heart that tries to please


An empty soul snatched out of death

A heavy sigh, without a breath

Such is my life, without a rest

Such is my life, with no request


~ © Susan Ance ~ Image

Get Real


She told me that I should “get real”. And I looked around me, sort of half stunned that she would have the nerve to say that to me in the first place. I returned a look, though I have no idea what it conveyed, as she tossed back her curly permed hair – Nice-n-Easy #5 Brunette. Time stood still as I went into my head for a moment.


It’s hard to get real, in a literal sense, if you see all around you, a society that worships artificiality. And the funny thing is, everyone knows that most things in life are fake, and that no one is fooled. Not even by our continued efforts to create the most perfect images. Maybe this is just out of a false sense of security or something, born out of false hopes or false pride. Will we ever understand the real reason behind this?


In the beginning, we saw the sun, and the sun was good, in many ways, so, we harnessed it. We recreated it the best we could. We have light bulbs. My personal favorite form of artificial sun – the tanning bed. Some people call it “fake-n-bake”. What’s cool about it is that although the sun is not real – the tan is. You go in white and come out brown, or red, in only ten minutes! The resulting cancer is real, just like the sun, but we haven’t figured out a way to fake that yet. And I hope we never do.


Yes, we recreate nature – faster, bigger, better, stronger – more convenient. And we are in control of nature now, rather than the other way around. Fake sun, fake snow, fake grass (makes for a better game), man-made lakes, fake trees (saves us from the bother of going into the woods around that festive time of year). We have fake plants because it’s too much work to sprinkle real, chlorinated water on them. Well, you know what I mean.


Plastic. The very essence of life. We can make it look like anything – bricks, stone, and wood ( for those nature lovers). Fireplaces – you just pick it up from the store, take it home and plug it in! Viola! I’m not sure you can get any product these days unless it contains a certain amount of plastic. I think this might be some kind of underlying rule of human nature or something. It’s just common sense really – no plastic – no life. Plastic, by law, is as necessary as the air we breathe – no matter how thick that air may be.


The human being is the most attractive creature in existence. And we know this. Every morning we get up, we look in the mirror, do a little jiggle, point, wink, smile, or whatever it is we do in our private little bathrooms, and say, “Man , you’re good looking!” There’s no denying it. We ARE good looking. And we find creative ways to be even better looking. Once we discover something we take it as far as possible, and then some. One thing I like about human nature – the incessant need to always go that extra mile!


And my friend is standing there staring at me, completely unaware of what’s going on in my head now, with her fake, curly, colored hair. She’s pierced, tattooed, and her make-up is flawless. She has a silicone-stuffed body, but still has the need to wear a padded bra and shoulder pads (even if it’s not the 80s). A synthetic shirt hugs her curves – as do her fake leather pants, and a fake fur coat (of some unknown animal, perhaps from some other realm), drapes her arm. She has a great body, I must admit, and it’s not just due to her implants. She told me her secret, and it’s all in the diet. Fake sugar, fake fat, fake milk, fake burgers – and she has liposuction done once a month. And she smells good too because she uses perfume and scented soaps. We are beautiful, but face it, we are a little stinky sometimes, and smelling good is one of those little necessities of life. It’s for reproductive purposes, you know. But none of us are aware of this, are we? Because we are fooled into thinking that artificiality, is, in reality, reality.


Our minds are easily fooled as we have proven to ourselves time and again. And we seem to be content with this – sitting in front of the tube, so easily entertained. We watch movies, hour long dramas, sitcoms – entertainment faking real-life situations that are faking entertainment. And we don’t want to think about this too much. Especially now that “reality” shows are dominating the air waves. We like “real” TV.! It shows that our society is moving back toward what it is we have always longed for. It proves that we are getting back on track and that all hope is not lost in the hands of our future generations. It is further proof that we DO know how to “get real”, no matter what those old folks think.


I’m brought back to the here and now, facing my real friend. Her painted lips are smiling, showing off her perfect, porcelain teeth. And she says in her sweet trill, “Well, I have to go rehearse now for that new reality show I’m going to be on. Don’t forget to tune in! “Get Real”?


~ © Susan Ance ~Image

Soul Defender


Our lives are running parallel

We’re trapped in icy caves

We cling to hope in dismal drips

Once masters now but slaves


We flit about in emptiness

The effort takes its toll

But when we meet our spirits bloom

Velvet petals in the soul


Like a sword penetrating the flesh

We return to our hollowed out pits

So the salt can be ground in the open wound

How we yearn as we sit counting minutes


A lone laugh echoes in the caves

The tears we shed, ignored

The hour comes when we shall meet

So much yet unexplored


Memories molded, fired and bronzed

My savior from this hole

I reach for you from murky sands

As you defend my soul


~ © Susan Ance ~Image

Shift and Slam


I hate the noise the moon makes

When at night all I ask for is sleep

And the nausea I feel when I think of my life

How I writhe and contort and feel beat


And I hate when the sun scratches sand in my eyes

When my mind jumbles all it entails

Restless and craving omniscience of life

Through a tangle of dead-end trails


I hate when the wind crashes into this vessel

And levels my insides to naught

When I only expected a hint of a breeze

In a furious hurricane, caught


I hate it when the undertow swallows my dreams

With it’s greed, to its belly, whole

My dreams are the essence upon which it feeds

They fester like lava in the seat of its soul


How I can be tortured by small twists of fate

In cyclones, they blast away all I create

When the true and the real shift and slam me in haste

‘Til all I can taste is the hope that I waste


~ © Susan Ance ~Image

Secret Garden


I’m a withering poppy

Too long in the sun

I thirst for cool water

A sip from your passion


You taste my seeds

Save my heart from abscission

Become high with my opiate

Immersed in fruition


We frolic in secret

In gardens under the rose

Holding dear to the trellis

Careful not to expose


You trust me to sprinkle

Drops of dew to your pith

And we silently wonder

If all else is a myth


So we wither apart

Undernourished by duty

Separated by worlds

Without passion or beauty


But we cling to the earth

With the roots of a forest

Holding on to the obvious

Unfolding before us


Nature created us

An osmosis of twin

We wait in our dormancy

For the spring to begin


~ © Susan Ance ~Image