Spoken word artist Susa Silvermarie is a widely published and anthologized writer known for original work that delights the senses while calling the spirit. Silvermarie is grateful to spend her third trimester of life lakeside here in Mexico, sharing her work at www.susasilvermarie.com.
Her collections Poems for Flourishing and Tales from My Teachers on the Alzheimer’s Unit are available on Amazon, and a new collection is forthcoming in 2023!
Agreeing on Love
I let it start in my heart,
a burring whir
that arrives to my throat,
a tone that emerges in air,
a sound that begins
to gather, to build,
a hum from my heart
that deepens and reaches,
and garners, in its arms of air,
whatever is around it.
Out it purrs from heart to home
and home to village,
from town to nation, the sound of it,
from ocean to ocean
The hum comes forth from my heart,
and maybe now from yours.
It’s easy to join
the quiver moving through
the concert hall of the body chamber.
Let us enwrap the planet
in humming reverberation.
Does it feel like a dream,
the kind that made us all?
Like a call
without any words, just
a buzzy ringing,
a hive alive in collective murmur.
Feel how our Mothertongue hum
is growing now.
A hum of wishing all beings well
enlivens our lips,
and thrums in our skulls
and makes our wordless mouths
agree on love.
Communal human humming, yes,
all the way out to stars.
Bigger Picture Gossip
The parrot fish, born female.
Then presto (sequential hermaphroditism)
becomes a male. But that
ain’t nothing, Have you heard
about the nudibranch
All have both sex organs.
Presto, simultaneous penetration.
Then both shed the penis for a rest
until the new model grows.
Have I got your attention now?
What about the body wisdom
of octopus and dolphin females,
who like nudibranch (but unlike humans),
can store the sperm until she chooses
when to fertilize them.
Heck, our own dear garden snails
don’t actually need to mate at all.
To reproduce, they simply
self-fertilize. Presto, parthenogenesis.
Makes me think of
the Cambridge Declaration of Consciousness,
a 2012 assertion by myriad scientists
admitting humans aren’t the only ones—
that every bird and mammal,
and other creatures too,
are truly beings with consciousness.
Doesn’t it make you wonder
if maybe we need to get
with the really bigger picture?
In the bigger picture
we may not be as smart as snails.
And a healthy dose of humility
on the part of every one of us
might unite our very own species,
and help us consciously cooperate
with all nonhuman beings
on the pale blue dot that we all call home,
spinning so miniature and perfect
in all that expanding vastness.
Call to My Cronies
from Greek khronios ‘long-lasting’
I’m 75, and so surprised!
I invite you to my wildness.
Are you old yet? Lucky you.
Time to fling away
that heavy overcoat named shame.
I invite you to No Answers.
Juicy comes from knowing nothing,
from squeezing experience
for every hidden pleasure.
Wait for sureness? Wait for wisdom?
A scam, a lie, a binding.
We and the earth are in need of it now.
I invite you to no waiting.
Kick off your shoes and dance.
Laugh loud with your sister in the grocery aisle.
Yes, holler when you read the news,
but then do your thing to help.
What you have always been
is not what you need to be.
Are you old yet? Soon, don’t worry.
Claim the wildness that belongs to you.
Time to untame ourselves
time to become the Crones,
women of power the world
so urgently is summoning.
with thanks to Robin Rose Bennett during the online Summit: Crones, Hags, and Wise Women of Power
with thanks to Arawana Hayashi’s As It Is
Are you sitting
somewhere on the earth?
Are you alive
under the sky?
Are you breathing in and out?
Oh, how fortunate!
Do you have a place
on the earth right now?
Every being is somewhere,
in a certain place on the planet.
You have a spot right now,
where you are belonging.
Grateful you feel for the world,
and for the world you feel deep sorrow.
You sit in your spot and the feelings
come and go, come and go.
You’re not making war on yourself,
you’re not bestowing aggression.
in your place,
on the earth and under the sky,
you give to the good green earth,
a little peace, an essential
gift of peace.
I see you singing in a field
where yellow daffodils explode in joy.
At the end of the field, in a forest
where intertwined trees
kiss in dance of branches,
you lose all separation.
Your cells are singing like the thrush,
your breath is wafting like the scent
of pink plumeria blooms.
You have forgotten separateness
from the field and from the forest,
even from the morning.
You are all the greens and all the golds.
Oh how you do belong
to the here and to the now.
But in Ukraine.
In Myanmar. In Afghanistan.
In Yemen, Colombia, Somali.
In Nigeria, and Darfur.
In Sudan and Syria.
Right this now,
in too many places,
here means hunger, fear,
explosions of buildings and bodies.
In Kashmir and the Gaza,
in Chad, Iran, Peru.
Paraguay, South Thailand.
In so many places, belonging
brings no rest. Separateness
seems all there is.
You belong to here and now.
You’re passing through, a traveler
with an earthy chance to learn and love,
before your dazzling opportunity
Continue freely weeping,
unwinding your wisdom behind you
in a spiral path, freely weeping
in order to keep on living large,
in order to keep on belonging
to a world of sorrow and a world of joy.
Let your weeping overflow
the cup of here and now,
to assuage the souls of those
in every single place of pain.
I Believe in Fireflies
I believe in the goodness
of every baby ever born.
I believe in green grace
falling in the rain forest.
I believe in poetry
piercing through addiction to problems.
I believe in the wind
blowing cushions of blessing all about the earth.
I believe in fireflies
celebrating their birthdays every night.
I believe in following feelings
into dark and messy corners.
I believe in the fruits of the earth
wanting to be kissed by tongues.
I believe in my blood
pumping me gladly alive.
As a living creature related to everyone,
I believe in kindness.
I believe we spin on a speck.
I believe that each of matters.
For more information about Lake Chapala visit: www.chapala.com