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Spotlight: Susan Joyner-Stumpf

Hi All


It's a wonderful day to shine the spotlight on an individual I find highly talented. It is an honor to share with you - on the Jimmy Broccoli page and website (within the next few days) - the poetry of Susan Joyner-Stumpf.


I first ran across Susan's poetry last year - and, as a fan of her work, have been reading it since. Susan is prolific, a wonderful storyteller, and a wonderful community (poetry) supporter. She's also one of my favorite people and a treasured friend.


Here is Susan in her own words:


Author Susan Joyner-Stumpf is originally from New Orleans and now calls the Colorado Rockies her home. Writing since the age of seven, Susan has over 75 published books to date. Susan’s humble objective to keep the Arts alive as well as to help her readers find oneness in a driven, stressful world strewn with bits and pieces.


Here are two poems by Susan Joyner-Stumpf - and I know you'll love them as much as I do!

______________

lighter than death


when you say

   the antlers won ~

the howl lost

    down Satan Butte's arroyo;

           thin Navajo

 feathers

that couldn’t last.


quiet as sapphires

    the road king

has its moments

   of grandiose inferiority.


the tame fire roses

     bent prisms of

  broken eyes

wings of lead.


          and then us,


holograms out

of portals of time

   two starved poets

lost dreamers

   found wind weavers.


      tapestry tales

of woodland words

    shoved in arabesque

cry.

by Weeping Willow Tree

          measures,

   we are far older;

     on the fence wise.


         sadder than

its forgotten roots that

   wear epitaph graffiti

into dead worms soil.


    because we remember

looking up at boots

   before they smashed us

loud as color,

      quicker than sand.


         lighter than death.


Copyright © Susan Joyner-Stumpf ♫ 2023


No part of this poem may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any way or form or by any means electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise without the written permission of the author.

____

may you rest


(*Dedicated to all the poet friends that we've loved and lost; I've lost four just in the past 4 weeks. The others this year spread apart since January and then Kenneth and Jon Ware in 2022.


These are my poet friends that have passed, some as recently as days ago:


Kenneth Norman Cook

Sela Annette Rice

Dellani Oakes

Jon Ware

Sharon Bivens

Dianne Forbes Compton

Alan Johnson

William H. Balzac

Rexanne Endicott

Romeo Della Valle

Red Saunders

Steven Lester Carr*).

may you rest

dear friends

   in those rolling

        fields of magic

words


     you yourself submerged

in parnassus' embrace

   a'bloom in

        fragrant meadows

 across skies

of cloudy tears enmeshed


       you were tired

now retire your weary

    pens of gold

anchors lost

    in fleshed hearts

now

     singing in a soul

of eternal sonnets ~


       across metaphors

of divine

           harps . . .

those timeless loops

     and threads

      of rhymeless stars

on the other

      side of crystal doors


  may you rest

dear friends

    in streaming

rivers

     of unstoppable lures


memories

like currents

            deepened

    and widened

          the further

grief chokes

     and where hope

now gently

   flitters and

           breathes


    you yourself

who flowed through

     us like velvet blood

through rhythms' skin

    sequins sewn

from sorrow’s

sinew

    and beloved

hem


   as now I look upon

           unwritten pages

      of tomorrow

wondering what

       lyrics you would

have

    carved on

parchments of emptiness

to blanket

   such weakened,

ebbing muse


        you gave life

where others took it


       poetry was your wand

and every day

     you sprinkled

stardust

     in our lonely, beseeching,

 eyes ~


       rest those bones

          you no longer feel ~


say 'I love you' with lips

    you no longer own . . .


          you leave behind

crumbs of librettos

 like Hansel for all lost

   Gretels


of a world

  left behind

only now to follow you

     home to Heaven's

aching

          poem

searching for

    its long,

      lost,

beloved Poets


we hear the trumpets of

  your spirits

where

   no words ever lay

alone again


    nor quiet in

invisible wind.


Copyright © Susan Joyner-Stumpf ♫ 11/11/2023


Image: Susan Joyner-Stumpf.



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