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The Home of Evolutioneers

B. Sue Stephenson, Writer Artist of the Spring Quarter 2006

B. Sue Stephenson, MD, was voted by the members and visitors of Universe Spirit as our Writer Artist of the Spring Quarter 2006

B Sue StephensonSue's bio in her own words:

"I was born into a family of physicians (both parents, both grandfathers, 3 of 4 great-grandfathers, etc), and the concept of being able to assist other people was introduced early in my life. I am the only one in my generation to choose medicine, however, and have been grateful for the privilege of helping others.

Through high school I lived in the South Bay and have since lived in upstate New York, New York City, Indiana, England, Salinas, CA, and Arcata/Eureka, CA. I'm delighted to be living in one of the most beautiful and socially progressive areas of the US and try to take advantage of this location by spending time outdoors and in community.

I have a very creative and lovely teen daughter who has added perspective and color to my life and I enjoy spending time with her.

One nice thing about getting older (I'm 53 now) is that you can draw on more experiences. These may inhabit what feel like separate lives. In my case:

The "made to stand up and glow, propped in front of the narcissistic parent's own fear of shortcomings";

The time of finding a place in the world;

The time of making it mine;

The transforming life of intimacy;

Then the loss of the lover but not the sense of intimacy;

And the life rebuilt on the spiritual ground of the loss.

The rest of the facts are boring.

Poetry has engaged my being mostly in the times of loss and rebuilding. I simply play in it, write it down, and feel huge gratitude. The results are meant to be shared.

Enjoy!

B Sue Stephenson

CAUTION: COUPLES WORKING

After the glow,
The lovely bloom,
You begin to see a struggle
They can’t help wearing
Like aprons
That can’t be taken off.

Symbol, need,
Weariness, conviction
All combined in one bowl.

It’s hot in the kitchen,
And the dinner guests
Are about to arrive.

Sweat on foreheads,
Chopping in progress,
Ingredients blended,
Baking.

Utensils everywhere,
Dishes messy and complaining.

The recipe book is open
As man and woman collide between
Refrigerator and garbage,
Sink and door,
Surrender and desire.

bSue

©7-12-05

PROVINCE

The tree must
spend its entire life
in just one place,

And this rock will never
taste cordon bleu,
or smell warm muffins
just from the oven.

The North American weasel
will never hear
a symphony;

A creek doesn’t really
have a mother;

The millions of tiny noseeums
would not recognize
our president,

And I may not
ever know
What it is
Just to be.

©11-5-05

bSue

DESCENT

Tiny, chaotic heart,
never still;

Mind junk obscures
panorama of Eden.

Slashed will
uses crutches now,

While soul slumbers
in denial’s
dark nation.

No flavor can affect
a wooden mouth;

Opium greedily ingested
swells
the crying abdomen.

Hard rock headphones
suffocate
wounded ears
of compassion.

Love is frozen
in cubes,
still in the tray.

And so each fragment protests

This messy,
autumnal,
patented,
perfect
death.

bSue

©11-30-04

EARTH PRISON

I must have been at the
threshold of this place
At one time.
Was there a choice,
a leaning?
Was my body pushed
into the murky water
To swim or drown?

Was some heavy door slammed
behind?
Did the echo frighten me?

Is this world smaller
than the last,
More dangerous?

Are the guards benevolent?

How well can I really see
you
or me
In this dim light?

Is this time here a gift
or a loan?

Who is really in charge;
in rebellion?

I now sit facing the despair.
I have relinquished my keys
And I have already signed the waver:
"If I am held hostage
There is no expectation
That I will be freed"

bSue

©11-13-05

ECONOMY

Time is short.
I want to cut out the middle business,
Be at my destination,
Drop the need for string between the cans;
Omit things that get in the way
Like pedestrians,
And slow talkers;
Like curves, stoplights, reverse gear,
Or the vehicle, for that matter.

I only want the meat
Of the fruit,
Direct sun,
Real flowers,
And complete love.

I want there to be nothing between
Plan and deed,
Footprint and soul,
Your chest and mine,
Now and ever.

bSue

©11-12-05

I AM I

I am this precious vessel
And I am any substance within,
or neither;

I am the most important being
and the least;

The first one here,
the only
the last and final;

I am nothing but hearing,
Nothing but one leaf
Falling from the autumn tree
of men.

bSue

©11-13-05

IN SHADOW

In shadow
The man and the bicycle
pass through each other
in graceful silence.

Planes and birds crash
into each building
without flinching
then meet themselves casually
upon landing.

Blades of grass
miles of millimeters between them
are now in common domain.

The tall oak
may rest
on the undulating meadow.

Strolling lovers meld
even more unconditionally.

Huge moths dance
amid amber porchlight
upon the stucco wall.

I may walk just ahead
of myself
or behind,

Or swim for hours
with red spotted newts
at the pond bottom.

There’s no differentiating between

The pundit and
the pessimist,

The loner and
the lost,

Your child
and mine.

And the full moon
softens our
other selves

As we are less
upon the newly fallen
snow.

© 1-30-05

Bsue

MEDITATION 104

I sit beside the rain,
Want its clarity,
Welcome its dominion.

Light and darkness
Drown my room,
And I become
The benevolent stone.

bSue

©12-18-05

MEDITATION 103

I grieve

For the time wasted
here

For each drop of rain
I did not feel

For the seed
I did not plant,
The tree I did not tend

The times I could have
eased some pain
But kept on walking

For every moment
I loved
But did not love

For the fear that
froze my heart

The times I was
silent,
The times I was not

For every moment asleep
without dreaming

For the imperfect
joys
And each one not
shared

For the pain I no longer
feel

For each bite unnecessary
for sustenance here

For every penny I did not
spend

For every creature I
harmed,
Each insect I tread
upon.

©2-27-05

bSue

PAPER

I am this fine paper.
The lines written here
Are my life:
Placed upon
They display a certain meaning,
Illusional purpose,
Warmth.

I am not the lines
(Though they are upon me
And I love them so,
And I exist here because of them)
Just as I am not the things I do
Or the people I love,
The ones who love me,
Or even the words I myself
Have written.

I am thin, white,
Delicate,
And can easily be
Crinkled,
And thrown in with the nearest
Trash.

bSue

©8-23-05

EMBERS

Part of our substance
Holds the embers of
Relationships past,
Thinking we might
Speak again,
Touch,
Awaken potential loving,
Continue our story line together.

But sometimes a person dies
And the heat goes away
From their particular ember
And though the ashes
Become cold in our hands
And dull the taste in our mouths

We can only wait
For the dry desert wind
Or new lover's breath
To blow them away

Exposing in our flesh
The mark left there
By the mutual burn.

bSue
3-12-06

To contact Sue via email: bsue2you2@yahoo.com

B Sue Stephenson

Air Force 1 Mid Flyknit