Suzanne Jacobson
Suzanne Jacobson describes herself as a woman with the same insecurities, self-perceptions and deceptions as any other semi-artistic female. She loves her kids, works a day job, burns the candle at both ends, can't keep her house clean, hopes everyone thinks well of her, and writes as if her life depends on it. She writes poetry, prose, lyrics, public service announcements, advertising, editorials, human interest stories, essays and stream-of-consciousness... she writes in her head when she’s driving and loses it all before she finds a pen and paper. She sings her lyrics to herself then farms them out to musicians who can read music and carry a tune in a bucket. She writes because she must; it's like breathing or drinking water, a necessity. A number of her poems, essays and articles have been published in periodicals. In addition, Suzanne has self published a number of chapbooks, including Phoenix from the Ashes, Love Songs to Boy Poets, The Purple Unicorn and Other Loves and Eshva Dancing.

Suzanne is working toward her Masters in Divinity with Claremont School of Theology and is a certified candidate for ordination in the United Methodist Church. She is interested in knowing that Truth which is in the heart of all intimately, and in sharing that intimacy with others. Suzanne lives in Mesa, Arizona with her three children, three dogs, and four cats. Their modest home is called FaeHaven. They share the space with an assortment of outdoor critters. The grounds are inhabited by feral cats, rabbits and other wild creatures who roam in the night. Though not in the country, they still see a coyote or fox wander through every once in awhile. There are birds nesting in the cacti and the palms. And who knows, perhaps there are a few of the Fae folk for whom the sanctuary is named. As part of the landscape of both her heart and her home, Suzanne is building a simple spiral labyrinth in her yard. Someday, she hopes to garden a little.

Word Lover

Living in the lonely
The poet finds that words
Will never waver, never
Betray; at least, not
Their words, the ones they
Write, the words that
Become their lovers
In the dark

I Dance Electric

In my poem, I dance
Electric, can you see?
My poetry is a dance,
Perhaps a waltz or two-step
Stepped out with arms
Aloft as though held
Against the heart
Of one who knows
The dancer’s soul;
A poem might be a
Hip-hop break dance
Poppin’ ‘cross the page
In rhyming rhythm best
Meant for spoken word
Or perhaps, my poem,
My dance is filled
With Spirit, like a prayer
That comes in shimmies
Hip drops, figure eights
Flat-foot, snake arms, swirled
In veils and zills and
Doumbek beaten bass-line,
Like my heart -
I toss my words upon
The winds when no one
Understands the
Language but I;
Only I can know the rhythm of
The dance of my own words
I sing as if, transformed,
They become song, and yet
The wisdom of my pen
Beat out like the flattened
Ground beneath my feet
I am one with All There Is
With God and those who’ve
Gone before; and those
Who stand beside and those
Who will be tomorrow;
My words are more than
Wishful thinking, they are
Magick danced out with
Hopeful heart, and I
Recall the times
I knew I’d learned the steps
The days and nights
Beneath the moon;
Full-faced, she watched
Watches still and hears
The rhythm of the dance
My dance, my poem
Dressed up in bells
And coins of gold
And veils of gossamer
My words, my dance
Ripple through time
And space;

Raqs Sharqi.


Today, as I tried to sweep clean
The place in my heart
Left cluttered by
Memories of my dreams,
I threw my arms out as
If to wrap the world
Within them –palms up
To the skies, where
The stars spoke in silent
Sparkles, reminding me
That with them, there is
No need for words
Arms thrown thus, I began
To spin, eyes held fast
To one star; spotting
In circles I spun, as if I had
No reason to stop, my mind
Whirled with the rest of me,
Remembering dreams that might
Be best forgotten, but will
Not go, will not be regretted;
I swirled, and twirled, my skirts
Dancing rainbow about
My ankles, my knees
My waist - I spun so fast,
Furious as if to fly away
S l o w I n g down, I watched
The moon, the sun,
The Milky Way…
I brushed the treetops
With my broom and came
To land, soul cleansed
Love intact
Heart empty
But for a little glimmer of hope
Ignited by the sparkle
Of the stars.

The Forgotten

The ancient part of my heart remembers you
Whose name I cannot quite recall
It hovers just beyond the tip of my tongue
A memory from another life
So many centuries ago that this body cannot
Recall the curve of your neck; the muscles
Of your arms, sculpted by hammer and hoe
Or the feel of your hands work-rough
Against my sun-kissed face
Tenderly brushing away a wind-blown
Tendril; another goodbye
The ship built, the crops in the ground
The ice in the fjords broken, ready
For you to take away my sons
And you.
Leaving me to tend the land, and
Our beautiful blonde girl-children
Beseeching Freya’s blessing, even
As you begged Odin’s strength
We both prayed Loki leave his antics
For another time, when your safety
Was not at risk, I suspect
We should have known better
The ancient part of my soul cries out
For you, wondering if you ever returned
To the me who was in that other time
That other place
Who stood at the shore with the other women
The girl-children and the babies
Touching our work-rough hands to our cheeks
Tasting the ice-cold salt of our tears
And the sting of your last kisses
Watching the dragon-headed longboat
Sail into the sunset
Carrying away our last memories of summer

Copyright © 2010 Suzanne B. Jacobson