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Pooh Town

November 27, 2017

PoorPooh:shot by Susan Kirschbaum.jpg


Ah, dear Pooh

Piglet grew up to suffer the fate that Wilbur had been spared

Chris Robbin ran off with Ken (of Barbie fame) who keeps him like a ‘boy toy’

I slept with Tigger, only to discover he was a pathological narcissist

And no one listened to Owl.

(The End **Words and image, by me/all copyrighted)


**For those of you curious regarding what happened to Eeyore. He OD’d on OxyContin.



August 25, 2017

BlackEyedSusan:photo by SusanKirschbaum(**Words written and copyrighted by Susan Kirschbaum/Photo of “Black Eyed Susan’s”  by  the author, shot today on the fly.)

I never wear yellow.

(Maybe I’m too prideful.)

But it speaks to me.

Like the sun and all I could imagine eternity to be.

There’s a black eyed version of yellow.

That has borrowed my namesake (perhaps to reflect my cynicism.)

And the pastel hope in my mother’s face.

In our darkest hours.

Reflects a certain innocence that keeps me moving.

There is no alternative in its wake.

Another hue.

Not yellow.

But waves of gold.

True love.

Such warmth of smiles we reserve,

He and I (only) for one another.

My, what secrets we keep.

For where does this path lead us?

Dorothy said. “Follow the yellow brick road.”

Yet Oz was imaginary.

Behind the curtain, they found a man with feet of clay.

When his walls came down.

The possibilities were endless.


Free Bird

July 22, 2017

SELFIE7212017.SUSANKIRSCHBAUM.JPGSelfie shot this eve 7/21/2017 **WORDS part of an upcoming collection by Susan Kirschbaum

In a year my heart broke open like  an egg

While he played in the chicken coop.

Bored with chicks who pecked and blindly followed his cock call.

He now craves my yolk,

Which slipped past the talons.

Far from the barn door.

Reabsorbed back into the earth,

Where a wildflower sprouts.

**Original verse by (copyrighted) by Susan Kirschbaum

E.S.P. (Especially you…)

July 21, 2017


Don’t talk. So I may listen.  I heard you once.  I hear you again.  In the quiet hours in between, while your demon naps.

~ MY #EYES  & #WORDS both by Susan Kirschbaum





July 17, 2017


She greeted me this morn. This flower on my path.  The wake up call from my deep slumber.  Her petals laughed in Midsummer wisdom.  That’s when I heard Titania.  “My Oberon!  What visions have I seen!  Methought I was enamored of an ass.”  (**Riddle, all mine.  Photo #nofilter on the path to truth.)

LEMONADE (my version)

July 14, 2017

LIMONCELLO.jpg(Photo: My `READY MADE’ #art and corresponding #poem, below both — words copyrighted–  Susan Kirschbaum)

Behold.  A poor substitute for memories of an Italian summer. Bella Italia.  Boys. Barely there bikinis.  Not understanding the curves.  Of my body.  Of his body.   La Strada.  L’Onda.  Swimming to the white slab of rock.  On a spare stretch of Adriatic Sea.  Where we baked until sunset.  Drowning in immature emotions.  Of something that was almost lust.  Pure splendor.  Masquerading as LOVE.  — by Susan Kirschbaum

My Orb

April 2, 2017



Original Text and photo by Susan M. Kirschbaum

I want to be Golden

Like an Angel

Or Persephone

More likely, Persephone

I spend half my time in Hell

And I survive it

I thrive and create from it