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Black Mirror

November 16, 2018

Blaci Mirror.jpeg


Borrowing Botticelli

August 29, 2018


Aphrodite lent me her scallop.  I’ve oiled the base of the shell.  My love is not fickle but as intricate and expansive as the tide.  I may float into you.  But you cannot contain me at your will.  (**My writing (copyrighted) #poetry #susankirschbaum #love Post beach #selfie.)

Ice Burn

June 30, 2018

Cool:Burn:Susan Kirschbaum.jpg(**All writing/copyrighted by Susan Kirschbaum)


April 14, 2018

CHAIR.jpgThe boy sits alone in his chair. Missing me. He drugs himself into oblivion. He sits not in his chair. But out in the world, he owns “the empty.” Missing me… ~Susan Kirschbaum #poetry #writing **Copyright 2018

Musings on #LOVE (by me….)

March 20, 2018

LOVEBYME(**Words written & copyrighted by Susan M. Kirschbaum/2018.)

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.