I met Sue back in 2003 when we both were college students UMass Lowell. I always knew Sue was a great writer but I never knew just how great until I started reading her poetry about a year ago. I love good poetry but the problem I have with a lot of poetry is poets trying to sound smarter than they are by using overly verbose phrasings & throwing in a mess of adjectives to describe every facet of an emotion when they should be letting the reader figure out the meaning for themselves. Sue is not like this at all. I find her writing simplistically refreshing and never overly pretentious. Here is one of her newest pieces
My Fall
I stand before myself
in the broken down
floor length, plastic framed mirror.
My pale green eyes
over analyze
the fine fair lines
and trails
made by my fresh and freckled flesh.
The autumn does something to me.
Evokes a spirit
that dwells so deep.
While walking amongst
the wilted leaves
my soul resurfaces
shakes off the burnished
and dark copper glow.
I can feel the cool air move
in my tired and wearied lungs
as I never have before,
a sense of will and intention
turning the tissue a
twisted tone of rose.
I can feel the breeze blush my cheek
and the flick of coarse fingertips
on thick guitar strings.
A naive giggle buried
beneath the piles of burned ember
and mulled cider.
My skin stands on end,
reaching out to a gentle palm.
My body is bent like music,
moving and moaning
as each line surges and swells.
Burning at my broken knees
and enveloping each and every earthly pore.
The fall, it stirs something within me
hidden in the skin
the sad mirror daring to exploit.
There is a warmth that only this chilled air carries,
a commotion caused by
crisp and crunchy fallen soldiers.
A stillness that even the most sugary sweet
and satisfying
can not disturb.
in the broken down
floor length, plastic framed mirror.
My pale green eyes
over analyze
the fine fair lines
and trails
made by my fresh and freckled flesh.
The autumn does something to me.
Evokes a spirit
that dwells so deep.
While walking amongst
the wilted leaves
my soul resurfaces
shakes off the burnished
and dark copper glow.
I can feel the cool air move
in my tired and wearied lungs
as I never have before,
a sense of will and intention
turning the tissue a
twisted tone of rose.
I can feel the breeze blush my cheek
and the flick of coarse fingertips
on thick guitar strings.
A naive giggle buried
beneath the piles of burned ember
and mulled cider.
My skin stands on end,
reaching out to a gentle palm.
My body is bent like music,
moving and moaning
as each line surges and swells.
Burning at my broken knees
and enveloping each and every earthly pore.
The fall, it stirs something within me
hidden in the skin
the sad mirror daring to exploit.
There is a warmth that only this chilled air carries,
a commotion caused by
crisp and crunchy fallen soldiers.
A stillness that even the most sugary sweet
and satisfying
can not disturb.
Check out more of Sue Cabot’s poetry here
p.s. I might have to do a post just on Sue’s amazing sleeve work that chronicles the evolution of music. TBA!
-Lori
