Susan Deaton Studio
A Journey of Self-Discovery
Poetry
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Faces of Red RiverFaces Scatter and open their expression to the velvety touch of moss and the broad shiny leaves of the magnolia. They cradle the delicate fern in their solid grasp; and hold their place as the roots of the maple trees dig to find the riches they cannot offer. by M. Susan Deaton
A February Spring
The sun said it was spring
so it opened its creamy white peddles
putting all its faith in the moment the sun so boldly proclaimed.
The sun then hid away
clouds filled with cold and snow
falling on the open faced bloom.
It committed itself to its moment and stayed through the cold.
The white became transparent
and dropped to the ground.
by M. Susan Deaton
Perspective
The rain from the hurricane
arrived in Kentucky
gentle and steady; unrecognizable
from her portrait on television.
I heard a few acorns fall as she fell,
the oak seeds finding the moist soil
she so softly caressed. The spring will crack
open their dormant sanctuary
with the storm finding her redemption
As for those who think this hurricane’s
destruction as God’s wraith for sins—maybe instead
you can think of God as going
about her business of making oak trees.
by M. Susan Deaton