Many more poems from Elizabeth Cusack (some Inspired by Bob Dylan)


I am waiting at your ocean door
I have a lover, but I have no sister
Circe had pigs, but that’s why I kissed her
I hear the harpies, the sirens call
They’re not brain-dead yet
So, I’ll endure them all
On the island of Ithaca, I’ll make a stand
I’ll spin a web they’ll never understand
I’ll bring it back home and then
We’ll start a new band.


Soon I’ll call the porter
And then I’ll drive away
I’m taking my troubles with me
To the bottom of the grave 
And what about that man
I loved but could not keep
It doesn’t matter now
I’m leaving like I left
So many times before. 


These plebeians masquerading as academics
Masquerading as aristocrats
It draws my heart to bleed
What they call poetry
Reading their receipts
All I have to say is
It matters not
They’ll twaddle through infinity
And I just say, good luck.

Spare Me

And spare me all your portraits
Your poems are mere burlesque
Are they adequately free 
Of gender or the worst?
But satire never grasped you
Did it now, my dear?
You drew to see just who would lose
In this game of fools
The breach is there, but never mind
It waits for everyone
So, babble on through Babylon
With the picturesque 
And think it will absolve you
From the universal mess


I may be bereft
But I’m in love
I split the Tao in half
It did not hold
I did not let go
I watched the dawn
I watched the fall
I saw to the heart of it all.

I stepped into omega
I watched the circus clown
I watched him bow
I saw the years of hell
No matter what I did
The yin and yang dancing
The universe cracking.

He lifted the veil
And let me in
And now I stand before him
Asking, where do I begin?
My feet are broken on the ground.

She is So Dark

She is so dark, she never fails
She just walks on top of me now
Funny how this happens
She never quits
Does she care? I do
But I do not understand her game
And when it is raining in the desert
I cannot comprehend.

She is better off not here
Where my blood is real
I bought her sprigs of cedar
And I tried not to cry
Some perfume for her mother
Though she’s past ninety-five
It is the season for disguise
But I am crying.

I am so unhappy
And there’s nothing to do 
I have been this way forever
And I am nearly through
The wind keeps blowing
And I want to die
It is pouring in the valley
I say I am sorry to the sky.

Monday Moves

Ophelia is laughing in the tower
She wears a long dark coat
And walks around after hours
A glass of whisky waits on her counter
If you want an apology
Avert your gaze 
Reconsider your aim
She does not distinguish 
The ember from the flame
She loves a man now
And the two are the same
She receives his flowers
Down in the water
And she wishes no pain.

A new poetry showcase from Elizabeth Cusack

Poetry Showcase from Elizabeth Cusack

Poem by Elizabeth Cusack for Before I Turn Into Gold Day

Poetry by Elizabeth Cusack inspired by the Dirty Three

Twitter @ecusack4
Youtube: PoetryonTheRocksforLonelyHearts

Bio: Elizabeth Cusack is a recovering actress. Ever since playing Rhoda Penmark in “The Bad Seed” as a child, deservedly, she has endeavoured to keep up her end of the bargain. Elizabeth has been blessed with the best of teachers over the years, mostly from the school of hard knocks. She has championed and performed in fringe theatre in America. Elizabeth edits her favourite poet while not otherwise inspired by her muse to write.

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1


Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: