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Susan McLaren 

poet, Venezuela


Caught in the fowler´s net
(a-foul by my own design)
Wing-tips broken,
feathers frayed,
heart heaving.

Each flap and struggle
Only snares the soul further
in the mesh or desire,
the seine of self.

Be quite, bird of the heart,
And listen for the fowler´s voice.

What recourse have we?

Lie still and wait, expectant.
Let his mercy snip the snare.

Arts Dialogue, December 1995, page 13.

  • Poem: Middle Age, Arts Dialogue, October 2000
  • Poem: Listen, Arts Dialogue, March 1999
  • Poem: Networking, Arts Dialogue, December 1995

Arts Dialogue, Dintel 20, NL 7333 MC, Apeldoorn, The Netherlands