Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sep 2016 · 1.2k
I created the tools
Erin Suurkoivu Sep 2016
I created the tools.

I carved the stone and strung the bow.

I tracked the animal’s prints

across fresh snow.

I took careful aim,

steady, steady,

and then let go.

I brought you meat,

the liver & the heart,

and yet you

feast on

Featured along with other fine poems in my poetry collection, "Witch", available on Amazon or through Lulu.
Sep 2016 · 1.7k
I become gluttonous
Erin Suurkoivu Sep 2016
I become gluttonous
on solitude,

the way a person luxuriates
in furs and silk,

Italian leather,
diamond rings.

The finer things.

What can possibly be finer
than silence?
Sep 2016 · 1.3k
History forgets violence
Erin Suurkoivu Sep 2016
History forgets violence, cold-
blooded, the extinguishment,
and if not, the raw,
steadied torture.

This tenderness
rose from a river of blood.
Flowers in the garden,
wafting for no particular reason,
except a calling for bees.

Beauty I pick up on,
beauty like a sunset in the field,
blooming poppies,
just another revolution,
a day on Earth.
Sep 2016 · 1.2k
What are these bodies
Erin Suurkoivu Sep 2016
What are these bodies, these
limbs, giving up their sap
and heat? Who decides
who dies, who lives?

What is cut down is
cut down, and
bereft children
grow in their place.
Sep 2016 · 720
No suits are filed
Erin Suurkoivu Sep 2016
No suits are filed
because the lines were blurred.
**** isn’t ****
when there isn’t a clear no.
**** isn’t ****
when you just lie there
and take it.
Erin Suurkoivu Sep 2016
Night lowers its curtain of silence,
my only time to steal away, and
**** the flavour out of every
lovely rind.

It is its lime
mine to enjoy.
If only I could taste it.
Featured along with other fine poems in my poetry collection, "Witch", available on Amazon or through Lulu.
Sep 2016 · 882
Sometimes I am more
Erin Suurkoivu Sep 2016
Sometimes I am more

thorn than flower

*but a rose is a rose is a rose
Sep 2016 · 718
Erin Suurkoivu Sep 2016
You are beautiful and I am not.
We are the habits of our forefathers.

We can choose to forget them, let them
Drain away like sand through glass,

Distant dust of history. As much as we try
To remember, desire is stronger than memory.

Sometimes I turn to sculpt soft clay,
Loose and stark in my hands.

And then I abandon the mess. I should keep
My fingertips stained red for effort.

I remember dreaming a vision:
Heroine of my own story,

Walking the grey beach in winter,
Projected far into the future when I might realize it.

Clay does not sculpt itself.
Prayers go unanswered. Here

I dwell in my own lit house,
Multiple yellow lights

Floating in the dark, mirror for
The starry night that I might see.  

We’re the only species with
Wings on our feet. We’ve molded

Paper into something precious.
Currency of kings. Gold origami.

Honeyed words remain my nectar.
Rome is a daylong process that is for ever.

To shape is a practice
Known by time and being,

That I may become a living embodiment.
That I might find grace in a raised arm, a bent leg.

That I might see myself through a filter of love.
That I might remember there are no

That we are beautiful for our very selves.
From my poetry collection, "Blood for Honey", available at and Amazon.
Sep 2016 · 2.0k
The Honey in the Lion
Erin Suurkoivu Sep 2016
The honey in the lion sounds like a delicious thing––
A gentle balm capable of subduing
The cruellest of monsters.

According to the stars and tattooed,
You fancied yourself king of the jungle––
Lazy in hot African afternoons.

Golden and tawn with sleepy sun-gold eyes,
Shaggy mane, muzzle red with
The blood of a gazelle.

Did you think me such easy prey?
Or was I so much fermented honey,
Only a sweet intoxicant.

Sun warmth seeps from jungles of cold concrete.
I mistook your gargoyle wings
For those of a guardian angel’s.

I overlooked your rough skin, your
Crooked hawk nose and your skinny ribs,
And assigned fine things in you that didn’t exist.

So duped, I acquiesced to your slimy kiss.
Your mouth a neglected cemetery,
Teeth a row of mossy tombstones.

Vampire. Incubus. Your seduction like grotesque death.
You named me tempest in a teacup,
But I was the eye of the storm.

Until the night the eye was eradicated,
And the storm blew in,
Striking me dumb with your sound and fury.

But no spattered blood and no spreading bruise
To be found in the pattern of the kaleidoscope.
No cause for alarm.

Today I am lost in a picture show,
A beautiful world coloured by nostalgic past.
Women’s lips the vivid red print of a velvet valentine.

Head in the Clouds, I fantasize about a certain scene.
Because you think violence is ****––
Retaliation – ******* in my dream.

Give me an eye for my eye,
For all the eyes you plucked, from women and breadwinners.
Give me blood running down your back, sweet as honey.
The first poem of my first book, "Blood for Honey". Get it at or Amazon.
Sep 2016 · 4.8k
The sting of raindrops
Erin Suurkoivu Sep 2016
The sting of raindrops,
a thirst for outdoors.
Dusk, and the
whisper of leaves,
a certain silence. The evening hangs
still. I want to observe the
moment of change,
the discovery of strength,
a joining.
Featured along with other fine poems in my poetry collection, "Witch", available on Amazon or through Lulu.
Erin Suurkoivu Sep 2016
We have the look of another place.
The rain forest dries to deepest desert
where meat is on special.

Politeness grips my hand
in a firm shake.
Sep 2016 · 2.3k
Erin Suurkoivu Sep 2016
I imagine her night –
her winter, her dark – better
defined your light,
the same way black velvet
offers a showy diamond.

A diamond,
your diamond,
full of beans,
along with mine,
full of shrieks,

seeds we’ve germinated.
Yours is tall and yellow;
mine blue and pensive.
Kindred, we
dream a garden for them.
Sep 2016 · 830
Erin Suurkoivu Sep 2016
Would you leave me lost?
I could use the stars as guides,
and yet I could find
my way
so much better
by the light of the moon.

Would you leave me breadcrumbs?
I hope the birds
would not have picked them clean.
There might be branches broken
through a rough pathway of trees
that I could follow
in hopes of tracking you.

O, but darling,
the darkness is absolute.
Featured along with other fine poems in my poetry collection, "Witch", available on Amazon or through
Aug 2016 · 798
A lot of people think
Erin Suurkoivu Aug 2016
A lot of people think
it's shining armour that keeps them strong.

For me, it’s what’s underneath,
the bones of the matter
beneath the skin kite.

Let the wind take me and
watch how high I can fly.

— The End —