Best Sully Poems
Remembering Mrs. Sully always makes my face break out into smiling mode.
Her face was as craggy as a grave, there was an aluminum tooth on the left.
When she smiled, it gleamed with pure happiness, making her stories even better.
When I first met her, her ferocious stories kept my gentle side terrified, for hours.
I thought she was the Hansel and Gretel witch, because she looked like my vision of her.
There was a unique smell around Mrs. Sully, an earthy, vegetable-type smell.
She was always in her garden, killing snakes, big black ones, with large mouths.
She relished showing us how she whacked them with her hoe, hacking them to pieces.
Although short, stooped over and old, she was a force no snake wanted to encounter.
Her stories were full of spit and vim, anger, and devilishly mean murders and such.
If you decided to share a story, she did not hear it, she did not pause if you wanted to talk.
You had to walk along beside her, acting like wearing two or three house dresses
over each other under a pair of overalls was normal, seeing the bibs and lace stick out like crazy.
Her expertise was incessant talking, not waiting for social cues or societal nonsense like that.
She knew about all the hangings that had ever happened in the county, and relished telling
About them in full-force detail, hoping to keep us on our toes, ripe with worry.
All you have to do is mention the words Mrs. Sully, and the old-timers smile, remembering
Those awful hangings, and what happened after the rope was yanked, because we all knew.
Sometimes I swear I see her in her old black hat, pulled down nearly to her eyes,
Stooped carriage, pushing a rusty brown wheelbarrow full of produce, from one farm to another.
We were lucky, our house was smack in the middle, so we would run out and hear the tale of the day.
She owned two properties, a block and a half from each other, one of them had goats.
If we were really lucky, she would have one of her mean goats on a little leash and we could walk our block with it, as it butted us with its angry head.
Rumors said the goats slept in the house with her. It did not matter to me, she was a character
I will never forget her, sometimes picturing that amazing aluminum tooth, which told excellent
Stories. Stories I do not dare tell my own sweet grandchildren, as they stay up too late already.
Sully loves the classic chicken roasts
‘A perfect dozen a day’, he boasts
Meenie loves milk
Foods of that ilk
‘Cat is lesser animal’, he posts
Sully/Sullivan= my pet ghost who lives in a rain tree
Meenie=my pet female cat
Everything was going for me, I didn’t even know the meaning of the word insecurity and suddenly I am surrounded by words like operation, cancer, chemotherapy, radiation. - Delta Goodrem
SULLY AND BOO
vast furry embrace
bury sorrow in his fold —
kenophobia
11/10/2020
Brian Strand’s Sen-ru
Sully* was back in the saddle
up the creek without a paddle
Meenie stole his hat
followed a stout rat
With cookies his hands did meddle
Sully* is Sullivan my pet simian ghost
Meenie is my cat
Both are naughty
IT’S A SULLY DAY
Packed in like tuna, full cigarette pack, times square on Christmas day.
This, though, was the last man standing - dollar theater, showing
"Sully", "Girl On The Train" and the "Secret Life of Pets". Squeezed next
to a woman with a strong New "Yawk" accent. One gets to be friends in
a tangled web of after-holiday cheer. Not FB friends, but definitely
spotlight friends. Perhaps to be rekindled up in heaven one day. Oh,
yeah, we’ll say, I remember Long Island. No names were presented,
but she gifted us a spot ahead of her in line so we wouldn’t miss our
movie. And the movie flies high on our list. Yup, you guessed it –
Sully – a twist of truth and familiarity – near my hometown – along
the Hudson. Spoiler alert – no one perishes! God figured 911 dished
out way too many deaths. A perfect landing, albeit drowned cat wet
and titanic cold. But those ferries and helicopters quick to action.
Sully upon shoulders, three cheers, no dented buildings. All souls saved!
Sully had a downright dirty toe
She scrubbed it ‘til it was aglow.
It shriveled and it coughed.
Then it promptly fell off.
At the end of my marigold row.
From LaGuardia to North Carolina
they set out to fly
on a cold January morning
the airbus entered the sky
Now some little birds
were about to bring this big bird down
flight 1549 suddenly was drifting to the ground
Looking at New York City
the mighty Hudson lay below
Sully the pilot made a quick decision
into the river he would go
With the skill of a veteran
he put her down
hoping and praying
all aboard would not drown
Well everyone was rescued
while the world watched amazed
for the passengers of flight 1549
Sully & crew had saved the day
There is a Sully* thing, called, ‘love’
Among ordinary men,
That bears there, oft, much talking of
Though the ‘how’ is beyond our ken!
Love is the Glue that keeps atoms from flying off together,
And ordinary people know, but don’t know how to tell you
That something magical’s at work, some Godly kind of Weather;
‘O! Love, if you were just a CAT, why THEN, we could just bell you!’
What makes Love so impossible? So hard, and so mysterious
To well define? (I cannot say, the thought makes me delirious!)
And yet, there must be some small way in which our sacrifices
… suffice to bring Peace, Nearness, and to thwart evil devices?
There is a Sully* thing, called, ‘Love’
Among ordinary men,
That bears there, oft, much talking of
Though the ‘how’ is beyond our ken!
*I have created a word, and afterward, justified its creation and use. ‘Sully’ H.W. Bush is a service dog, whose picture went viral, when he laid down next to his former owner’s coffin. Many were touched by his demonstration, and so, perhaps there IS such a thing as ‘Sully’ Love! ;-)