Long Susanna Poems
Long Susanna Poems. Below are the most popular long Susanna by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Susanna poems by poem length and keyword.
Can you not see?
All the ducks inside your arm?
Did you think hotel paradise,
Came with no illusions attached?
Violins and rats
Rats and violins
Conductor in a white suite
Playing musical roulette
Slow motion squirrels a symphony
Dancing death on my head
Hotel paradise is the rats meow
Old couches and peeling paint
The evil Mickey mouse is really quite quaint
Oh Susanna sings in this hotel
Ethiopian Nelly checked out long long ago
Dear friends and gentle hearts
I pass on with 38cents in civil war notes
With 3 cents to spare
Bury me amongst the minstrel songs
Among quiet flowers gleefully listening
I have composed stately song
As I decompose, My epitaph shall say
Beautiful dreamer down below
I lie in my suitcase
Ships are made for sinking
Whiskey made for drinking
I am Stephen but who am I?
Form: Disjointed Double Verse
Can you guess who is Stephen?
His seared look, from a painted gird brow dons,
a face like Van Gogh with both ears, though just,
as lost, looks about an empty room of challenges,
that is built high on lost convictions, drowns in a,
festering of desperation, as sweats beads a stench,
on an unswept floor, wavering, between old unhealed,
wounds of a, dark past, all attached to young love,
and their new miseries.
He takes a swig and walks away from a sultry,
sway as a piano's light tune, breaks off key and,
holds, as a blown off woman pops her gum and,
snobs at his direction unnoticed and wanders off,
while a glib man in slick clothes offers a chance at,
cards, he simply walks away until a chair moves,
from behind, it's slick, he then stops with his back,
still faces him, a chair slides back, he walks on.
He comes up to the man at the piano, who is a bit,
jittery, asked hm if he knew a song called, 'Ole
Susanna', he replied saying that he never heard of,
that song, he then steps back a spell and figured,
him to be from the north, and gives him a look like,
a Picasso painting for he knows that people out West,
knows, 'Ole Susanna', so he's thinking that things are,
afoot here in this town, as he looks around at stares.
He backs away, on back to the bar, takes a final swig,
as a jingled coin settles to silence in the uncanniness,
of a quietude western bar, as he dons his hat, the,
bartender hollers that set the bar back to its norm, girls,
giggling, cards shuffling, piano playing, and all of the,
joviality returns, as the new guy in town, hops on a horse,
and pulls away as a normal western town fades in the sun as,
a drifter stops, turns and sees afar off, a painting by Monet.
I'll call her a different name
This girl whom I thought was my dame
On holiday she went
With my money well spent
To Malta she went on a plane
Whilst there she met a waiter called Frank
In bed playing sexual pranks
This Susanna my girl
His heart she did twirl
We're engaged, and this is her thanks
I looked forward to the day she came home
With this waiter her hands on he roamed
Hey! Susanna your dumped
I hope you end up real plump
Your a dog, I should throw you a bone
Wow! a man with the final say
Our relationship ends today
I wish you the best
With your holiday zest
It's my turn to go out and play
She's the look of a hothouse flower;
She seems to be losing power-
Like a rose in need of summer shower!
Like a bird retreating to summer bower!
Hair plastered, her dress a mess,
She's been under a current stress.
Susanna didn't mean to transgress,
But, she's a tendency to obsess.
Her eyes wild, and full of remorse,
Desperation left Susanna no recourse.
When comes the time for the discourse,
She shall wilt, of course!
She's a certain look of fright,
In her slow and hopeless flight.
Though none yet know of her plight,
Her future's suddenly not so bright!
She's the look of a desert bloom,
Sweltering in some unhappy room.
Susanna seems about to swoon;
She's danced to the wrong tune!
Liza B of Yorkshire stock
a tinsmith'a wife
her face bears
travails of life
Lily B orphaned
in a sad manner
commissioned
'neath the army's banner
Violet O born in the great war
father Ernest
she never saw
Anne S unanswered
questions still accrue
the granma
some never knew
Frances L her tragedy
was to unfold
the exact details
remain untold
Annie O granny Mayo,
mother came to know
by the canal
at Brookside row
Susanna O a mid-victorian maid
her determination
does not fade
Ethel G's fish&chips held sway
in her wakefield take-a-way
Harriet H high cheeked,pretty&petite
of twinklig eyes&
dressed so neat
Edith G of Jewish stock
a housewife so usung
to me,her face
is ever young
If you look at Stephen Foster,
who wrote songs for the minstrel shows,
you wouldn’t expect a genius
that all of the world would know.
He was another bookkeeper
for a steamship company,
until he started writing tunes
that to this day sound masterly.
Today those same minstrel shows
seem quite insulting to good minds,
they weren’t exactly ‘High Culture’
way back in Foster’s time,
but the man wrote Old Susanna,
and My Old Kentucky Home,
the Swanee River, Camptown Races,
and Hard Times Come Again No More.
Even Beautiful Dreamer,
and Genie With The Light Brown Hair,
the amount of hits this man wrote
can drive musicians to despair.
From throw-away entertainment
that never got a second look,
this man alone wrote the core of
The Great American Songbook.
That he still remains relevant,
even known at this late date,
show that we never can predict
who exactly will be great.
I’m not too sure will I make it
Confusing the day with night
My visions are sure they are naked
And see-through held up to the light
I’ve been thinking it out
Since that thief shut my mouth
With the words that he took to be true
He made off so fast
Couldn’t stop so he crashed
But too late I was wearing his shoes
I had to call up the doctor
I knew we would not have met by chance
But he said he was rather quite busy
And really tied up in his pants
I’m a casual liar
With a hypocrite smile
And I can’t get up from the ground
He said take some of these
Get up on your knees
Keep your loyalty profound
Lit up to take another hit
The swallow song had just begun
Threw away my senses so quick
Now I’d trade my eyelids for some
Couldn’t hear the clock
No ticking no tock
A timeless spell in the park
In the hours I had not
I was happy as I walked
Knowing shadows were not cast in the dark
‘Twas there I found Susanna the dancer
She opened the door well it was her place
Could see her wondering what’s he after
Is it a funny look or just his face?
Foot in the door wasn’t trying to sell
Couldn’t stand still
On no other shelf
Her creamy thighs opened
Without a noise spoken
That is all that I’m wanting to tell
Hearts of men and women around cities and villages bloomed.
Jesus lived among them and moved like a life-giving sun.
Was society as clean as it looked as a groom groomed?
This was the cause of the incarnation of God's own son.
Women disciples: Joanna, Susanna, and Magdalene
Served Jesus, for whom men and women were like his two eyes.
All (both rich and poor) loved the teachings of this Nazarene.
Through parables, he revealed their secrets above the skies.
God, the farmer, went to sow his words into this wide world.
Some humans heard, but Satan picked them up soon, like birds.
Some thought they loved hearing them, but every word soon got furled.
Some worries about the world, like thorns, grew and choked the words.
Hear, if you have ears, said Jesus, and went ahead with love.
Each of his deeds, like each creature, revealed his knit above.
(Based on Luke 8:1-15)