Long Suzanne Poems
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I turn back the clock
to when my sister and I played on the sidewalk.
She was the leader and I was the protégé.
Oh, what a devil she was at play each day,
she got me in so much trouble trying to be her!
Those fond memories go by in a blur . . .
Two little girls so much alike- yet different,
we did things together magnificent . . .
Mom said we could be belligerent!
This is the fondest memory, that I keep
of Suzanne - buried deep.
__________________________________
December 7, 2016
Poetry/Rhyme/My Fondest Memory
Copyright Protected, ID 16- 855-976-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to,
My Fondest Memory Contest
Second Place
I went to the cemetery today to visit my beloved dead,
followed the tree lined road to the big grey rock;
and the weeping maple tree and turned on a small path,
that in time led me to my family grave site.
It dwells in the middle of the old cemetery in the shade,
of many trees and towering faded monuments;
I stood there looking at the names engraved in stone,
and my heart was heavy and I was soon weeping.
In order, is my sister Suzanne, who died in childhood,
I remember that day still like a well played movie;
like slow motion she slips under the wheels of a truck,
and my mother is screaming as she holds my hand.
Next, is my baby boy, born perfect but dead,
my heart was ripped out of my chest that day;
I thought, I would never, ever recover, but somehow I did,
still I never forget the day we buried him- I sang a lullaby.
My husband is not buried here, his family wanted him,
with them, I can understand that, but its a long journey.
next, my dad left me, quiet, I never had a chance to say bye,
and then mom, her years of pain over at last.
Not far, my grandparents are buried side by side,
and my favorite uncle who died way too young;
I know the sadness will stay with me for days and days,
I guess loving is also grieving, and so I do and do and do.
___________________
April 23, 2017
Verse/Journal Entry, April 23, 2017
Copyright Protected, ID 894906
Submitted to the contest, Poem Written in April
(Not For A Contest)
Sponsor, Laura Loo
First Place
My past already lived,
my unknown future is the only place to travel-
beyond paradoxes or predictions,
I could stand in a world beyond a human life span,
There to begin again, a quest for knowing.
New languages, new laws, new temptations
or delights.
I cannot say how I will travel there,
whether I step blindly into a parallel universe
or use velocity- based time dilation.
My imagination seems willing
but I feel stuck- in theories and Presentism.
How could there be any greater mysteries
or beauty to be discovered?
I think then of being childless.
Somehow dreams for some new Utopia
are cancelled and I
awake and sleeping
hold hands with solitude.
Suzanne Delaney
May 17th.
For Dave's Imagination Contest.
Be it known as convenience food, junk food or munchies;
whether spicy, melt-in-your-mouth soft, or crunchy,
food, inglorious food, seduces with ease
and ensnares with the emptiest of calories.
Disguised as a comfort food comes macaroni
with creamy Alfredo and kin, Fettucini,
To not be outdone, spaghetti entices
with large fattening meatballs and sauce rich in spices.
“Deep fried” knows our weakness for fat, which gives pleasure
and saturates fast foods, it seems, in great measure:
KFC (finger-licking), batter-fried fishes
and chicken fried steaks -high cholesterol dishes.
Even fruits will attack with enjoyment unhealthy
as tarts, pies or pastries. That apple is stealthy!
Veggies can also be treacherous things
in guise of corn fritters and gold onion rings.
Too much of a good thing is pizza (so cunning,
so meaty, so cheesy), which no one is shunning.
The taco, burrito, and big burger too
in great numbers descend on us. What can we do?
Those delectable luscious desserts that we eat
have only to sit there; we cannot retreat!
Candies and chocolate, our decadent sin,
sweetly defeat us. We simply give in.
Ice cream, a smooth foe, knows when we are blue.
On a cone or a spoon, it drips, waiting for you.
As a milkshake, a frosty, a sundae or float,
or between split bananas, it sure floats MY boat!
Buttered popcorn is one salty foe, and we love it!
The hot dog implores in our mouths that we shove it.
Baked bread, so alluring, entraps with its scent,
which wafts through the air as if heaven sent!
The standards of junk food -America’s pride -
crisp bacon and nachos, chips and foods fried,
invade our malls’ food courts and lurk high and low.
Their smells overwhelm us wherever we go!
We might try but we can’t make our junk food desist.
for only the health nuts can dare to resist.
In the war with inglorious food I adore,
I say, Bring it on! Here’s my plate; I want more.
For the The Synathroesmic Cat Contest Poetry contest of Suzanne Delaney
*So now you can all know why I try to get to the gym a lot. hahaha
Fairies among the leaves were happy.
Morning wind gently rocked them to and fro,
Upon the dewy grass, butterflies spread
their gay wings then flew
among the flowers to peep at them.
On a silvery mushroom little cakes of flower-dust sat
on a broad green leaf, the violets made a fairy meal, and
their drink was dew from the flowers’ bright leaves.
“How warm the sun grows!
I must hasten away to the shadows of the ferns.
The dear flowers heedless of sun or shower are left
in vain;
and this night
sad
can do nothing;
be brown
as a withered leaf,
left alone.
Suzanne Delaney
Found Poem
Flower Fables
Louisa May Alcott
van Gogh’s yellow transmuted — s a p p h i r e
on palette before my irises
faded sunflowers become
black butterflies
F l uttering
on outskirts of red beginnings
from cocoon onto canvas
is it my blue seraphim core
they seek to touch ?
astounded I splotch violets whispering
so they have nectar to quench
birthing thirst_____ white
sinking back into
sapphire SEA
I report to Neptune
all is well ~
_____________________
Unnamed Painting : Suzanne VanBebber
Private : Image Copyright : Oregon : May 26
Silver Winner Poem : Allpoetry.com : May 26
Assessor : Suzanne VanBebber
It will be the anniversary of my sisters death,
in a few days and I will turn back the pages of time.
The mirage comes back to my brain with all the pain,
her blood left a stain on the road until the rain;
it flowed down a drain- a memory that will forever remain.
Mother screamed but I froze and became nonverbal,
the days that followed were a nightmare dream;
my sister had a lot of sweet allure and charm to appeal.
And she came to me at night in a gossamer light,
she held my hand tight and her smile was honey bright;
and all around us white dulcet birds were in flight.
I will never forget the day of Suzanne's funeral,
she lay so ethereal, so fragile and delicate;
I stood very straight and still and held my tears,
many gave us the balm of consolation and solace.
Oh, how pale Suzanne looked, so dainty and frail,
I fell into a tale, and wispy wings were my veil;
on an ocean I sail- until the scent of roses I inhale.
My birthday followed- got a doll gift favor I still savor,
I said- be braver and that was my pivot and saver.
_______________________________
January 25, 2019
Poetry/Rhyme/Delicate Anniversary Death
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1108-139-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Eight Word Anniversary
sponsor, Michelle Faulkner
Fourth Place
continues ....
(for it 'twas by him that she was awoken).
'Dont listen to hate, or give in to fear,
He said with a countenance kindly,
remember your Vedas and mantras,
Let your be life be lived for the many,
and not for the few,
don't be led into fascism blindly'!
With these wise, timely words in her ears she awoke,
And said by Krishna! I feel so much better,
I must give to the poor and buy the big issue
off that bloke,
the one that's got the red setter.
Now she's totally restored to full yogic health,
and she volunteers at the hospice on Sundays,
'Social welfare should be funded by taxes on wealth!'
She says now, and every Monday
Suzanne can be found (when no one's around)
doing good deeds,
for strangers,
by stealth.
Gone is the curse of the ware squirrel,
but, what of Cyril?
Surely, there must be some news?
The rumour is that he joined Conservative Home,
And now works for Boris in Tory HQ.
I was a little girl holding mothers hand-
unprepared for the harsh and brutal image
of my sister being run over by a truck
the image raw graphic violent and terrifying
I will always remember the chilling scream
my mother screaming and screaming and screaming
it will haunt me forever-
the bleakness the reality powerful fervent
perhaps that is why we were so close
mother and me
until her death we shared this raw emotion
just us-
the scene was garish
a little girl lay dead
in her sweet pink dress
I was naïve unprepared for such an intense
violent death
I was a just a flower growing
so I folded my petals up around me
and there I dwelled unspeaking just staring
into nothingness
mother went to a raw place painful and lost
only the love of a grandma
could reach my shattered tender soul-
she was uneducated and inexperienced
but with untrained skill she opened each
petal one by one and each raw emotion was revealed
somehow mother and I recovered in time (or did we)
and life rumbled on
but still when I go to the wind blown cemetery
and I touch the name suzanne
it all comes flooding back the undiluted raw image
and that penetrating scream to goes on for infinity
and this has made me the poet
I am
a poet born from raw exposed pain
______________________________
July 29, 2015
Poetry/Free Verse/raw emotions
Copyright Protected, ID 15-695-291-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Raw,
sponsor, Catie Lindsey
Fourth Place
Leaves, like reprobate angels, fall
Trees, nude gods (?), welcome the winter
Rainbow colors on sky-linter...?
Birds, their hatchlings, to go home, call
Days, like shade of low-grade jade, fade
Nights slow-down, of their dusk, afraid
Frenzy fog tries to spread its shawl
Dewdrops fill the lips of fresh blooms
Humble grass plume, mesmerized, zooms
Sun, on sea-front, performs cool-crawl
Moon marches toward the sky-height
Do stars, to shine, among them fight?
Within me there's an unknown squall
Like desert dune-frock-frills, heart grills
Thrill of nature in each cell fills
Leaves, like reprobate angels, fall
Birds, their hatchlings, to go home, call
Frenzy fog tries to spread its shawl
Sun, on sea-front, performs cool-crawl
Within me there's an unknown squall
22 September 2022
In Remembrance of Connie -Autumn Theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Suzanne Delaney