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Suzanne Jones Poem
He came and talked so sweet on Hawnsby Hill,
She thought he was an answer to her prayer.
Yet Mary Ann now lies asleep so still.
A secret kept and he would have his fill,
Soon she was there without an ounce of care.
He came and talked so sweet on Hawnsby Hill.
They always met beside the ruined Mill,
He told her that she had no cause to fear.
Yet Mary Ann now lies asleep so still.
One day her mother thought she looked quite ill,
But still she left and met him with a tear.
He came and talked so sweet on Hawnsby Hill.
He told her for her love that he would kill,
But not the words she wanted most to hear.
Yet Mary Ann now lies asleep so still.
A baby was for him a bitter pill,
Alone, the pain would be too much to bear.
He came and talked so sweet on Hawnsby Hill.
Yet Mary Ann now lies asleep so still.
20.03.19
Copyright © Suzanne Jones | Year Posted 2020
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Suzanne Jones Poem
Wandering down, the field flattens
Towards the darkened river.
The chestnut moves like a sail
Stands aloof in it setting.
Yellow canker caress the meadow,
Bees lunge into waiting flowers.
Smells of distant cows.
The dogs running around,
Guns on shoulders sounding
Across banks of soft fruit.
Dreams drifting like clouds,
Bounding countries that don’t exist
Lost in this mist, heading home
Peacefully until the stillness ceases
01.12.18
Copyright © Suzanne Jones | Year Posted 2020
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Suzanne Jones Poem
Snowflakes dance along the weary bough
The grey sky shows a clearing
The sand plays on the long beach now
Red Kites dive with daring
Sea grass is greener at this time
The light is so white it bites
A faraway bell begins to chime
The warmth of the village invites
Dreams can be lost in the dreaming
Lives are mislaid out of sight
The sea wraps itself into minds that sing
Sad hymns in the quiet of the night
12.01.19
Copyright © Suzanne Jones | Year Posted 2020
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Suzanne Jones Poem
Don’t let me be alone when I die,
Let me be a sky so blue
I can drown in it.
Let me be a line of horses,
That beat the shoreline
Till there’s nothing left.
Don’t let me be alone when I cry,
Let my tears be filled with salty sighs
That my eyes can dine on.
Don’t let me be alone when I buy time,
Let my ego throw itself into the pain
Of leaving it behind.
Let a little candle's flame
Become a fire I can climb higher into.
Don’t let me be alone when I die.
28.10.18
Copyright © Suzanne Jones | Year Posted 2020
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Suzanne Jones Poem
Autumn blooming with colour,
From Nature’s palette of
Copper and gold.
Large leaves lying still,
Damp and mouldy, in this late sun.
Pears slowly ripening,
In harvest’s jamboree.
Pinkish tinged, speckled,
They lie heavy with camouflage,
Ripe for the pot.
Skinned, their crystalline beauty
Cannot be held too long.
Their life is done, long before
Winter’s pallor and seasoned, frosty crust,
Binds the rivers with ice.
22.10.18
Copyright © Suzanne Jones | Year Posted 2020
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Suzanne Jones Poem
The train left the platform amid trails of smoke
That blew across faces
Waving away worn smiles.
The grey sky leaned into the horizon
Forming a broken arc,
Rain moved into chains of grief
From the departure.
A wind stole the voices
Leaving the sad opening,
Moving the sound away from this cold space
That no-one would see again.
An emptiness filled the station
As they left, scuttling like
Hermit crabs searching for new homes.
20.01.19
Copyright © Suzanne Jones | Year Posted 2020
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Suzanne Jones Poem
I’m in the box with
A smile and a frill.
The curl in my hair
Falls right down my back.
The smile runs so deep
I never could frown.
If I do, I’ll be ill
Rather than bad,
And take the pill to
Get back in the box.
The bird in the box
That can never sing.
The heart of the box
Does so want to sing.
The smile is so trite
Like all of the frill,
But when I try
I get back in the box,
And then feel so bad
The curl won’t come back.
I then take the pill
So I don’t feel bad,
And then I can smile
And give up the frown.
The box is so bad
I’m locked in the frown.
The bird wants to be free
So she can sing.
I feel so sad that
The frill is so bad,
I then take the pill
To be free of the frill,
That goes all the way
To get the box back,
And then I am glad
To be back in the box.
12.03.19
Copyright © Suzanne Jones | Year Posted 2020
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