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Best Poems Written by Susan Jeavons

Below are the all-time best Susan Jeavons poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Susan Jeavons Poem

These Hands, These Hands

These Hands, These Hands

I have seen hands like this before
In every size and color
Hands that are parched and withered
Strong hands, tired hands
Hands that can bear any load
Hurting hands that are calloused
And bent, yet these hands can be
Gentle as a kitten’s paw
Ready and able to hold and heal.

I have seen hands like this before
In upscale bistros and small-town cafes
Stashing meager tips 
for the American dream.
I have watched as these hands
Hawk “The Herald” 
For pennies on the dollar
Shovel coal into buckets
And black death into their lungs.

I have seen hands like this before
Hands of everyday heroes
Carrying bodies from burning towers
Pulling girder after girder
From twisted wreckage,
Hands that wipe away dirt and ash
To salute a tattered flag with pride
Determined to stand tall
In the face of terror.

I have seen hands like this before
Caring hands that teach and guide
Encourage and praise,
Motherly hands nurturing, holding
Rocking, gently disciplining 
without ever harming,
Hands always willing to reach out
And help their fellow man
Always ready to volunteer.

I have seen hands like this before
Hands that create masterpieces
Deliver hope and build nations
Hands that with hard work
And determination grow stronger
Each time they reach out to others
To protect, pardon or applaud
Hands of the working man
Hands of the mother and father

Hands of teachers, doctors, nurses
Laborers, soldiers and farmers
Hands of waitresses, secretaries
Firemen and police
Hands that give comfort and aid
Hands that heal our pain
And join together in prayer
Hands that touch our lives
In simple but profound ways.

These hands, these hands
These loving, generous hands
Never resign, always giving
These hands are your hands and mine.

Details | Susan Jeavons Poem

Ode To the Wind

I love to watch you wind, 
as you sway the trees and blow
across the fields in a gentle breeze, 
but I wonder where you go.
You disappear sometimes 
in a mischievous sort of way
then when I least expect it 
you come back out to play.

You sing a tune in Winter 
that seems so harsh to some,
but I for one feel lucky 
when I hear your music come.
In Spring you gently billow 
and bring life back again.
No matter what the season, 
I love to hear your wind.

When you come a calling 
on a warm day in July
you fill my heart with calmness 
with your sweet, sweet lullaby.
Your summer breaths are subtle 
with every chord you sound,
and in Autumn you’re pure magic 
when leaves start rustling round.

Your icy winds of November 
that rouse the calmest sea
bring danger to the sailors, 
but never frighten me.
For I crave to hear you murmur 
with bravado of your tales
of your journey across the horizon 
as November’s fiercest gales.

Oh wind, Oh wind I love thee. 
You’re music to my ears,.
and you’ve given me much pleasure 
for oh so many years…

Details | Susan Jeavons Poem

Monday Morning Madness

Monday Morning Madness

Just because the morning starts
like the morning straight from hell,
and the little one is screaming
and you need a magic spell,
just because you burned the pancakes
and the bacon, well it’s crisp,
do not rant and rave and stutter
or you’ll acquire a nasty lisp!
If your husband’s little habits
drive you batty, do not fret,
but don’t fill his cup with poison;
well, perhaps at least not yet!
If the dog destroyed your curtains
and your mother-in-law is back,
and you hurt your precious pinky
when you tried to nail a tack,
do not turn suicidal
and do not give up, no way!
After all it’s just the morning!
You still have the whole damn day!

Details | Susan Jeavons Poem

Our Fathers Love

God touches us with healing hands 
if we will just believe
he’ll take away our every pain
our sorrows when we grieve. 

He’ll hold us in his loving arms 
and wipe away our tears
and in the darkest part of night
he’ll ease all of our fears. 

For God the Father’s love is pure
much purer than the snow
and when we accept him in our hearts 
it’s then that we will know 

that no other love can ever compare
to the love we feel inside 
for a father who loved us all so much 
that upon a cross he died. 

Even in our darkest hour 
his love will light the way
so that we might have eternal life 
with him in heaven someday.

Details | Susan Jeavons Poem

In Memory of Tesslynn O'Cull

Tesslynn O’Cull was only 3-years-old,
when they found her body in a grave near Sweet Home.
It was the worst case of child abuse they’d ever seen
thanks to Jesse Compton and methamphetamine.

This beautiful child was tortured to death,
and I vowed that until my very last breath,
I would tell her story so we’d never forget,
for society owes her at least this debt.

Others saw the abuse, yet they did not tell,
and this child’s life was a living hell.
She was shocked, raped and beaten and no one cared,
as her mother watched, Tesslynn sat and stared.

Tesslynn dared not scream or she’d have to pay
when Jesse threw knives and punches her way.
People came and went, but refused to step in,
so high on drugs that it didn’t matter to them.

Stella Kizer and Jesse Compton must pay their dues,
still the story of Tesslynn is now old news,
and though some may forget, I will keep my vow 
to keep her memory alive somehow.

There’s a picture of Tesslynn on my office wall,
and at night in my dreams I can hear her call.
As she reaches out from beyond the grave,
I weep for the child that we could not save,

I weep for the child that we could not save…

Details | Susan Jeavons Poem

Far Away, Far Away

Far Away, Far Away

Children when you dream at night you may see an awesome sight!
Magic fairies in the dew near trilliums of snow white hue.
You must search within your dreams by the light of midnight beams.
Hear the fairy’s lullaby, coyotes howl and hoot owls cry.
There within the moonlit dell fairies cast their dreamy spell.

Far away, far away,  with a touch of luck you may 
see a fairy, just a glimpse, of these charming woodland imps!

Children fairies won’t be far when you wish upon a star. 
Before you finally fall asleep, count the fairies never sheep.
When you see them do not fear, all your woes will disappear.
Dream of stars and fireflies, rest your head and close your eyes. 
If you fall asleep so quick, fairy dust has done the trick!

When at night the moon comes out fairies like to jump about!
Magic fairies sing and dance, round and round the woods they prance.
Listen close if you would hear, else the fairies disappear.
Quickly they will run and hide if they think they have been spied!
Take a picture if you dare. Don’t let fairies see you there!

Fairies travel frequently over mountains, under seas.
Sometimes tortoise, sometimes hare, carry fairies everywhere.
Fairies soar with fireflies, dragonflies and butterflies.
Serpents, lizards , frogs and eels are used to amuse as fairy’s wheels.
(Caterpillars work just fine, keeps the fairies all in line.)

Sometimes fairies rest their heads in their little mushroom beds.
Deep below the bitter root, know that they aren’t underfoot.
Search for ferns but do not stray, this is where the fairies stay.
Asleep by day, awake at night, in your dreams they shall take flight.
When you wake with sandy eyes, this fairy’s mark is your surprise.

Far away, far away,  with a touch of luck you may 
see a fairy, just a glimpse, of these charming woodland imps!

Fairies may just play all day, run and hide then fly away
through the clouds then to the moon on a magic afternoon.
Fairy friends are birds and bees, allies on a Summer breeze,
fly above the forest floor, giggling as they gently soar.
Enchanted forests casts their spell in the little fairy's dell.

Walk to where the maidenhair points the way to fairy’s lair,
near the trail by columbine, chamomile and trumpet vine.
Where the oak stands by the edge, there beneath the hidden ledge
for-get-me-nots and Queen Anne’s lace decorate the fairy’s place.
If you find them just by chance, fairy’s dwelling will entrance.

In the meadow by the brook, hurry children, you might look
over there beyond the hill. Run a little if you will.
Search beneath the buttercups, take three steps and then back up.
Turn around, you must be quick!  Do not blink for fairies trick!
Over rocks across the shore, ‘neath the elm you must explore.
On a mossy mountainside, this is where the fairies hide.

Where the willow weeps no more, where the tortoise rests by shore
where the white dove never cries, hear the stir of dragonflies.
Where the fairies dance and sing on unicorns and robin wings.
There below the rainbow lights live elusive, mystic sprites.
Ah but few will find this place;  fairies barely leave a trace!

Far away, far away,  with a touch of luck you may 
see a fairy,  just a glimpse of such charming woodland imps!

Enchanted dreams are not a joke but only come to little folk,
charming visions in the night filled with wondrous fairy sprites.
Secrets held in peaceful sleep little children always keep.
Grownups you may search in vain for the little one’s domain,
but only children know the way to the spot where fairies play.

Once you’ve seen a little scamp in the place where fairies camp
you shall n’er forget the night when you saw this awesome sight!
Should you spy a wee small sprite in the middle of the night, 
keep it secret, never tell where the little fairies dwell!
Keep it secret, never tell where the little fairies dwell!

Details | Susan Jeavons Poem

Spirit of the Singing Waters

Spirit of The Singing Waters

Do you hear her in the forest
there within the winding creek?
If you listen to the water
you will surely hear her speak.
She’s the spirit of the mountains
where the honeysuckle grows.
In her music you’ll find wisdom
when her crystal water flows.
Round the mountains, down the valleys
she sings loudly as she goes
by the cities, by the farmland
telling secrets that she knows.
She is ancient. She’s majestic.
She’s a thrilling symphony.
As she plays her sacred music,
it’s a divine rhapsody.

Details | Susan Jeavons Poem

River Findings

River Findings

The Ohio winds around hills
and streams down the hollows
passes steel mills, brick yards and scrap yards.
It carries tug boats, pushes barges, and hauls
black coal stripped from the mountainsides. 

The Ohio’s littered banks 
are home to train yards 
filled with graffiti-covered box cars
rusting relics of the Southern Pacific
and the Norfolk and Southern railroads.

Erector set bridges span
the murky river and link Ohio 
to “Wild, Wonderful, West Virginia,”  
the Weirton Mill,
and Homer Laughlin China Company.

In towns called Powhaton Point,
Shadyside, Bellaire, and East Liverpool,
houses are stacked on hillsides
with an array of slate,
tin and asbestos shingled roofs.

Ball fields and corn fields,
concrete parking lots and shopping malls
are full of busy people 
who fail to appreciate
the river’s charity.

There are roads with cryptic names like Goose Run,
Pinch Run, Riddles Run, and Rush Run.
There are towns named Brilliant, 
Costonia and Calcutta,
each with their own secrets.

North on Route 7 bars advertise Karaoke
and all you can eat fish fries.
A plethora of car lots and gift shops,
bait stores and gun supplies
dot the countryside with 

a never-ending display
of marketing profanity,
but the river rolls on
never compromising her dignity
never surrendering her boundaries. 

White-steepled churches
stand like beacons of redemption,
while billboards promote“Hell Fire Fireworks,”
“Gentlemen’s” clubs, sleazy motels
and the “Forbidden Zone Exit.”

Still the river moves along
around the hills and down the hollows
proud and powerful
chanting and rippling with satisfaction
a stalwart testament to her tenacity…

Details | Susan Jeavons Poem

Not Today

Not Today

When memories begin to fade
when I break promises I’ve made
and life no longer seems so gay
I shall be old, but not today.

For I have children I must hold
and many stories to be told
and much to see along the way.
I shall be old, but not today.

When I no longer care to write
of all life’s wonder and delight
or take the time to kneel and pray,
I shall be old, but not today.

For there is much that I must do
poems to write, at least a few
and so much more I have to say.
I shall be old, but not today.

When love can’t make my spirit glow
and I care not if roses grow
it’s then and only then I’ll say
I shall be old, but not today.

For in my gardens, love has grown
in all the seeds that I have sown
and never may it wilt away.
I shall be old, but not today.

When I care not how others feel
and life no longer offers thrill,
when hopes and dreams all fade away
I shall be old, but not today.

For I must not accept defeat
for life is short and oh, so sweet
and there’s no time to waste away.
I shall be old, but not today...

Details | Susan Jeavons Poem

Universal Muse

Universal Muse

She is light 
in dark, mysterious spaces,
integrity in immoral places .
She's hope
in spite of  uncertainty,
mercy for those with misery. 
She's an idealist 
in a realm of broken dreams,
conscious of her adversary's  schemes.
She's morality 
displayed for all to see,
enlightenment to all who wish to be.
She's time, 
yesterday, today, tomorrow,
ecstasy within a world of sorrow.
She's creation 
from beginning to the end,
solitude yet society's boisterous friend.
She's love in a world of sin and hate.
She's harmony;  
		this, the poet's fate.