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Susan Gibson Poem
Sweet dreams, soft and transparent,
Floated like feathers in the sky.
And through them could be seen all that ever was.
Or ever could be.
Naivete', shimmering and shining
With rainbow light.
Unaware of the deadends
And the could have beens
And the dark and frightening
Nights of coming life
Copyright © Susan Gibson | Year Posted 2019
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Susan Gibson Poem
I just want someone to love before I die;
so tired of losing lovers and never knowing why.
My giving 'till it hurts just never ends.
'cause all my loving lovers end up just as loving friends.
They take what fits and leave the rest behind.
And all the love just ends up wasted time.
And i keep falling over words that always sound the same,
and keep dreaming of an end to all the mental games,
and keep getting lost in passion's everlasting lie,
and I just want someone to love before I die.
Copyright © Susan Gibson | Year Posted 2019
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Susan Gibson Poem
I used to wake up in the morning
To the music of my soul
And search the whole day through
For one like you.
I used to sing a song of joining,
For in my heart I felt the light,
And I reached out every day
With hope renewed.
I used to sing. I used to dance.
I used to whisper poems nightly to the moon.
I used to love the artist in me and all that came my way,
I used to celebrate expression every day.
But, living found me coupled with pedantic, empty souls,
With clever masquerades of magic men.
And I find that I have turned around,
And left my voice behind,
And I find that I am not what I had been.
I used to sing! I used to dance!
I used to practice all my talents every day.
I used to find expressing life through art
The only way to be;
I used to feel that was the only way for me.
But, now I find I have a cobwebbed life,
A dusty, boring, ho-hum life,
A life without expression or esteem.
I've turned into a shadow of a girl who used to be.
I've turned into the opposite of free.
...and I've turned into the opposite of me.
Copyright © Susan Gibson | Year Posted 2019
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Susan Gibson Poem
I feel the fiber of our lives,
the intertwining threads of our existence,
like weavings on a loom,
join together.
As if made of the other's own fabric,
our life stories play in and out
of
each
other,
like repeated patterns,
interplayed between us.
Copyright © Susan Gibson | Year Posted 2019
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Susan Gibson Poem
Our lips softly touch, two-to-two, making a quiet, almost
imperceptible sound...
leaves, red and brown,
skittering across the ground,
windblown and crinkly.
You turn your face where I can see it no more,
laying your head on my shoulder, your hair playing lightly
across my face in the evening breeze...
sparrow feathers
ruffled and puffed
in the cool wind of
after-rain.
Then, as you fall asleep beside me, breathing long, warm
breaths on my arm, I lie there, exploring the nape of your
neck with gentle fingers, until my hand falls sleepily to
your shoulder and my eyes slowly close, leaving all conscious
presence of you behind...
leafy shadows on a twilight lagoon,
continuing their patterns throughtout
the moonlit night.
Copyright © Susan Gibson | Year Posted 2019
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Susan Gibson Poem
The record plays -
sounds of love; words that touch the heart.
I reach for you with all my being
and, finding I still cannot touch you
I sit down to cover paper with my song to you.
A piece of paper - starchy white with tiny, symmetrical
blue veins running across.
An impersonal piece of paper that obligingly holds my
ink-blotched words so that I may gaze at them
and wonder at their lack of saying
what I mean to say.
I run my hand across the page and wish it were you I was touching.
I wish each quiet scratch of the pen on parchment was
the sound of your voice.
And, because not the page nor the words nor the sound is you -
I cross out everything I've written, crumple the page and
throw it away.
The room is silent now. The record has quit turning.
The needle is in its cradle.
And I find that tonight I have no song. Not on paper.
Only within me.
And, tomorrow, I'll again reach out to touch you.
Copyright © Susan Gibson | Year Posted 2019
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Susan Gibson Poem
The plastic flower sighed, stealing a glance at the rose across the room.
A REAL rose, a red, red rose, that filled plastic's heart with gloom.
Here was a rose that had true life that grew and bloomed and breathed,
While plastic was doomed to be the same throughout eternity.
Never to feel the surge of life, to have life's color and hue!
And plastic cried and closed her eyes and shivered in her gloom;
And never saw that first bloom fall
from that rose
across the room.
Copyright © Susan Gibson | Year Posted 2019
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Susan Gibson Poem
Where am I in you?
Am I just sitting on the
edges of your mind,
Easily flicked away
when you haven't the time?
Am I just a peripheral vision?
A perimeter friend?
Do you just glance through my glass
quickly,
then out again?
After all this time,
Am I still just on the fringes of your mind?
Copyright © Susan Gibson | Year Posted 2019
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Susan Gibson Poem
My words fall down and skitter around
like leaves from an autumn tree,
dry and crinkly.
Sapless.
Lifeless.
Vestiges of prouder times
when language used to speak my mind.
Copyright © Susan Gibson | Year Posted 2019
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Susan Gibson Poem
Tonight I know that where we go
is based more on what we
know about
where we've been
than where we've been,
and, certainly,
more than
where we think we're going.
Copyright © Susan Gibson | Year Posted 2019
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