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Susan Piwang Poem
Yesterday I was at the bottom
The dank, dirty bottom.
The rubbish heap
Of wasted dreams
And failed attempts
And hearts depleted of hope.
There I lay
Wallowing in despair
Submerged in sadness
Clinging to the filthy ground
Like an insect.
Yesterday—I was there.
Last night I was in the middle
The vague, vacuum middle
The empty space
Between the beginning and the end
Where you find…nothing
But air
There I was
Hanging in nothingness
Meandering, floundering
Aimlessly searching
For what couldn’t be found
Like a piece of laundry
Forgotten on the line
Neither this nor the other
Just…there
Last night—that was me.
Today I am at the top!
The beautiful, glorious top
Where idle thoughts and fancies
Take shape and become reality.
Where your name is not forgotten
But engraved on stone,
Your words everlasting,
Your face a permanent picture,
In the hall of winners.
Winners.
Today I am a winner
Not lying at the bottom
Of floating in between
But dancing on rainbows
Being free—being seen
Today is for the winners
Today is for me.
Copyright © Susan Piwang | Year Posted 2013
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Susan Piwang Poem
I hear the music calling me
From the smooth and shiny rows of keys
The ebony and ivory
And all the melodies between
‘Come!’ it says, ‘And play a song
Upon your fingertips I’ll canter along.
Befriend the scales—arpeggios
Follow the tune wherever it goes
Let your heart become the notes
Let your soul become the pitch
Let your life become the piece
Together we shall play.’
I hear the music calling me
From brazen gold and silver strings
Between burnished frets I have seen
The beginnings of a reverie
‘Come!’ it says ‘And pick a poesy,
Fast and furious, young and rosy.
Strum my chords, tickled with rhythm
Call and coax the magic within them
Let your mind roam free and far
Let your voice capture the stars
Let your soul be one with mine
Together we shall play.’
I hear the music calling me
From silver, circular woodwind keys
The trilled and tranquil fairy fifes
Will slice the silence like a knife
‘Come!’ it says, ‘And toot a tune
And learn the lore of lustrous flutes.
Dance upon the bars and staffs
Our mystery within your grasp
Know the sharps, the flats, crescendos
Staccatos and diminuendos
Since your birth you’ve known it’s so
This is knowledge you should know
Lay your life upon these keys
Tune your heart to match my beat
Sing and dance your destiny
Together we shall play.’
Copyright © Susan Piwang | Year Posted 2013
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Susan Piwang Poem
She was within the greatest of them all
The strong but sensitive heroine
The sweet yet sassy, spirited girl
Who harbored thoughts that could inspire the world
She sang with a voice that could sparkle the skies
She drew tears from the earth with her cries
The ground she trod engraved her steps
The memory of her presence it kept
She molded life from a drop
Of what lay in her heart
And released dreams into the atmosphere
With the misted breath of her mouth
She stood on the brink
Of what is and what could be
She gazed into the distance
And dreamed
She was, in actuality, a frail thing
No brave warrior or beauty queen
A quiet and withdrawn soul
Hidden within a physical mold
Her only garment was invisibility
She could only boast of not being seen
And living in a world of sights and sounds
In which her own could not be found
She stared at the world from behind a glass
They stared back at her, but stared right past
A soul that was burning bright and long
And they couldn’t hear the reverberating song
The tears in her eyes
They couldn’t realize
And the dreams in her hand
They wouldn’t grasp
And so she went from day to day
With only thoughts and never a say
She stood on the brink of what is and what will never be
Turned her face from the skies
And cried.
Copyright © Susan Piwang | Year Posted 2013
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Susan Piwang Poem
The sea and sky meet
At the horizon, shake hands, then
Go their separate ways
Copyright © Susan Piwang | Year Posted 2013
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Susan Piwang Poem
Life is like a song I sing
To the world whether or not, they’re listening
And cast into the atmosphere
Notes and bars of love and tears
I suppose if my song is a worthy tune
I will have the attention of the sun and moon
And maybe some people in the bargain
Will turn their heads during the refrain
I could sing loud and powerful
With vibrato and volume
I’ll force my voice from deep within
And shatter the earth with its dynamic pitch
And maybe when I’m finally through
I’ll have a perfect note or two
I could sing soft and fairy-like
And tip-toe round the edge of night
And whisper to the air around
With silver, trills of sweet, soft sound
And maybe when the end is nigh
My spirits will be lifted high
Life is like a song I sing
Someone must be listening
To ensure someone remembers me
When all has faded into infinity
I’ll find a kindred soul like yours
That inspires me and opens doors
And when my song is finally through
I’ll have sung it all with you.
Copyright © Susan Piwang | Year Posted 2013
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Susan Piwang Poem
It tip-toes around
Or buzzes above
Its wings trailing behind
Like a bridal train
But unlike the bride
Walking towards new life
Your life is short and uneventful
In a few days
You will be dead.
As if you wish to deny your fate
You lift you bridal train
It transforms into a pair of wings
Which you spread towards the skies
And then you
Fly.
Minutes later you’re back
On the ground
Staggering around
Your beautiful train is gone
You were a hopeful bride
Now you’re a desolate widow
And your delicate gossamer wings
Lie next to you
Like a torn
Useless
Train
Beauty that was once your
Is no one’s.
In the last minutes of your life
I should like to think
That you’ll look back fondly
On your short
But glorious
Flight.
Copyright © Susan Piwang | Year Posted 2013
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Susan Piwang Poem
Lovely, lovely, things
Are just so hard to find
They hide in the corners of the edges of night
And peep from the folds of the bright shining sun
But rarely, if ever, float down to anyone.
Lovely, lovely people, lovely to see
You’re looking; you’re looking and SEEING me.
You wait, anticipate for when I shall speak.
That alone makes you infinitely lovely to me.
Lovely, lovely world
You have let me down
So many times, I don’t bother to count
And yet, just once in a while
You decide,
Spontaneously
To show your good side and smile
And recognize that I exist
Toss me a laugh
Blow me a kiss
Give me the feeling I so desperately miss
That’s simply and only knowing I exist
Lovely, lovely, lovely you are
Lovely times infinity
Lovely by far
Maybe because you rarely have been
This lovely
This pretty
This friendly
To me.
Copyright © Susan Piwang | Year Posted 2013
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Susan Piwang Poem
A poem a day
Will keep the psychiatrist away
And the dudes from the asylum
From knocking at my door
A poem a day
Will keep me sane
Hanging on a thread
Halfway between normality
And something more severe than
Insanity
A poem a day
Will (hopefully)
Keep me from cracking
Keep me smiling
Or from crying.
But no laughing
If I do open my mouth to chortle
To bellow or giggle
Chances are, I may never stop
And then you will know that I
Have (officially)
Lost it.
A poem a day
Should be enough to save
This fragile mind
From shattering
From the inside out.
A poem a day
Will keep me pretty occupied
Will fix my mind
On things less painful
Than the obvious
That I (undoubtedly)
Have
Lost
It.
Copyright © Susan Piwang | Year Posted 2013
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Susan Piwang Poem
Why doesn't anyone write me, today?
Why didn't they, yesterday?
Why won’t they, tomorrow?
Why won’t you pluck up the courage to say?
Why doesn't anyone look in my direction?
And try to peer past the layers of shades
And crane their neck until they glimpse
A piece of what lies within
Veiled behind a gossamer tapestries
And then they can be amazed
And now all else is fading fast
Now they are determined to push past
The walls, the illusions, the boundaries
Draw back the many curtains to find
Me
Why doesn't anyone dare to try it anymore?
Why are we content to pass every door
Without even glancing in its direction
Hesitating by its entrance
Considering its opening?
When did we stop being brave?
When did you stop sharing thoughts?
When did we stop bearing souls?
When did you stop sending messages?
When did you stop writing me?
But come to think of it,
Should I be asking?
Did you ever even begin?
Copyright © Susan Piwang | Year Posted 2013
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Susan Piwang Poem
The willow tree has
Secrets written on her leaves
But tells not one.
Copyright © Susan Piwang | Year Posted 2012
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