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Sue Mason Poem
It might be called Electrifying Pink,
that color painted on her toes
for it glows amidst the grime of her feet
winding filth up around her ankles
as if dirt were the newest chain
to make a fashion statement.
Pink does move the eye away
from all the silver hanging off eyebrow,
nose, lip, ear and yes,
she speaks with a silver tongue ...
which has taken on a whole new meaning.
Or was that a fork-ed tongue?
Then there are the young blonde boys
standing around in jeans hung below their butt
to show somebody something ....
handsome, sweet faces belie their
lopsided macho swaggers
looking like marionettes from a rap video.
Where have all the flower folks gone?
Bring back beautiful bare breasts
and dancing bodies in tiedye to replace all these sad,
frozen faces covered from head to toe in black!!
Hasn't Goth yet runs its course ... ?
No, dark death hangs out at the mall
or, perhaps, I have just become
the judgmental old lady I used to resent
who gave my hot pants strange stares.
How quickly in this play of life the roles do change.
I seem to have forgotten my next line.
Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2009
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Sue Mason Poem
Did you say you want to know me?
Which me could that be ...
which of the what-evers that were me when?
The one from way back then
with pigtails flying behind
already learning to hide pain
to become another Me
that no one could see
unless they looked real close?
Looked at the daughter, the sister,
the student, the friend, the worker,
the lover, the wife, the drunk.
The Momie me, the widow,
the divorced me ... twice ..
the divorced from me Me.
Which role to know?
Age brings them to an end,
no more parts to play, no pretend,
no stage or lights, only lines etched by time.
Naked we arrived to life.
Naked we leave emptied
of all the layers of all the Me.
Perhaps we will know
in that other place, that other space,
where souls become We.
Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2010
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Sue Mason Poem
I want to wear a djellabas.
Blackness engulfing me in its tentlike refuge
veiled in gauze.
Or a burkha of blue with a screen
over my face to hide
my eyes.
I want to wear rope sandals
down a dusty Afghan road on
the warmest of days
with the wind whistling
through the Khyber Pass.
I want to know the language,
taste the food,
gaze at the bearded men I pass
who will not know
I am looking at them.
They are handsome and brave in Kabul.
I want to hear the children
reciting the Koran
in their Pushtu cadence
and play upon a tabir
with a beat of
peace.
Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2007
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Sue Mason Poem
It must be springtime
for she lumbers by her nest
below the fig tree.
Hatchlings soon appear
to scamper into the sea.
She cries out to, "Watch
for eagles above!"
then turns away; her voice now
in praise of new life.
... title inspired by The Song of Solomon 2:12
Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2010
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Sue Mason Poem
Out of opening doors
pours the past into a hallway
and You come to sweep away
times' trial. You who gave me
another life to love before you took your own.
Now here You stand, a Being
in the hallway of my mind,
the ether of My Man.
Do you see us too?
Can you see how old I have become
and the fine man that is our son?
Out of other doors flung open
step those I used to try and forget.
They're best left in their closets, forgotten.
But You, oh You are springtimes' salty tears.
If I could bring the Light of Life back into you,
the door of my heart would open again.
Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2009
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Sue Mason Poem
If in time
you should divine
that bees are fat
and owls are brown
then you will know
as do I
time will go
slow
so .... slow.
And if in time
you should find
that veins are thin
and blood is brown
slow down
slow down.
Then, a time
life's curtain
came crashing ...
and I'm certain
you're asking,
Why?
..... so am I
Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2007
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Sue Mason Poem
It took on a life of its own,
the writing.
Wanting a voice to speak
of the way it had been,
was and would be,
all the yesterdays,
the now and tomorrow.
Like nature,
like god eternal.
A voice so powerful
the world would listen
and talk of this writing.
The sublime craft of it
discussed by all
who knew such things.
But, in the end,
no one read that he was dead,
the writing ended,
the voice stilled
in a forever place ... and fame,
that fleeting human need ... ?
Words remembered, written on a page
with a life of their own, its all
the lasting fame ever known.
Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2010
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Sue Mason Poem
Your face and rotting teeth and heavy jowls
and sunken breasts with bulging waist and
wooden legs
betray
Your image of laughter, lovemaking, seeking
bourbon tweaked philosophies
of life begins
at forty.
The hands that tremble as you tilt
the glass that begins another
day of
Tirade thoughts, empty lies, money spent on
lipstick coated leeches who prey on
your diminishing
breath.
Through these wintry days pass faces long past
into what was then
while with the coming spring ...
at last! at last!
One can remember
and want no more
what could never be:
a Mother.
Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2007
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Sue Mason Poem
Don't blindly follow
you are a true patriot
with a peace sign.
Refuse to carry
weapons that kill a spirit.
Do not shoot at trees.
Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2010
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Sue Mason Poem
Ready or not
can't escape this ride
or the escalating surge
as the body leaves the pride
without a last word ...
traveling swiftly
through inky darkness
toward a brillant light
off in the distance ...
no more tears, no fright
flying ever forward
where the brightness begins
to take up my life
and the tunnel of love
removes all strife
as the I and Me and Mine
disappear in the bright
becoming the Light ...
becoming the Love ...
for all eternity.
Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2009
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