"suzanne" poems
Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river
You can hear the boats go by
You can spend the night beside her
And you know that she's half crazy
But that's why you want to be there
And she feeds you tea and oranges
That come all the way from China
And just when you mean to tell her
That you have no love to give her
Then she gets you on her wavelength
And she lets the river answer
That you've always been her lover
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that she will trust you
For you've touched her perfect body with your mind.
And Jesus was a sailor
When he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching
From his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain
Only drowning men could see him
He said "All men will be sailors then
Until the sea shall free them"
But he himself was broken
Long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human
He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone
And you want to travel with him
And you want to travel blind
And you think maybe you'll trust him
For he's touched your perfect body with his mind.
Now Suzanne takes your hand
And she leads you to the river
She is wearing rags and feathers
From Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
On our lady of the harbour
And she shows you where to look
Among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever
While Suzanne holds the mirror
And you want to travel with her
And you want to travel blind
And you know that you can trust her
For she's touched your perfect body with her mind.
22.9k
There is a point in life…
when you get tired of trying to fix everything…
when kindness gets mistaken for weakness
so often…
that it becomes your own fault
for letting it all continue.
Eventually, you start accepting that
you can not make everyone happy
and that no one at all
is trying to make you happy.
This is the moment…
that you reach a crossroad
and make a decision
as to which path to take.
And that decision…
made at a time of
great frustration
and relinquished dreams
can become the filter
through which
your perception of the world
and the motivations of others
will be discerned
from that point on
Choose thoughtfully…
that crossroad is
where character is born
Or
empathy dies
_______Suzanne Penn________
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 1:29 PM UTC
If I ruled the world things would be this way:
The Hunger Games would be watched every single day,
Tomorrow When The War Began would be listened to and read,
While others choose to have the figurines next to thier beds,
John Marsden and Suzanne Collins would be the best known authors,
And mothers would go out to dinner once a month with just their daughters.
I would be a rich and famous actor and a poet,
Ellie, Julia and Taylor have talent and I know it,
I just need to figure out the best way for them to show it,
Maybe in acting, writing or singing,
I have no ideas for my bell they are not ringing.
I would stop all war and poverty,
And everyone would have the same amount of property,
I would even out the money for every country,
And have all my fruit and veg hard and crunchy,
Our world would be a multi-cultural, accepting all religions,
One day I would get rid of all televisions.
Swimming would be a sport at school as well as cheerleading and diving,
But everyone would have to take lessons in surviving,
And every day my hair would be curled,
All of this would happen if I ruled the world.
written by maegan cattermull
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 9:56 PM UTC
The wind blows and I can feel the breeze running through my spine,
I sit there in the shade of the giant oak tree that grandma Glenda planted here back when she was my age.
I was reading "Mocking Jay," by Suzanne Collins,
I feel like every time Katniss talked about bringing peace to all the districts this is what she pictured.
Quietness; happiness; tranquillity.
That's all I felt.
Like nothing in the world could hurt me, like my body and my mind had left me and all I had to do was sit back, relax, and enjoy my favorite book.
The wind blowing, the kids playing, the birds all in harmony as they sing,
With all this beauty in one moment, it's crazy that some people don't just enjoy the little things.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 2:09 PM UTC
SuzAnne, nee Christine
Irascible, Incorrigible, Indefatigable, Affable
Adopted sister of Doug and Mike and sort of Jill
Lover of ideas and stances
Who fears laryngitis and deafness
Who needs music and malleability
Who gives grades and advice
Who would like to see Firenze and the Pyramids of Giza
Who lives in Hot Water
Wilson, nee Doe
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
For seven-eighths of each day
I long for those instantaneous moments of
Unbridled joy.
I bid so long to Marianne
As I hear the full bubble of wine
And welcome Suzanne
And the fullness of her moistened lips.
Oh, if the eyes are portals to the soul,
Then the throat must positively be the vessel
To all that soothes the thunder
and causes our souls to shudder
In the watery pits of our gut.
These toxic tonics that we hold
Betwixt our baneful id,
And our most pathetic of egos.
This lamb that tames the lion,
Purple hearted with paranoia
and a lack of trust to rival even the most barbarous
Of governments.
**** me or don’t.
Perhaps the only mark of solace in this life
Is to be stabbed in the front
And to avoid the hustling of the scheming lovers
Behind the roman blinds of your devotion.
Set fire to Marianne.
You can lay with Suzanne
But don’t share a smoke with her.
Because she will take.
And take.
Take.
T.
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 10:47 AM UTC
Je sais que vous venez ici pour votre dose quotidienne de mariages .mais je suis tout aussi certain que vous êtes ici pour votre dose quotidienne de plaisir aussi .Valerie Barnes film a livré .parce que le couple au centre de ce mariage a à la fois un amour et un bonheur qui sont contagieux !\u003cp\u003eS'il vous plaît mettre à jour votre browserColorsSeasonsFallSettingsBallroomHotelStylesTraditional
De la photographie .Même si Suzanne et Carl se sont réunis et maintenant résident à Boston .elle a choisi de se marier dans sa ville natale de Pittsburgh parce qu'elle voulait se marier à la cathédrale Saint- Paul .l'église où ses parents se sont mariés en 1972 . " Je ne peux pas attendre pourêtre dans cette église . C'est si beau . "
Quand elle a Carl à Pittsburgh pour la première fois.elle l'a emmené à l'église pour le mariage d'un cousin et lui dit: « Je vais me marier un jour dans cette église . "
Le matin du jour de son mariage .elle s'habillait à la maison de ses parents à Fox Chapel .Bien que sa robe a été conçu par Monique L'
huiller et ses chaussures par Badgley Mischka .at-elle ajouté quelques objets personnels pour compléter son look - le voile qu'elle portait était mariage voile de la mère et le bracelet qu'elle portait a également été emprunté à sa mère .
La réception de mariage a eu lieu à l' Hôtel Omni William Penn ." J'ai adoré qu'il était robe courte devant longue derriere au cœur du centre-ville de Pittsburgh et a également pensé qu'il était parfait pour la sensation de notre mariage . "la pensée de
Susanna de son mariage ." j'espère que notre mariage que nous sommes en mesure de tenir dans nos cœurs et nos esprits l'amour et de l'admiration et l'appréciation que robe de mariée 2014 nous avons les uns pour les autres aujourd'hui tous les jours .et que nous continuons de plus en plus non seulement commeindividus.mais comme un couple "
Photographie : Goldstein Photographie | vidéographie : . Valerie Barnes Film | planification de l'événement: Le groupe d'événements | Floral Design : Hepatica | Robe robe courte devant longue derriere de mariage: Monique Lhuillier | Gâteau : Vanille Pâtisserie | Cérémonie Lieu: Saint-Paulcathédrale | Réception Lieu: Omni William Penn | Chaussures : Badgley Mischka | Bijoux : Tiffany | Restauration : Omni William Penn | robes de demoiselles d'honneur ' \\ : Amsale | Linge de maison : linge de lit mosaïque | Tuxedo : Tophat TuxedoAmsale .Badgley Mischka et Monique Lhuillier sont membres de notre Look Book .Pour plus d'informations sur la façon dont les membres sont choisis .cliquez ici
http://modedomicile.com
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
I will be dead
and become posthumously insane
and I will remember Suzanne Vega
every time I hear your name
I will take that look
of Vivienne Westwood's
and I will sing and sing and sing
and sink and sink and sink
and I will not think
of the appropriate things
Because I will be dead
and become posthumously insane
Even though long scarf does not suit this neck
and gas oven does not fit this head
and .38 caliber revolver is not
something a 17 year old girl would own
there is no need to worry
because now I know what loves me
It is not the explosion, not the oxygen
Not the carbondioxide, not the cyanide
It is the water, any kind of water
the tears, the saliva, the seawater
And I learnt from Haruki Murakami
that even a plastic bag would do
Mimicking the deepest sea
The sensation is true, is true ----
I remember; you liked a lot the word drown
You liked a lot the word drown
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
I believe
in magical beings
in soulful wishes
and mystical things
I believe
that love heals all
that it's never too late
and beauty's deep in us all
I believe
in second chances
in lasting romance
and knowing glances
I believed
long before we met ...
in you.
-Suzanne Penn
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 1:19 AM UTC
that Red Kite
it swayed and soared
that Red Kite
it swooped and roared high over hills
Suzanne said 'far away it flies
fast and free
and frolics and falls to follow me!'
sure enough
f
a
l
l
it did.
and Johnny said 'just get
r i d
of that ridiculous rangle
that rambunctious tangle
of rope and Red.'
and to Suzanne,
Johnny was dead
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
Have you been to the mountain?
No no no. But
I've been under the bridge, Mr. Jones.
I've washed my feet in Cottonwood Creek.
I've named the meadowlarks after ex-girlfriends.
Suzanne. Isis. Mel-oh-dee.
Some mornings I woke up in places I'd never
been and on those mornings,
oh I woulda killed for a pen.
The fog and the
steady gasp of diesels
surrounded me and sang sang sang.
Tall grass along the interstate
and god, he didn't talk to me,
but I pretended to be god and talked
to myself, saying This way. This way.
This way to the promised land.
On what I thought to be
the Fourth of July, mud dried
around my knees in the Quapaw,
and I stood up for four days straight before
the rains came.
And finally, in the golden dawn,
I arrived at my childhood home.
Ivy on the chimney. Rusted trike in the overgrown lawn.
My father sat in his chair. Static on the TV.
He said, "Haven't done yourself in yet?"
My mother, in cobwebs and rags said, "He's got
one classic in him, one heartbreaking work
of genius before he goes."
And I asked her for a title.
She only pointed.
I turned and that's when I saw her,
the Girl at the Gate.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 1:37 PM UTC
He insisted we go down
To a place near the river
He was briefly obsessed with the boats
And explained he didn't have anywhere to stay that night.
All these constant changes of subject,
And weird self-obsessions,
Then he calls ME half crazy,
As if that would make his company pleasant.
Why does he keep checking the origin
Of my tea
And of my oranges.
He's a loveless, non-committal fool.
Just when you think
He understands what you're saying,
He says something stupid.
And I don't say anything,
Just let the river do the talking.
He's delusional about our relationship.
And he wants to come on vacation with me
And he doesn't seem to care to where,
And he thinks somehow I'd trust him,
And he makes lascivious comments about my body.
Jesus, how did sailing come into this?
Is he some evangelical nut?
Oh man, he is going on about this.
Sailing, and garbage and flowers and seaweed.
He clearly cannot maintain a train of thought.
I look at my watch,
I take out my mirror,
I practice my 'yeah, sure, I'm interested face.'
And again he's off again about coming on my vacation,
And again he doesn't care where to,
And again he thinks himself trustworthy
And again, with the unwelcomed comments about my body.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
Some past details are sketchy now,
There's things I know I've done:
I did a spliff with Neil Young,
Had a pint with Pete's best singer,
Walked on Nelson's ship,
The ship that shook Napoleon.
Stole The Dubliners cigarettes,
And the matches too.
McCartney once played for me,
Cat Stevens served us tea.
Leonard was with Suzanne,
He'll always be your man.
I imagine Lennon at his white grand,
Making love to ivory keys;
Krishna George on a cushion,
With sitar on his knees.
Joni's paradise was paved,
But we saved many trees.
I once floated on a zeppelin,
Beneath the dark side of the moon.
I didn't need an aqualung
To help with songs I sung.
We were changing with the times,
And the times they were a changin.
ELP and Alice Cooper,
Zappa, Jackson Brown,
Brought us high,
But we came down.
There's so much more to be done,
But when this life has been run,
I'll cross my legs and play some chords
Of yesterday and days before.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
Oh, we’re all half crazy Leonard,
Yes, we’re all crazy halves.
“And what?” She’d say.
And what?
And I’ve lost count of the thousands of times I’ve fallen in love with you.
Moments I won’t attempt to describe.
Or perhaps I should.
You deserve the effort, my love.
You deserve the thought process.
You deserve more than that.
It’s yours.
They’re moments of the most beautiful, christalline enlightenment.
Comfort and elation resting on a sour bed of terror,
Embittered with a dressing of lemon knives, red knuckles and gut thumping pain.
Unblotched. Unstainable.
Sacred.
Alas, unsustainable.
And they do become stained.
Eventually.
We stain them ourselves.
Eventually.
But watching your face framed in the wing mirror,
As we drove back from bingo,
Your friends sitting beside me,
Us all on the back seats,
(your beauty brought tears to my eyes.)
Nobody saw.
I swallowed; bit my tongue; wiped.
It is the oddest of sensations when tears are not married with sadness.
I’m not upset.
Tears of joy?
But no, not from laughing too hard.
Pain was involved. Pain was there. Pain raised its hand. Pain is present.
A gift?
Oh, we’re all half crazy, Leonard.
It’s not just Suzanne.
Yes, we’re all crazy halves.
Catch me if you can.
OH, WE’RE ALL HALF CRAZY, LEONARD.
Yes, we’re all crazy halves.
And last night, I fell in love with you again,
As you lay framed by another mirror,
Dying in the bath.
November 2010
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 23, 2010 at 1:29 PM UTC
An evening I had with Leonard.
Myself with five ladies of the hooking craft.
Full house congregating to hear him speak.
The fluid words of living
An elixir to ones soul.
This little old man,
A modern Pied Piper of life,
An influence of modern song
That will carry past his physical presence.
His ability to stroke that place in ones mind
That can lead an audience in silence.
Wanting to catch every nuance.
The sound of vibrating strings
Matching the sound,
Of Angels wings,
Lift you past his words.
Observing the crowd
Some leaning forward as if in pews,
Not wanting to miss one word of inspiration.
Silver haired women,
Eyes closed, moistened lips smiling,
Modulating to the tunes.
Remembering youthful encounters
Sensualized by this Poets intent.
Grey haired men lip sync
As they used to whisper in anticipation
In their ladies ear.
Youth of today
Rising in joy, cheering
Will carry the cycle forward.
At twelve I heard Suzanne and was captured.
I devoured his works
Finding poetry was not school house boring.
Seeking what had inspired him.
The surveyor for oh so many in the path of poets.
Dan Gray
April, 2013
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 12:19 AM UTC
(To be sung to the tune of Leonard Cohen´s
"Suzanne led me down the river")
at the buffet of the station
you are looking at the women
in your dreams they're always younger
and they don't have these hard lines
around their mouths
at the buffet of the station
where you chew your lukewarm hotdog
you are listening to the drunk bums
who abuse the red-mouthed women
whose hard lines are cracking open
for a twisted smile
now and then
at the buffet of the station
you are sipping your stale beer
and you're watching all the people
and you almost ask yourself
why you are there
and you smoke your final cigarette
at the buffet of the station
and you pay the shabby waitress
with the hungry eyes
and you stoop to take your briefcase
and return their empty smiles
and then you turn away
but you know when you come back
another train, another day
there will be the same fixation,
the same peoples, the same smiles
at the buffet of the station
as they always are
and you never can forget them
always hear their hollow laughter
always see the painted smiles
and you know that they are
part of what you are
now and then
* * *
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 5:11 PM UTC
Suzanne
I rode your car
But, it was too fast for me
You say you'd like me to feed your trees
Then, take your hat off sister
If you please
I told you about Elvis, *** bars, and kings
But you didn't want
To listen
Had to fight your own wars
Bragg about
Your male ******
So, come here now
Girl, knock down your trees
And you can come here
Doll, just listen to me
So, won't you come here doll
And listen to me
You can come here
Now, to feed the trees
Suzanne
I rode your car
But, it was too fast for me
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 3:43 PM UTC
The flags fly at half staff
On this downcast day,
I can hear the twenty one gun salute
Though not so far away.
I can see the tears upon their face,
As they walk with your soul in hand.
I can see the marching soldiers feet,
As they place you in the sand.
There were no sounds of laughter,
There were no signs of joy.
He thought he was a real man,
But he was just a boy.
He could not fight the battle,
That was placed before his eyes.
He could not pull the trigger,
When he heard the soldier sigh,
All his dreams were shattered,
When his world came to an end.
All his loved ones gathered,
His family and his friends.
By Suzanne Kelch
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 10:30 AM UTC
In his new khaki pants
with his white boarding pass,
Ernest looked forward
to flying first class.
From Denver to Vegas
he'd waited so long
if you travel in style,
you cannot go wrong.
Greeted by stewerdesses
flashing sweet smiles,
he awaited the privelage
of saved flyer miles.
Not a cloud in the sky
as the plane took descent
Ernest quite comfortable,
pleased and content.
He chatted away,
with the woman behind him
when something she said,
seemed to remind him
of a love he once had
so young and so sweet!
She was just like eye candy,
indeed.... what a treat!
But Suzanne was not comfortable,
and so scared of flying.
She admitted to Ernest,
she really was trying!
It had taken such courage
to step on this plane,
she was two steps away
from taking the train.
They talked like old friends,
conversation came easy
when suddenly Ernest
began to feel queasy.
The moment had come,
he was living his dream
his trip of all trips,
his wonderful scheme.
He must take his eyes
from this beautiful face.
Remember his plans,
remember his place.
"Excuse me, dear lady, I'm not feeling well,"
he reached in his pocket
and felt for his cell.
He turned one more time
just to look in her eyes
for a moment just wishing,
to prolong the surprise.
In his mind he debated
just calling it quits
as his thumb slowly pushed,
and he blew them to bits.
"
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 8:05 PM UTC
Suzanne Berlinsky has ******
That's right, you heard it all
Here.
She hasn't got any friends
Because she smells so bad
But if she did,
We'd ask her how Suzy smells
And her friends would tell us
How bad Suzy smells.
Suzanne Berlinsky has ******
A fright, I'm sure
For the ghosts around her.
If you smelt Suzy you too,
Would perish.
That's why Suzy's got no friends
Because she smells so,
So sickening.
And she has ******
Suzanna Berlinsky has ******
And that's all for tonight, I'm
Afraid.
Apr 26, 2021
Apr 26, 2021 at 12:56 AM UTC
There is within me
a moon-
a twilight Cézanne,
a barren Bhutan,
a dim-lit Rodin,
a mirage-less Sudan.
There is within me
a moon-
a post-war Japan,
a loveless Quran,
a last place at Cannes,
a Carson 'n couch
(without his McMahon.)
There is within me
a moon-
a 4th place finish in Laussane,
a certain Cohen sans his Suzanne.
a moon
a hunk of frozen rock, reflecting
gold sherd from all around
a spark in the dark, wholly drowned
the shiniest, hope-giving speck for years unbound
up close though,
should one
ever
dare to come
(of course none
ever
shall/have)
the sharp and unworn, no-color regolith
ever
alone, alone, alone he is
ever
on the verge of dirge he is
unhappily repeating to himself-
repeating to himself,
repeating to himself,
repeating to himself...
to himself,
to himself,
to himself...
by himself.
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 2:32 PM UTC
There is no "Anthem",
It just got “Darker”,
You were always so much smarter,
That's why I read everything you wrote,
I even bought a “Blue Raincoat”!
So inspired,
I started to write,
So began “My Secrete Life”
Together at last
Our friendship sutured,
“My Antique Song”
I saw the "Future",
Now, 'Everybody Knows",
"Suzanne",
My heart broke when I read “Anne”
But you said…’I AM YOU MAN”
So….”So Long Marianne" !
I hung your photo,
Co-workers teased,
They never read “Light As a Breeze”
"Hallelujah"!
I’ve learned to accept,
No offering is perfect,
Sometimes,
You just can’t take it back,
Love the light,
Forgive the crack
©B L Costello 2019
Jun 19, 2019
Jun 19, 2019 at 1:53 PM UTC