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Something for everyone to enjoy

SUSAN JOHNSTON OWEN-JAZZ  /  SITE OWNER/MUSICIAN, WRITER,ARTIST, ELEMENTARY AND SPECIAL EDUCATION TEACHER (RETIRED)

PLEASE-SPREAD THE WORD ABOUT THIS SITE

 SEARCH IN THE BLUE BOXES BELOW OR LOOK AT THE TABLE OF CONTENTS IN THE 2ND BOX

LIFE

POETRY-LIFE S.J.OWEN  ©

 

 


 

 

The River Ride
The susurrus trees appeared serreptitious
as our ship floated down the Hudson River.
Perhaps it was the sign of an omen or
panacea of help entering our travails.

The day had had a summery, sumptuous feel;
more delicious than deep, rich chocolate.
It was as pleasant as a possible walk
along the nearby inviting shoreline.

Yet, there was an undercurrent seemingly
inappropriate for the particular winter day.
The rippling water had lulled us into
much needed insouciant leisure.

An ethereal feel began to creep on the deck.
Passengers busily engaged in the mellifluous
beat on the band's enjoyable music
bore no heed to the foreseeable disruption.

The clamoring of dishes, dancing partiers,
blocked any need to feel guarded during play.
As the effervescence of the night filled spirits,
a loud concussion suddenly caught their attention.

The guests had lost track of the time; rowdily
clapping to the sky's magnificent display.
Happy New Years and laughter emoted from the crowd.
The fireworks display had begun it's entertainment.

sjo/jazz

Finding Her

 

Speaking with force

which has  filled

 a life few would

 understand or believe,

grabbing an ear

when possible,

to halt the intense pain

that takes her

to a dark place,

traps her in time

 until a nudge

brings her back

 to face the day.

 

In this reality

she accepts choices

that have brought her

 to this place,

where she stands

 in silence,

until a time when

she can scream.

 

Is the proof on

the pages of a book,

or in the lines on her face

where her smile

 hides a frown?

Unguarded,

thinking of her days,

joys keep her from

crossing to despair.

 

 Children's laughter

lifts her,

releasing the horror

of the shocks,

brought on by

the grind of existing,

as she moves forward.

 

Hiding in the humanness

that she is,

hovering to belong;

normal, real, true

covered by a mask

worn for evil minds,

quick to judge

 a story for which

they have only read

 one of the chapters.

 

She'd share

fear keeps it inside,

for just like others

 there's dignity, pride.

Holding her together

 as a day begins,

how can she know

her needed  strength?

 

Will the passage of time

 show a new light,

ease her terror,

reveal her harmed plight?

When asked why

 she is a certain way,

 she smiles warmly

 changing subjects.

sjo/jazz 3/9/2012

 



 

Eluded

 

Stairs are too high today
they must touch the moon.
I stumble down, tumble down
the night has come too soon.

My legs are weaker by the hour
feeling like I'm climbing a tower.
I stumble down, tumble down
why can't the sun come soon?

Why are my arms weak so frail,
why do they never cease to fail?
The soul struggles to survive;
the pain seeps in; I wail.

I stumble down, tumble down,
Oh! DAMN the wretched night.
Hours are dour, minutes slow;
the clock the enemy I know.

I stumble down, tumble down
praying for some sleep to keep.
My body longing, aching
for bliss all lost in down.

Wishing for pain to please subside,
upon this thought I frown.
I stumble down, tumble down,
a hideous site like a clown.

I climb the stairs up to that
distant, blurry, damn moon.
Perhaps, eluding sleep arrives
allows me to hide from pain soon.

sjo/jazz

FIBROMYALGIA



       Lost Little Boy

Belittled, tormented, crucified, enraged,

angry, pained, troubled, weak inside.

Lost in bitterness and hate, so sick of his

own behavior he never hesitates to hurt

those who are successful, happy in their lives.

 

He can’t envision a life like theirs

he feels he is not wise.

Thumbing his nose at all the rules,

he’s thought of as a fool.

The little bit I saw of his heart

he could have been a jewel.

 

It seems so trite to write it this way

small are his actions what else can I say?

Maybe someday before he’s too lost,

being vindictive will have too high a cost.

It’s hard to imagine he ever feels joy,

he locked compassion away

when he lost all his toys.

 

Sadness surrounds him,

his heart has turned to stone.

Yet he once had compassion

where it’s gone has him torn.

How can you hate him he hates himself?

 

Can you hear him screaming?

He’s been left  on a shelf.

sjo/jazz© 2009

 




Journey Through Depression

 

Until the day my heart

sank to the bottom of a desolate pit
no one could have explained

the devastation of depression.

Denial was on the top of the list,

it must be just the blues.
As days turned into weeks

  spirits could not be lifted,
the truth became a reality

unable to be faced or believed.
What tore the heart so deeply

that days were a dread?
Why was this a sadness

too deep to face,

too hard to attack.
The years had passed

believing it was understood,
not one clue was available

to understand this deep sorrow.
Medication would be slow

 attempting to ease the pain,
while most doctors didn't

embrace empathy,
their text book knowledge

did little the assuage the fear.
Would this ever pass

turning a lost soul  home?
Months have now passed

leaving those who don't comprehend
confused, feeling 

no longer loved or cared about.
Nothing would end love for them,

this heart was torn.
Perhaps everyone would

abandon the confusion.
  Impossible to explain,

the books barely know the hurt.
When did it happen,

why did it tear this soul to shreds?
All that can be explained

is the need for caring patience.
Those with depression

  never  the same that you knew.
What can be done;

kindness, consideration?
Had this knowledge struck sooner,

care for the injured
would have shown more

thought.

How does one know;

until they walk the miles in darkness?

sjo/jazz 10/1/2010


Journey of a Lost Soul

Walking away, not one more tragedy can be endured,
the wind blows, scrambling her hair, she’s troubled.
Left adrift in a sea of worry and despair, she lingers
in the wasteland of destroyed, torn dreams floating off,
 reminding the giver of past indisgressions, on the brink

in a cesspool of bewilderment, unable to go forward.
Holding onto a heart that has failed in the billowing winds,
surrounded by the other  voyagers seeking refuge
in the aftermath of life as they sink or rise into a cavern of
lost dreams or float to the sky, resting in its’ glory,

Some souls set on this path to meander into oblivion
by lusting desires they seldom choose to control.
Would they thrive in selfish choices or rot in greed?
She floats in this treacherous sea, slowing slipping away
one more piece of her gone causing her to swell

tear to escape back into a world of joy and relief.
She longs for removal from a pond of desperation,

 trying not to wrap her thoughts around her wrongs.
Rowing hard and deep, she pushes the despair to
its appropriate place, tucked in the hole she saves
for her plight towards a life she’ll no longer squander.

Susan Johnston Owen




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