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

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

WHO IS SUE?

WHO IS SUE?

You can also find me on Deviant Art

The Very Thought of You by Susan Johnston Owen

 

                          My parent's song- They were married on Christmas Day.                                  

Shortly after,

Daddy was sent off to war. Their's was a true

love story. No cell phones or video cameras, just the wish for any

news at all.                                           
                                             This One is About Me

                                              

Every day, some days, once in awhile,
the photographs of my mind come
into focus, bombarding my cerebral
field with small glimpses of this time
called mine, only mine with views
shared with few, the most trusted who
may see parts of me, never the whole.

the entirety too complex, intricate
to be understood, even by myself.
Travels through life with feelings,
emotions, thoughts, only mine alone,
in a world too busy it overlooks a scream
for help or to help, in the longing to
be perfect; impossible for anyone
called human in any age any year.

Finally after watching, praying, dreaming
as the passage of time takes me down
good paths, pleasant trails, bumpy roads,
am I able to look at the pictures
as I am willing to see this person change.
Memories of painful gym class showers,
algebra class horror stories, first love,
first pain, first hurt, first God awful death,

help me to wade through what is good,
what isn't or what needs changing, as
aging passes through memories of becoming
"a woman", then becoming, "a woman",
a toiler, a wife, mother, whatever I wish
to be; place a smile which helps fight
the lines slowly forming around tired eyes,
moving my thoughts on in this page of my life,
never totally free of troubles, sorrow, laughter,

pushing me to ignore some words spoken which
just don't matter anymore, or never again.
Things that changed just never to be
restored will no longer cloud my vision from
seeing the person who is finally at peace in
this time and place where I can live with myself,
free from the shackles, which I'll no longer
carry, as I march with the army human to

capture happiness whenever possible, knowing
whatever ache strikes my body or heart, will be
interspersed with moments of laughter and love,
moving me on in my journey to truly survive
whatever is placed in my way, lingering only
infrequently to view the pictures of the past
which will remain with me, living in the photo
album of a life never again wasted pondering
everything that I might have become. I AM THIS.


sjo/jazz  ©2010

 

WITHOUT ART , MUSIC, WRITING AND DANCE MY SOUL WOULD WITHER AND DIE.

My Santa Claus Will Never Be Gone

(REMEMBERING DADDY)


Sitting at the computer, words hide in my heart.

Daddy left us when my years were still too short.

They called him Santa Claus; the heart of gold.

Sometimes I wonder why he was taken so soon,

Then like on the TV I turn to see him smile,

knowing he instilled his heart in me,

suddenly I’m inspired.

 

I don’t remember, but they say it’s true,

He was dressed as Santa when I was two.

Sat on his lap  and looked at his eyes,

I said, “Hi Daddy”, what a surprise.

He let out a chuckle, the others did laugh,

Cause he’ll always be MY Santa,

You never need ask.

Susan Johnston Owen

12/12/2013

 

OF COURSE I JUMPED DOWN/ YES, I WAS A BLONDE

ME-THE BABY OF THE FAMILY

                                                                                                         

Christmas Eve was a night of song that wrapped itself about you like a shawl,

but it warmed more than your body. It warmed your heart… filled it, too, with a melody that would last forever.
- Bess Streeter Aldrich

MY MUSE

 

 



My Parents on their wedding day

 



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© 2016

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