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poetinahat
01-20-2015, 04:01 AM
Many of you will know Susie (http://absolutewrite.net/forums/member.php?u=69) - she is a beloved, longtime AW member, and she's brought happy thoughts and friendship to countless AWers over the years. While she's been primarily active in Greeting Cards, Susie is one of us here in the Poetry forum, and she comes by now and then to share and appreciate. She contributed to our Absolute Poetry, our first anthology, and she's published her own volume of love poems.

After a long battle with various illnesses, her husband Howie passed on earlier this week.

I thought a collection of poems might be something she'd appreciate; please contribute poems or thoughts here.

kobold
01-20-2015, 06:12 AM
The Days of Hope
(or, Ogden Nash in love)

The days of hope are in
the future,
a suture
for the days of now.
For though my now
may soon be gone,
it still seems
my days are long.
And, if true, then, too,
my nights
just last and last
as they go too fast.
So I respect them while I can, and
try to see there God's fine hand:
A heart quite like a golden shield;
a soul just like a silver yield. Kindly eyes
that hide no lies. Kisses that
never
misses.
The mornings shall I want the most:
father son holy ghost
cartoons
coffee
cereal
toast


All the best.

--paladin.

Steppe
01-20-2015, 07:31 AM
His Song


deep
purple warm
lavender

sun slips
dusk declining

over the peaks
that preen
silver wings
of the homeward
bird

whisper
from a cloud
is his song

the sun
fallowing

Kylabelle
01-20-2015, 05:45 PM
(for Susie and Howie)

When my papa died
he put on his clear plastic raincoat
so we would know it was him.

That elegant man, always
well dressed on a poverty wage
chose to wear a clear plastic raincoat
for his own mysterious reasons.

But because no one else would wear
such a garment by choice,
and also because we could see through it,
it identified him perfectly.

My mom and I held hands
and followed behind him,
the man in the clear plastic raincoat
whom we still recognized clearly,
until he passed through
a chain link fence
and walked on from there.

We knew we could follow no further,
possibly because we lacked
clear plastic raincoats ourselves
and we didn't see how he did it,
so we stood still and watched.
There he went,
not looking back once.

Susie
01-22-2015, 03:03 AM
aww, what beautiful poems and such talent! Definitely in awe. So nice of you poet/Rob. You're all special, kind, wonderful and any positive adjective insert here. :) Love you all. :Hug2:s :Cake:s.

CDSinex
01-22-2015, 03:06 AM
Today I wish I was a Buddhist,
knowing that somehow, sometime, somewhere
our paths might cross again.

This life? The next? The one after that?
It really wouldn’t matter.

Will there be a glimmer of recognition?

A glance across some room that lingers
for just a second longer?

It would be enough
to know that you are well…
Today, I wish I was a Buddhist.

Susie
01-22-2015, 03:55 PM
thx so much, CD. So beautiful...

KTC
01-22-2015, 04:36 PM
A smile,
she leaves us
on a bright-lit day,
or on an afternoon of clouds
and rain that soaks
through and through.

Her, with the sunshine
pocketed sweetly,
ready to raise us
from our workaday blues
or help to celebrate
our musings and happier news.

She, with the smile in her hair,
and the lift and the lift and the lift
in her air.

How sad and disheartening
to know that she hurts,
to know that her heart
is so heavy with loss.

My wish is to gift her
a smile and a future of bright-lit days,
my hope, that she tucks them away
for a time soon to come
when they can brighten her way.



Love and Light to you, SusieQ

CDSinex
01-22-2015, 09:45 PM
thx so much, CD. So beautiful...

I'm sorry there was a need to write it. Take care.

Magdalen
01-23-2015, 08:42 AM
The Passionate Shepherd to his Love


Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.

The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.


-- Christopher Marlowe

with my deepest sympathy, dear Susie, luv,
you are in my thoughts and prayers

Ambrosia
01-25-2015, 09:26 AM
Your love is the sun
trying to part the cloudy veil
that now separates us.

I know you're there.

My tears are the rain
trying to wash away the pain
of your passing.

I know you hear me.

The world turns, lifetimes pass,
but a lifetime will never be enough
to hold the measure of our love.

Eternity together exists for love
such as ours.


(Susie :Hug2:)

kborsden
01-25-2015, 12:31 PM
Sonnet 73

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
when yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
as after sunset fadeth in the west;
which by and by black night doth take away,
death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
that on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
as the death-bed, whereon it must expire,
consumed with that which it was nourished by.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
to love that well, which thou must leave ere long.

~ William Shakespeare

Susie
01-27-2015, 03:17 AM
Oh, my goodness, all these poems are wonderful and so touch. Willie S. writes pretty well, too. :) My heart is broken and it's so hard dealing with financial stuff. Hope I can get thru it. You guys take care and know how much I love you all. Howie did too. :heart:

poetinahat
01-29-2015, 06:02 AM
The Gatherers

In autumns, when we were young,
my friend and I walked hand in hand
to gather firewood on the hill.
We'd stack it by the kitchen door,

collecting it for winter nights
to stoke the fire against the chill.
But we found out along the way
the walk together made us warm.

Once the cold no longer bit,
we kept on with our firewood walks
through spring and summer, just because,
because... we liked the company.

We tasted berries that we found
and meant to carry back with us,
or looked above to see the swoops
of martins, darting shadow-knives.

The woodpile grew beside our door:
homespun obelisk, our totem
of welcome, homely shrine to Us,
our celebration of content.

In these seasons, daisies sprang
up by the porch edge. Winter seemed
historical, and gone for good:
recalled and yet impossible.

These pieces lay in rows as neat
as knobby limbs and splitted stumps
could be, as orderly as dreams,
these humble relics of the years:

The elm branch: barkless, gnarled. A storm -
came sudden, but the rain was warm -
drenched my new blouse, the price tag (oh!)
damp, limp, bleeding ink on the sleeve;

Splintered kindling: our attempts
with a splitting wedge (the first time
he'd dared to cuss in front of me -
a stumble brings a leap of trust!);

And others, I remember just
that they have long lain in the pile,
marking nameless days in years,
vague but prized, like a stranger's smile.

Our wood stock grew in the autumns
and shrank in the winters, settling
in the sunny months. On reflection,
it seems that we did much the same.

These days, the firewood stack is mine
alone to tend. I have begun
a second, next to it. I find
my walk uphill is more direct.

My shoes sink deeper in the ground.
I dawdle less and less along
the way. No splitting now; I take
windfall, and what cracks when stood on.

I feel the wind acutely cold
more often than I used to do.
The woodpile must be dwindling. But
it doesn't feel that way to me.

When a draft blows in, I take
a log from our old stack, and then
I find one from my newer pile.
I lay them crosswise on the hearth,

and watch the fire envelop them.
The smoke smells strong, a little sweet.
The embers crackle from within;
the flames shimmer like old playmates.

Christy_Ann_Martine
02-11-2015, 05:31 AM
I'm new here Susie, I'm so very sorry for your loss, please take care.

He's in the sun,
the wind, the rain,
he's in the air you
breathe, with every
breath you take.
He sings a song
of hope and cheer,
there's no more pain,
no more fear.
You'll see him in
the clouds above,
hear him whisper
word of love. You'll
be together before
long until then
listen for his song.


-Christy Ann Martine