About Us   Publish and be read! Poetry, lyrics, short stories, scripts, words of wisdom, features, memorials, blogs (a day in my life), memoirs, history, business, and I.T.
Home   Adults   Youngsters   The Plot Thickens   Publications  

More by this Author
© writebuzz® 2004-2024
All rights reserved.

The copyright of each of the publications on this site is retained by the author of the publication. writebuzz.com has been granted permission to display the publications under the terms and conditions of membership to the original site. Publications should not be copied in either print or electronic form without prior permission. Where permission is obtained the authors must be acknowledged. Thank you.
  You are @ HomeAdults Poetry


Source: Adults

Author: jonny graham

Title: Being Suzy Wong.

Early morning studio heat, and she can't sleep,
in the unnerving noise of pre-dawn quietitude,
she hears the whispers of her past
and winces at the recalled screams
that infected dreams
before she threw the shackles
when she was labelled trash.
Some things gather, and stay,
and each one emits a signal note,
dragged from here to there
in serviced relief,
shrinking from assaulted cry,
victim of the thief.

One day, she will take away,
the photographs that bleed heartbreak
and show images of other gods,
smiling in pragmatic oblivion,
but not tonight,
she is listless in the heat,
and only her son sleeps
in shadows deep.

She has too much recall in her life,
too many scattered incidents
that impregnate belongings,
and the rue of regret,
and one too many battered bastard mornings.
And her son sleeps on
while she thinks of all the final bloody warnings.

She still has the wedding suit
that knows all about
the vows all broken.
Twenty ripped-up shirts
and the heart within
that was twenty times broken.
One from a man in Nottingham
who swore twice
he truly loved her.
The one that Marky wore
that she wore too
untill he hit her.
She has the duvet cover
that knows about the sleepers
and all about the love
that wouldn't free her.

She has the books,
the ones she never read,
because she was too lonely,
because they would have reminded her
about herself
and her broken intentions
of what and if and only.
And her son sleeps on in a
rain forest of gentle murmers,
and the sinews of life bind tight
and whisper far away and further.

She has the videotape
that shows her in another life
but the quality is fading,
and like the threats
the recall of it all,
sets her pulsebeat racing.
And she never has the time to watch,
nor the courage,
nor the inclination.
And the memories stick to her
just like cobwebs in the dawn.
And she's never had a helping hand
since the day that she was born.
And she thinks
it might be time to move
before the trail
gets too warm.

Published on writebuzz®: Adults > Poetry

writebuzz®... the word is out!