Bringing Flowers

If  Wordsworth were to bring me flowers

I’ve no doubt it would be chrysanthemums

with pretty heads growing old

on sturdy shoulders.

They’d last the full seven days

like it says on the label

and their loveliness would slowly

fold into the ocean that sustains them.

 ShelIey’s hand  would grip the stems

of half a dozen blood red roses, thorns and all.

And they’d live scandalously for a few short hours

then die a swift dramatic death.

Susan Jane Sims

In  February 2012 I was invited to be guest poet at Words and Ears, Bradford on Avon, (an open mic event organised by  Dawn Gorman and Helen Murray). The above poem was part of my set.

The Kill

For Emily Dickinson

The surprise is

that we are shocked

at the viciousness of the kill

and the coolness

of the killer

after the act.

Watch the lioness at rest

the satiated sleep

the playful cuff of a cub’s head

the carefully retracted claws.

Rewind:

watch the lady pinpoint her target,

stalk, and strike.

It’s the covering of tracks

the washing of hands

the desire to be clean again

that marks out a human kill.

And it’s in the aftermath of rage

that we spot hope’s feathered edges

and reach.

Susan Jane Sims

Published in The Listening Walk.(ed. Sue Boyle) Bath Cafe Poets 2013

The Promise

mum promised

we’d go and play bat and ball at the park

we were all set    two bats and a ball in a bag

and a bottle of made up orange  then jill and her mum came

and i cried     still wanted to go to the park    still wanted to play

bat and ball with mum

we all went    four of us    it felt okay    sort of

mum sat

batted words back and forth with jill’s mum

i played with jill    drank squash    it felt okay    sort of

i don’t remember playing bat and ball

with mum    ever

From Irene's Daughter, Poetry Space Ltd. 2010

Being Irene's Daughter

My memory holds

the days

of being Irene’s daughter

the cosy winter coming home from school days

when I lit the fire while

mum cooked crispy breast of lamb

to eat with my fingers

the after the orthodontist treat days

when we came home

with half-coated

chocolate biscuits from Lewises

the brave radiotherapy sickness days

when I did the ironing

and mum, strong spirited as always

supervised my creases

the wedding preparation days

choosing my dress

and hers on a glorious

rain- drenched Saturday

and best of all

the exciting new mother days

when mum passed on

her wisdom and delighted

in cuddling each new born child

Susan Jane Sims

This is another from my pamphlet collection Irene's Daughter. Poetry Space Ltd 2010 After my mother died in 2008 I started writing about what she'd meant to me. This one focuses on childhood and memories of early adulthood, leading up to my marriage at and ensuing motherhood. My mother loved having babies around.

Lewises refers to a department store in Bristol's Broadmead  that existed during the sixties and seventies. They had a lovely food hall. They also had a store in Manchester I believe. There was no connection with John Lewis. For anyone with a historic interest in these things the site was subsequently occupied by John Lewis, then Bentalls then I think House of Fraser, and now Primark.

Palindrome

I have just made an egg sandwich with soft white bread,

sliced the egg with the orange plastic egg slicer

I found in Mum’s drawer. And I’m back there,

the seventh of the seventh, seventy seven.

That’s a palindrome the doctor said

when he called that morning to check on Mum

post cancer treatment. Later when the nausea settled

I had made her a sandwich much like this one,

the egg slightly warm. Noticed that the Christmas cacti

was blooming out of season.

Susan Jane Sims

Published in Soul Feathers, an anthology published by Indigo Dreams Publishing to support the work of Macmillan Cancer Care.

Yesterday and Today

Yesterday

my name was desert.

Only spiky cacti grew in my barren landscape.

Today I’m dank, dark earth, with the promise

of tulips in a myriad of colours.

Sometimes in my nightmares

I’m the white faced clown

with bleeding eyes.

In my dreams

I’m the girl on the flying trapeze.

Susan Jane Sims

From Irene's Daughter,  Poetry Space Ltd 2010

With thanks to Susan G Wooldridge for the above writing idea from Poem Crazy: freeing your life with words. Three Rivers Press 1996

I came across Poem Crazy about five years ago. It is inspirational.

Creation Story (1)

In the beginning

there was the cool touch

of a flagstone floor.

Baby soft feet.

And then a big brown bowl

and a swallowing up.

A lap’s crazy heat.

Soft petals. Wet cheek.

Mum dead heading roses.

Susan Jane Sims

This poem was first published in Obsessed with Pipework. Later in became the opening poem in my pamphlet collection Irene's Daughter published in 2010.