1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE/UNTITLED POEM

Untitled Poem

I recall a long school hall
At night
And yelling as I ran through it,
Because no Authority loomed there
To bid me halt.
Except for Night and his synonymous
twin, Darkness,
And in my awe of these two spectral spirits,
I halted and posed back to where I had begun.

Susan J. Skinner

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1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE/Untitled poem

Untitled Poem

Reason departs
And Truth assumes
  the face of madness
Anti-truths scurry like
   vermin, anything ugly
And even the saner of
    the masses
Are caught by it.
Because they are too weak
    to stand alone
And Truth is not a very strong support.

Susan J. Skinner
June 13, 1964

copyright 2011/all rights reserved

1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE/UNTITLED POEM

This poem written so many years ago is certainly still applicable.

UNTITLED POEM


I will stand tall and shout,
I will raise the raucous voice of youth
In stolen phrases,
That stir the hearts.
Never the minds
"Stand, unite, what have you to
fear but fear itself?
Rights, freedoms, liberty."
I will yell them loudly
With my arms spread as if pleading
Watch them awaken,
Watch the little people stand up taller
Watch them believe in spineless words
Hear them mutter, hear them twist the
phrases into spears for battle.
Resultant chaos--
No concern of mine.
I receive my medal for Persuasive Speaking.


Susan J. Skinner

copyright 2011/all rights reserved

1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE/ UNTITLED POEM

NOTE:    In case you missed the earlier note, these poems were written by my sister, Susan Skinner, when she was 15-17 years old between 1962-1964.  Many of them don't have titles.  A few have the date.  This one didn't.  She was an avid reader and was influenced by a number of notable poets as you can likely tell.  For years, we wanted a way to let people read her poems, and now through the wonders of technology, we have a means without beating on the doors of publishing companies.  I have reserved the rights because we may later put these into a book form, but feel free to share them if you like them or were a friend.



                                                             Untitled Poem


Something lasting
Or valuable
Or worth time,
The highest price that can be paid,
Or nothing
(Nothing is that and no more.
There is no definition for nothing.)

I think
Or I say that I do.
Is there a difference?
Therefore, I am,
Descartes, of course,
Spelled correctly.

Something remembered.
Years ago, light years ago.
Time has no measure.
Fool, you are too young
To know anything
And too old to know nothing
What is there, in-between?

Susan J. Skinner

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1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE/Reflection #2

Reflection #2

What do I remember of you?
You were tall, taller than me by a foot,
Or perhaps a mile.
And the dawning September was blue,
Not at all the darker shade of soot.
I even wore a smile.
And time itself was limber, stretching a few
Hours of fall into memories which I put
Together as a tribute to your guile.

Susan J. Skinner

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1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE/Untitled Poem

She is never serene or placid;
It seems the chiseled lines of bitterness
Are set for good.
Do you think she ever knew the way to smile?
Not the sardonic display of teeth that has to symbolize
a smile for her,
But a real one, beginning within the shell to fix itself
In brightness upon that face, too hard with bitterness.
You don't believe
She ever smiled, had a heart, knew love?
Well, alas, who knows?
Perhaps she cared, perhaps she loved,
Perhaps she knew the poetry of unsung songs
That lingered on her lips and died there.
Perhaps the gray expression is but a dulling reminder
Of a silver one, once hers.

Susan J. Skinner

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1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE/April Night

April Night

Rain
And folk music.
Barefoot, with tousled hair,
I sit here quietly
Hearing the wind, my tears, and counterpoint melodies.
My hand trembles in the april chill,
(April has never been cold before).
And I shiver as I sit here,
For truly I am sorry,
But the tears are not for you.

Susan J. Skinner

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1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE/UNTITLED POEM

The bird sits on the water faucet
And drinks upside-down
He pays me no mind.
He knows I am not real.
Another statue.

I am not so sure he is real, either.


Susan J. Skinner


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1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE/Looking Glass

LOOKING GLASS

when i was the alice-child,
and all that was important
were ribbons in my hair
and raspberry popsicles on a summer's day
that i could tell you what my life would be
every note to be played
every song to be sung
and everyone i would ever know
older now and not so sure
the child finally turns and tells me
i don't remember him

your goodby is a caress,
A kiss I may never know.
But I don't mind.
You kiss me every day
With your smile.

Susan J. Skinner

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1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE/Reflection #7

Reflection


Entities of mind and face and form
Remembered somethings of another day
A sometime-record of the varied world
Where I listen quietly to all they say
More quietly disbelieving that I hear,
For what has meaning that they can explain?
The world has kept her secret truths till now,
For eons yet, they secrets will remain.



Susan J. Skinner


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1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE/ Kaleidoscopic/Reflection #5

Kaleidoscopic

As the same colored bits of glass form a new, more beautiful pattern,
As the same thoughts form a new picture,
As the most exquisite pattern, one that will never be equalled,
One that can never be recaptured,
Shatters.
An attempt to share it broke the lovely thing.
But this is more beautiful, more never-to-be-believed.
No one can turn back a kaleidoscope.
Did I try?
No.
Lamentations for the broken patterns, no attempts to bring them back.


Susan J. Skinner


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1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE/REFLECTION #6

REFLECTION #6


What can I be?
I am too young, too old, too in-between.
As far as I can see,
Not far,
I will still be,
Ten years from now,
Too young, too old, too in-between.

Susan J. Skinner

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1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE/Summer Song

Summer Song

The grass is sweet
Summer grass
And green,
If green can be something,
For in our ignorance
We give names
To things that have no names.
Words do not promise communication.

Susan J. Skinner


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1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE/Retrospection

                  Retrospection

The summer leaves were cool leaves
Complacent, calm, and soothing leaves
Brushed by a warm companionable wink.
There to shelter and to cool the dusty paths
That I trod
Through peaceful, thoughtful summer days.

Now fall, and a sigh one heaves
A long, rebellious sigh one heaves
That kind of sigh; the heart won't mend
The leaves are bright from color baths
Of orange and of red
Rowdy colors of autumn haze.

And yet
Regret
I can't forget
The love I held for summer days,
Solace of cool, green summer leaves,
That faded with autumn, as always
One can't forget; one only grieves.

Susan J. Skinner

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1950s SMALL TOWN LIFE/Summer

                                            Summer

I hear summer.
I hear crickets,
A fox's howl.
A mosquito buzzing at my most vulnerable ear.
I hear the struggling of the young hands at the piano as they try to
recapture the rapture of Tchaikovsky.
I hear the banal blare of the idiot box
And cattle in the distance,
A frog,
An airplane,
And unnameable noises that caress my ears, breathing summer.

And the scratching of my pen, desperate to capsule that which refuses,
yes-defies captivity. 

Susan J. Skinner

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