Sweet Talking
It's dusky and smoky in the room.
People are talking too loudly,
laughing at a joke of which
the punch line was lost in the din.
I shift my weight on the stool -
the dimensions not quite fitting my shape.
My skirt rides up my thighs.
I leave it there and pick up a stare
from across the room.
Not quite sure if it was meant for me,
I notice the slumped punter
lift his glass in a salute.
I nod and turn reluctantly back
to my half empty glass on the counter.
A cautious tap on my shoulder
quickens my pulse.
It is late and my head is fuzzy
from the G & T's, but this attention
is most definitely meant for me.
He mumbles sweet nothings.
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poem by Suzette Crous
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The Face of Love
When I gaze upon your countenance
I see all who I have and will still love
and your eyes a blue summer sky
warming the very core of my being
The alabaster perfection of your skin
crowning your lustrous beauty
Your inviting mouth drawing me in
to savour your sweet taste
to guess at your secrets
hidden behind an enigmatic smile
You are like a secret rendezvous
hankered after by all
Time cannot be defined
for you are infinite
in your freedom
Face of my beloved
the face of love
By: Suzette Crous
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The Christmas Stockings
Children far too young to realize
That some things in life you should prize
We had no jobs and no takings
Bare were the Christmas stockings
Scrounging colourful material
Lace, chintz and chiffon ethereal
Ribbons included in the making
A show for the Christmas stockings
Balls of red and green and scrap yarn
Imaginary faces darn'
On beautiful princess and kings
Displayed in the Christmas stockings
Plywood and some leftover paint
Canopy bed fit for a saint
Pea under mattress, her liking
Endured for the Christmas stockings
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poem by Suzette Crous
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My A - Z Affairs
All my energy went into pleasing the other,
belatedly I've realized he didn't bother.
Cozier prospects have lured him from afar.
Doors miraculously opened and left ajar,
empowering me to hold my head high,
for now I'm fending for myself and fly.
Going wherever I pleased, whenever,
holding council with the artistic, clever.
"Intellectually challenged" his badge;
Joker and the jester: general adage.
Kindness has been bestowed on me.
Love and compassion had set me free.
Meeting you - my perfect match,
never thinking of myself as a catch.
Over the moon I was the day we met,
perhaps a bit apprehensive and did fret.
Questioning - understandably on my guard;
responding to you, my heart no longer hard.
Softly spoken and a perfect gentleman.
Tears are not the prerogative of woman.
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Pearls of Wisdom
SONNET:
Despairing tears shed in the dark - alone.
Hot, round and plump, cascading on cold cheek -
an avalanche for our sins to atone.
Recalling solutions we had to seek.
From every tear shed, grows pearls of wisdom.
An enquiring mind joining in the search.
To hardship we had become accustom'.
Grappling for answers just out of our reach.
We fight for the helm of destination,
over steering on our chosen pathway.
Loosing sight of intended direction,
forgetting to relinquish reigns and pray.
Chances to make a difference - expired
Peace in your heart - soul infinitely tired.
© 2012 Suzette Crous
FREE STYLE:
From tears shed in the dark
grow pearls of wisdom -
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The Caged Bird Sings
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing
Walking bare feet through the warm mud,
worms of slush squeezing between toes,
spring breezes quickening the blood,
forgiving and forgetting woes.
Stretching out like a promised land,
aspiration gloriously beams.
Running through the fingers like sand,
time we had studiously planned.
The privileged heritage streams,
but a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
Freedom is but a dream perceived,
not appreciate' when in grasp.
Accolades our right when received,
the sweat of our brow and breaths rasp.
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poem by Suzette Crous
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