• susanne_sussane 22w

    I’ve never kept flocks, but it’s like I’ve kept them.
    My soul is like a shepherd, It knows the wind
    and the sun, it walks hand in hand with the seasons,
    Following and seeing.
    All the peace of Nature without people
    comes and sits at my side.
    But I get sad, as the sunset is in our imagination,
    when it gets cold down in the plain
    and you feel night coming in
    like a butterfly through the window.
    But my sadness is quiet because it’s natural
    and it’s just what should be in my soul
    when it already thinks it exists
    And my hands pick flowers but my soul
    doesn’t know it.

    Like the sound of cowbells
    beyond the curve of the road,
    All my thoughts are peaceful.
    I’m just sorry about knowing they’re peaceful,
    because if I didn’t know it,
    Instead of them being peaceful and sad,
    they’d be happy and peaceful.
    Thinking makes you uncomfortable
    like walking in the rain
    When the wind gets stronger and it
    seems to rain more.

    I don’t have ambitions or desires.
    Being a poetess isn’t my ambition,
    It’s my way of being alone.
    And sometimes if I want to imagine I’m a lamb
    (Or a whole flock spreading out all over the hillside
    So I can be a lot of happy things at the same time),
    It’s only because I feel what I write at sunset,
    Or when a cloud passes its hand over the light
    And silence runs over the grass outside.
    When I sit and write poems or, walk along
    the roads or pathways,
    I write poems on the paper in my thoughts,
    I feel a staff in my hand and see my silhouette
    On top of a knoll, looking after my flock and
    seeing my ideas, or looking after my ideas and
    seeing my flock, with a silly smile like someone
    who doesn’t understand what somebody’s saying
    But tries to pretend they do.

    I greet everyone who reads me,
    I tip my wide hat to them
    When they see me at my door
    Just as the stagecoach comes to the
    top of my hill.
    I greet them and wish them sunshine,
    Or rain, when rain is needed, and that their
    houses have a favorite chair
    Where they sit reading my poems
    by an open window.
    And when they read my poems, I hope they think
    I’m something natural - an ancient tree, for instance,
    Where they sat down with a thump
    In the shade when they were kids
    Tired from playing, and wiped the sweat
    From their hot brows with the sleeve of their
    striped cotton smock.

    Odule . O'Sussane

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