Suzanne Louise Bishop
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Suzanne Louise Bishop Poems
The vicar was dead. His son came instead, Put on his midnight cape and Stalked the pews, his fudge voice
From The Mouth Of Horace
If you don’t hear from me assume I am gone I’ve taken the city because I’ve lived here too long I’m walking down Main Street in the wetness of night Because I don’t want its cars or its halogen lights
Army Of You
When you are gone, which is most of the time, I buy a pack of jelly babies and give each one your name, Each and all the same, an army of you. Their soft insides yield to my hot touch, melt like you used to,
Reservation For One
This is my tree, my tree, my tree, My one lone tree, pear tree, It grows, overflows, it grows it’s fruit, Alone, only for me.
You told me, said the snow is coming. Eskimos have over 50 words for it. Snowflakes with their unique symbols, Never the same. This won’t happen again.
Who could love her? Scotch-breathed devil taunt Gentlemen’s haunt A must if you are a lush
Ode To Winter
You always had an overlooked approach, Your ships armada of billowing cloud sails, Into my crisp yellow nights, stealing colours, So we wake to find the trees standing naked,
Comments about Suzanne Louise Bishop
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
The vicar was dead.
His son came instead,
Put on his midnight cape and
Stalked the pews, his fudge voice
Filled my mood, my head
And my long, long nights.
I used to cry when I dreamt the colour red,
My visions of silk were rebuked,
The thought of purgatory made me puke.
But I woke up in the end,
No wrathful hand of the Lord did transcend.
Father have I sinned? He mused.
Tragic masks bound to his face.
Gratuitous stuff I could erase.
I sneer at his precious concern.
All I have learned is that I am almighty.
So now my Sunday best gets worn to ...