It’s Not Funny by Susan Jordan

‘You say you don’t do smiles.’
I’d never said, but didn’t once smile
when you told me, laughing,
how your dear mother and sister
were both electrocuted by the same table lamp,
how your father plunged into a reservoir
in pursuit of a rare grasshopper,
how your only daughter set light to herself
with the candles on her birthday cake,
how your dog was run over
by an out of control mobility scooter.

The only time I smiled
was when you said, your face
as solemn as mine was by then,
‘The worst thing was missing the last train.’

Susan Jordan was inspired by 52, Jo Bell’s wonderful online group, to start writing a lot more poems. Her work has appeared in print and online magazines including Prole, Obsessed with Pipework, Snakeskin and Ink, Sweat & Tears. Her first collection will be published by Indigo Dreams in 2017.

 

Big Hair by Susan Jordan

I knew at once I loved you for your wig
especially when it slipped over your eye.
I’d never thought that hair could be so big.

I must have seemed like such an awful pig.
It made me laugh and then it made me cry.
I knew I had to love you for your wig.

You looked just like a schooner in full rig;
I hoped your sailing wouldn’t pass me by.
I’d never thought that hair could be so big.

I realised you didn’t care a fig
and if you took it off I’d want to die
but still I knew I loved you for your wig.

It didn’t take you very long to twig:
a passion such as mine could hardly lie.
You’d never thought that hair could be so big.

You look at me bewildered as I dig
for all the very many reasons why
I knew I had to love you for your wig.
Who ever thought that hair could be so big?

Susan Jordan was inspired by 52, Jo Bell’s wonderful online group, to start writing a lot more poems. Her work has appeared in print and online magazines including Prole, Obsessed with Pipework, Snakeskin and Ink, Sweat & Tears. Her first collection will be published by Indigo Dreams in 2017.

 

Love Poetry by Susan Jordan

Having found you were a poet, I knew then
I had to try to get us both to rhyme.
I dedicated hours of my time
to imagery of you, kept planning when

we’d meet again to workshop our shared verse,
crafting together each well-chosen line,
our assonance and alliteration fine-
ly tuned, our diction spare but never terse.

It didn’t happen. All my metaphors
foundered on your ellipsis, hit a rock
that broke their cadence. The poetic shock
severed our couplets, left me without yours.

If you hadn’t been a poet I’d have known
I was making verbal music on my own.

Susan Jordan has always written prose but until recently wrote poetry only from time to time. Inspired by 52, Jo Bell’s wonderful online group, she started writing a lot more poems. Her poems have appeared in print and online magazines including Prole, Obsessed with Pipework, Snakeskin and Ink, Sweat & Tears.

 

What Was His Name Again? by Susan Jordan

I’ve seen him half a dozen times
that man with the – you know – the
what-do-you-call-it sweater. The one
who – didn’t he? – lived with… Jean?

I always thought he should have been
a Peter, or was it James? He’s got
that kind of face. Or he could be
a William, except he isn’t, he’s a—

You must know who I mean. He eats
spelt bread, rides horses, meditates
all hours of the day and night.
Doesn’t he? Or am I thinking of—?

No, that wasn’t him. That was
—oh, the other one, the bloke
you always said looked like
a sort of weasel. That moustache.

Got it. It wasn’t that one at all.
The man I meant has holes
all over his socks and writes
haiku, won’t wear polyester.

Ah, wait… that rings a bell. Surely
you knew him too. You did?
You never see him now. You thought
at least I might remember that.

Susan Jordan has always written prose but until recently wrote poetry only from time to time. Inspired by 52, Jo Bell’s wonderful online group, she started writing a lot more poems. Her poems have appeared in print and online magazines including Prole, Obsessed with Pipework, Snakeskin and Ink, Sweat & Tears.

 

Moulding by Susan Jordan

Yes, that’s right, fibreglass. Wonderful stuff.
You can make anything out of it. It’s been
my passion ever since my dad taught me
how to work it. I made boats then – simple.
Now I’ve moved on to furniture, shelving,
cupboards, you name it. Whole house full
of my creations. You paint it up, see – no end
of colours and ideas. You’d love the retro
psychedelic swirls, not to mention the faux
gilt chasings and the pink elephant settee.
I made the bed, the heart-shaped headboard
with the dralon inset – I do upholstery too –
and the clawed feet invisibly strengthened
with bits of old hoover pipe. And you’d die
for the bathroom, the bath I did in the shape
of a sardine-tin, open of course, complete
with key, and fishes painted on the bottom.
Pity the grinning octopus on the other wall
is a tentacle short – still, the eyeballs swivel
when you pull the cord and the oyster
loo seat plays three different tunes. It’s like
this stuff expands to fill the time; it hardens
into a shell that hides the space inside.
There wasn’t so much of it while she was alive.

Susan Jordan has always written prose but until recently wrote poetry only from time to time. Inspired by 52, Jo Bell’s wonderful online group, she started writing a lot more poems. Her poems have appeared in print and online magazines including Prole, Obsessed with Pipework, Snakeskin and Ink, Sweat & Tears.