Suzan Abrams – a Malaysian-Indian writer in Dublin, Ireland. Also an adventurer on the East African trails and an aspiring mountaineer. Presently, writing a work of non-fiction.
To contact me: suzanabrams@live.co.uk
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Coins in a Fountain
He looked so pleased
but I missed his kiss
because I sneezed...
and then he wheezed!
- suzan abrams - 
A Dublin Suburb 4.20am: May 15 '09 and a right to-do atop a tree in the next door garden if you pardon the dour looks and sour hour. The birds woke up grumpy and quarrelled with the rain which had scattered their breakfasts awry. Thundering chirps manned by a house-sparrow's frown turned nests into rooftop battlegrounds. The drizzle pleaded for mercy, it had nowhere else to go. The worms snorkelled underwater in the mud while the runaway slugs drowned in the muck. A laughing gale was sued for effrontery and for disturbing the peace. Somewhere, the sun rose, in its nightgown after clubbing all night in a pub in the sky. The industrious dawn gave up asking why and turned housekeeper with its roster, dusting the new morn with a song. - suzan abrams -
The spring yearned to pin on a corsage...its scent waltzing with the wind. The spring wanted to wear a nice dress and go to the ball, perfumed like a flower high on summer, swinging in the wind. And so the rain obliged. It blew its thundery drippy kiss and feeling distinctly teary, went away again. How tenderly warm, the heart of a storm. - suzan abrams -
Give me a broccoli baby and I'll stay healthy, young and strong. Give me a broccoli baby and I'll be a lady, leggy, brown and crowned. - suzan abrams -
We wake in the moonrise, we picnic in a moonset. A dim dawn and yellow dusk, but the sun's absconded to the stars. It begged a midlife crisis, then rose to greet the night shift. - suzan abrams -
He said he had packed his suitcase and was on the road to nowhere. Would they be able to meet? She said that she would be held up all day somewhere, so yes of course, they must absolutely meet.- suzan abrams -
The buxomy teapot was afraid to curtsy, for fear of her decolletage spilling out, all piping hot and from an ever sexy spout. - suzan abrams -
by Suzan Abrams... Mister Table wants to marry Mrs. Chair while the sofa campaigns for champagne everywhere. If only the proposal wasn't thought to be colossal, thumped the antique widow from her carpeted lair. Why she had long taken stock having been round the block and with five stylish stools to show for her merry lads, she considered herself no creaky fool, just perhaps a little mad. She remembers a grand Swiss upholstery for her former beau and from where, he had taken her shopping, a silky throw for a gorgeous show. Now once more the bride, she cried with delight her trousseau an exquisite cushion and if topple-tested, definitely Parisian. Still, the clock would turn celebrant on just one condition...that Mister Table and Mrs. Chair define the hour for their pledge or deny forever, free polish for their legs.
Dracula: Handsome charmer in the dark night, Grotesque figure in the bright light. Kiss and tell or spit and yell, Wedding bells or cometh hell. - suzan abrams -
In a Dublin cottage, a bawdy lady writes her poetry. An old maid, she is cantankerous and her heart, a foiled tin. She wears a roseband on her head, a bandage on her chin and begs your trapped skin in her bed. Yet how many kisses did she miss, her tongue mistaken for a forked hiss. She writes now of mystical things. Of lovers and orchids and strange romantic swings. She writes of sonnets crossed and lost in the Seven Seas. A fanciful comic, she splashes tonic over scent and her whispers, boiled in Cod Liver Oil , are sold for a lost English pence. - suzan abrams -
A Navel Aquarium! A man shook my hand and a fish rolled out by its tail from his fingernail and coursed through my veins, rushed down my legs and laid its eggs inside my tummy tum-tum to give me an ocean of a bellyache. The man shook my hand again and tadpoles swarmed up my arm into the bloodstream and once more settled in my tummy tum-tum but I was too shy to ask him why I had drummed up a gullied belly for a slippery existence. - suzan abrams -
I read a letter not yet written and cried to words not yet formed. I tore at a stamp not yet licked and flicked a flap not yet sealed. I locked the letter in a drawer with lavender still not bought and posted my reply to a love who knew not my name. I thought I would cut to the chase before the flowers came in a long-awaited-maybe-never courtship game. I said yes, to the stranger, how brave to think that he'd marry me and all the paper he would save, while he dreamt up a ring that cost a hefty fee and to this day, not yet given me. - suzan abrams -
Could you run the bath please? The sea complains of damp and would like a soak, I daresay, in a jacuzzi. If you could just hand the hurrying tide a towel... No, the ocean doesn't need bath salts! - suzan abrams -
Love threads its way, the unseen hem and fragrant silence, gliding through the constricted fittings of my newly-mended heart like tightly-sewn seams on a rose-etched skirt. - suzan abrams -
A moustache from the chef's kitchen, the shape of a loop, drooped like a hoola-hoop into my chicken soup! - suzan abrams -
I drank my biscuit from a straw. My straw choked from the biscuit which choked inside of me and I choked both from the biscuit and the straw. Then the biscuit, straw and I plunged down a dark hole. We need candles. - suzan abrams -
He was dangerous. I became scared and locked him in a box. He escaped as I lay in bed, high on cake and wine. In his hand was the box, where he said the ocean pleaded my soggy end. I died while still afloat and partying on my bed. - suzan abrams -
I woke up late at eight, from bed, and fell with a yell into the well of my teacup. I thought of a hiccup or a rescue plan at ten, but soaked up sleep after a clean icing sweep from a consoling cake tin which promised not to tell. - suzan abrams -
I wanted to slide beside you but cruised on a bruise when I slipped on the sly drip of a tap's swimming pool. A dazed fool, I lost my cool when an eyelash gaze fast turned up a whiplash graze. - suzan abrams -
Sometimes, I close my eyes to read the pictures on the wall. - suzan abrams -
I wanted to go to the sea one morning when the rain spread a carpet of water on the coast. I thought I would swim in the sand. - suzan abrams -
A bottle bellydanced the ocean seeking my hand on land. But a seasick tipple and a love letter toppled and a whale failed its serenade for me. - suzan abrams -
Cabaret Pegs... Laundry pegs in the night wind, burlesque dolls in Lilliput, my garden a can-can swing. - suzan abrams -
Look through the mirror for glass mingled with the blood on your palm to tell a tale all different from the minted glint of a cosmetic face in its statued harlequined moment. suzan abrams
"He said I was his for eternity and pounced for an ounce of me. He cut me open with a pendant but misplacing his glasses, stole a sliver of my liver and not the shard of my heart." - suzan abrams -
Memory Catch: Doors open and shut and bang in the wind and hinges fall and doors open and shut and bang about all silly in the wind and the attic of the mind nets it all in for before the next door bolts...fishing memories for the ocean of a heart that can never hold too much like a bustling mother with dinner for her brood..love is never enough and so the heartstring crew shout the memories in, wrestling against the washed-up gales of change, weighing them heavy and tugging...before the next door slams...yarns are roped in as fertile as a North Sea catch. - suzan abrams --
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("Copyright 2009, Suzan Abrams. All rights reserved. This site is the sole property of Susan Abraham. All Susan Abraham's texts are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies. ")Unless stated otherwise, all animated gifs and clip art images on this page are shown with courtesy of BestAnimations and Feebleminds. Picture of hand holding envelope with flowers (Coins in a Fountain) is from Averyl's Attic
