This poem was written in 1996 and published in the National Library of Poetry volume Into The Unknown. Annie Rone was actually my great-grandmother, but I eliminated the "great" for better rythmn. Pictured left is my grandmother, Millie Raymer. Annie Rone is on the right.

MY CHEROKEE GRANDMOTHER, ANNIE RONE

Her picture came today from my aunt in Kentucky
And the old Indian woman looks kinda plucky
Standing proud and tall in a paleface dress
Of her Indian blood you would never guess
Now I know where I got my high cheek bones
From my Cherokee grandmother, Annie Rone

Though my daddy knew, he never discussed it
My uncle told us, but was told to hush it
Now the secret’s out, and the cousins all love it
We’ve got Cherokee blood and we’re damn proud of it
But we are sad that very few facts are known
Of our Cherokee grandmother, Annie Rone

We don’t know her clan and we wish we could ask her
If bear, bird, wolf or panther was our ancestor
It might also be deer, paint or wind
From which of the seven clans did she descend?
What led her to her Old Kentucky Home?
My Cherokee grandmother, Annie Rone

By Sue Raymer Woods
National Library of Poetry, 1996

AN ODE TO JACK DANIELS

Believe it or not, I was sober when I wrote this.

AN ODE TO JACK DANIELS

Jack Daniels is the most loyal man I’ll ever know
So I take him with me wherever I go
When spending time with ole Number Seven
I feel just like I’ve entered heaven
Whenever the world gets down on me
I just have a talk with my friend Jack D.
Jim Beam’s a swell guy, but as long as I’m able
I’ll stick with my guy who wears the black label
Southern gentlemen have always appealed to me
But none are as smooth as my man from Tennessee
He’s been my close friend when I’m up or down
While that Johnny Walker just makes me frown
I’m seeing you now through a hazy funk
But I’m not drink, GIMME ANOTHER DRUNK!
I’ve done lots of things I don’t recall
When I’m under the alka fluence of incahol.
Sometimes I think I do too much drinking
So I’ve made up my mind. I’m gonna quit…...thinking

By Sue Raymer Woods
8/19/06

Memories of Battling Raymer was written about my father, Elvert A. Raymer, pictured with Mom about to embark on a rare vacation.. I often regret the conversations we never had. I miss him and Mom, but often feel they are close.

MEMORIES OF BATTLING RAYMER

You only finished the sixth grade, you obviously were no scholar.
But I loved you and was proud of you, the best in your blue collar
You weren’t small, stood six feet tall, how I adored my dear sweet dad
It mattered not a bit to me that you weren’t a college grad
I’m grateful for all you taught me, how I love you dearest Dad
Though we were poor, we still had more, than lots of others had
A modest man you didn’t brag about your famous boxing glories
But old friends were so proud of you and told us all those stories
You were called “Battling Raymer”, when you stepped into the ring
“I only did it for the money” you would say, “It just wasn’t my thing”
You fought a match in Owensboro, and there you met my mother
Mom just took one look at you, and then couldn’t want any other
You and mom stayed together, although you had your spats
You thought that it was funny when I began to call you “Fats”
When I was young you would cause me so much grieving
But you were only teasing when you said to mom “Pack my bags I’m leaving”
Of all the tales friends told of you, my favorite to recall
Is the one about why your co-workers liked to call you Hadachol
An honest, hard-working man, you taught me to be strong
I got your sense of humor too, and it helps me get along
You’ve been gone too long; mom’s with you now, how I miss my loving folks
I know you’re both in heaven now, and mom’s telling you her jokes

By Sue Raymer Woods
October 19, 2005

POEMS THAT DON’T RHYME

This is one of my favorite poems, and one of the first written. It won the Critics Choice award and has been published in The International Library of Poetry, TIMELESS VOICES volume. It is not my intention to disparage poets that write poems that don't rhyme, many have achieved great fame and success. I simply prefer poems that rhyme.

POEMS THAT DON’T RHYME

I’ve oft wondered why some spend their time
Composing poems that do not rhyme
I shouldn’t, but I do suppose
Why don’t they just write prose?
I should be polite and try not slam them
But try as I might I just can’t understand them
So if you can’t make it rhyme don’t be contrary
Just buy a rhyming dictionary
In which the word ORANGE won’t be found
Cause nothing rhymes with that sound
Give it a try, don’t be confounded
If you can’t make it rhyme, just work around it
Give me a break, it’s not mind bending
You simply don’t put ORANGE at the ending
Now you can join my new Society
Called Down With Non-Rhyming Poetry!

By Sue Raymer Woods
April 17, 2005

LOVE SCENES

Love Scenes is my favorite romantic poem. It has been published in The International Who's Who In Poetry. I included it in the play I wrote for my Playwriting Class at OLLI. It was great to hear it recited by the actress from the class. There is a link from my blog to the OLLI website. I encourage all to use the link to look at the classes offered by OLLI.

LOVE SCENES

Most lovers play these roles
One submits, and one controls
You HAD to be the FIRST to quit
And now I’m getting over it

Opposites attract I know
When I go fast, you go slow
When I’m up, you’re always down
When I’m sad you play the clown
When I praise, you berate
When we fight, I MUST placate
It’s sad it has to end this way
But, we can’t change the roles we play
We clearly aren’t a perfect fit
And so I’m getting over it

As the curtain falls on our lovers’ play
There’s nothing left for me to say
I’ll have just ONE more crying fit
And then I’m getting over it

by Sue Raymer Woods
June 19, 2006

COLD REVENGE

Sometimes unrelated events will trigger a new poem. Recently, when reaching into my sewing cabinet for scissors, I pulled out my pinking shears instead. That triggered writing Cold Revenge. For non-sewers, pinking shears are used to finish seams. They cut in a ziz-zag pattern instead of a straight line like scissors. This poem got a lot of laughs at my recital at the OLLI mid-term celebration.

COLD REVENGE

MEN! You can’t live with them and you can’t live without them
A tempting solution would be to simply out them
Although killing would bring satisfaction sought
If I shoot him I just might get caught
And though this would bring the revenge that I yearn for
It wouldn’t be worth serving a prison term for
I ponder and ponder Oh what can I do
I must think of some way to get even with you
I can’t take any more; all your abuse makes me silly
So I’m cutting it off with my pinking shears and you’ll have a frilly dilly
And if you think this is too harsh then you haven’t been told
That revenge is a dish that’s always served cold

By Sue Raymer Woods
April 20, 2006

GONE AND WHY

I recently shared a collection of my poetry with Lynne Kaufman, my instructor for The Well Made Story class. She commented that she enjoyed and related to the romantic poems. This inspired me to complete a few more, realizing that there was an audience for them. Apparently the world is filled with sufferers of unrequited love. So, I wrote Gone and Why next. These two are similar in meter, but Why is less dark as a little humor crept into it.

GONE

GONE, Is his loving touch
And the kiss that thrilled me oh so much
GONE is my dearest friend
Leaving me with a heart that won’t mend
GONE are walks down lover’s lane
Leaving me with an aching pain
GONE are all the years that I waited
Leaving a thirst that cannot be sated
GONE is eternal Spring
And my dreams of a wedding ring
GONE are trips to the moon
And our plans for a honeymoon
He’s GONE leaving me alone
With no one to call my own
He’s GONE and he won’t be back
How will I get back on my track?

By Sue Raymer Woods
March 28, 2006

WHY?

WHY? When your love was gone?
WHY? Do you string me along?
YOU know we will never be
So WHY don’t you set me free?
WHY? If you found someone new
WHY? Not let me find someone too?
WHY? Hurt your truest friend
With a wound that will never mend?
WHY? Keep a heartless farce?
WHY? Kick me in the arse?
YOU lied and you’re being forewarned
“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”

by Sue Raymer Woods
March 27, 2006WHY?

THE MAN THAT I MARRY

Realizing that my humorous poems get the best audience response, I wrote The Man That I Marry.

THE MAN THAT I MARRY

The man that I marry will have to be
A slow runner who couldn’t get away from me
The man I call my own
Will have mansions and yachts and place me on a throne
His head may be balding, but I don’t care
It’s okay if he has big bucks to share
If he’s smitten. I’ll be sittin’ next to him and I’ll purr like a kitten
As long as he’s willing to be my slave
I won’t mind if he has one foot in the grave
The truth is I just want and old-fashioned beau
You probably think I’m a cynic. SO?

By Sue Raymer Woods
December 13, 2005

ONLY IN SAN FRANCISCO

ONLY IN SAN FRANCISCO

“Only in San Francisco”, they say of my hometown
Some say it with a knowing smile, but others with a frown
Only in San Francisco, can peculiar sights be seen
If you’re in the Castro on the night of Halloween
Only in San Francisco, where some girls are six feet tall
But if you take a closer look, you’ll see they aren’t girls at all
Only in San Francisco, in a race called Bay to Breakers
Some run dressed as centipedes, but others just wear sneakers
Only in San Francisco, George Bush will rarely tread
It’s just because he’s so hated here, that’s what the paper said
Only in San Francisco, at the LGBT Center, so they say
There’s actually is a place that is called The Three Dollar Bill Café
“Only in San Francisco”, some groan and shake their heads in pity
They simply do not know that’s why, we’re everyone’s favorite city

By Sue Raymer Woods
October 23, 2005

I’M UNLUCKY AT LOVE

I’M UNLUCKY AT LOVE

I’m unlucky at love; I’m no good at romance
Dear Lord tell me why, I fall for a guy, who won’t give me a chance
I’m unlucky at love; each new love brings me pain
If a guy says he’ll call, I’m certain to fall, but won’t see him again
I’m unlucky at love; I go from joker to joker
I’m no good at romance; I’d have a far better chance, if I only played poker
I’m unlucky at love, at romance I don’t rate
How bad can it get? I think I’ll place a bet, on my next inside straight
I’m unlucky at love; each affair I regret
I just cannot win, If I’m going to spin, I should just play roulette
I’m unlucky at love; at romance I’m a dud
I’m so sure to lose, I think I should choose, to avoid the next thud
I’m unlucky at love; I should try a new game
What else can I do? I just haven’t a clue, so it’s me I should blame
I’m unlucky at love; love never lasts like it should
I just can’t get it right, and I’m tired of the fight, so I’m quitting for good

By Sue Raymer Woods
October 10, 2005

WHY MUST I LOVE THE MOST?

This is another one of my romantic poems. I prefer to write funny ones, but have found that some, women mostly, relate to the romantic ones.

WHY MUST I LOVE THE MOST?

Why am I always the one who loves the most?
Of this dumb trait I do not boast
Oh why am I trapped in this silly syndrome?
Of giving men more than I get from them
How can I escape this dizzy dither?
And be more a taker and less a giver
I could avoid my poor heart aching
If I did less giving and a lot more taking
Perhaps I should try not to smother
That seems to make them run for cover
I think I’ll try a lighter touch
Next time I’m not going to give so much
And then at last I’ll make this boast
I’m not the one who loves the most


By Sue Raymer Woods
October 10, 2005

IT’S BETTER TO GIVE THAN TO RECEIVE

It’s Better to Give than to Receive was written to be read at a Katrina Relief fund raiser I sponsored for the San Francisco Republican Party. I was proud that I raised $1,230 for the American Red Cross. The SFRP added a check for $1,000. Additional checks for $1,500 were sent to other charities, resulting in a total of $3,730 sent by the SFGOP for Katrina Relief.

IT’S BETTER TO GIVE THAN TO RECEIVE

I was taught as a child, and I still do believe
That it’s far better to give than to receive
I thank God just for being among the living
And not doing the receiving but doing the giving
Though it’s not taught in every school
We still should follow the Old Golden Rule
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you
Is as American as the Red, White and Blue
We were all sick and sad and more than just queasy
As we watched what was happening in the Big Easy
We simply don’t know ‘ere we draw our next breath
If some tragedy won’t happen right here in SF
As we escaped the devastation
We must assist in the restoration
So if you want to be a Golden Rule keeper
Then you ought to dig deep and then dig deeper
‘Cause you just don’t know ‘ere you reach your end
If you might find yourself on the receiving end
And then we will all truly believe
That it’s far better to give than to receive

By Sue Raymer Woods, September 28, 2005

WHY NO SONG FOR INDIANAPOLIS?

This poem was written following a visit to Indy. At a luncheon with high school frinds, I was asked to write a poem about Indy, and this is the result


WHY NO SONG FOR INDIANAPOLIS?

There are songs for nearly every metropolis
But none for my hometown, Indianapolis
New York and Chicago each have a tune
But there’s none about Indy for me to croon
Saint Louis has its’ Saint Louis Blues
And San Francisco has two from which to choose
Memphis and San Jose have their tunes too
And there’s even a song called Sioux City Sue
There’s a tune for nearly every municipality
But none about Indy’s famed Hoosier hospitality
Back Home Again in Indiana’s just about our state
There’s no song for Indy, a city that’s great
Indianapolis is such a fabulous place
The home of the famous 500 Mile Motor Race
There’s Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Monument in the center or town
With a circular street that you can drive around
There’s a tune about going to Kansas City
But none about Indy and that’s such a pity
Too bad Hoosiers, Porter and Carmichael didn’t write one
I’ll have to do it myself or it won’t get done

By Sue Raymer Woods
July 27, 2005

RAYMER REUNION

This poem was written for a Raymer Family reunion held on July 4th,2005, in my birthplace Owensboro Kentucky. There were over 60 cousins and family members gathered there. I attended with my brother Jim and his twin daughters, Fara and Tara, pictured right, click on picture to enlarge. All the families wore red t-shirts that said, "Raymer Family Reunion". A special treat during the trip was a visit with my 94 year old Aunt Velma, my fathers'older sister. I recited my reunion poem and some other poems. It was a great time. We enjoyed Owensboro's famous barbequed mutton.


RAYMER REUNION

As we gather together there’ll be no disclaimer
That we’re all members of the clan called Raymer
Some are bright, but, yes, some are silly
But we’re all proud descendents of Hubert and Millie
Here are aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters and cousins for kissing
We’ll all shed a tear and say a prayer for those who are missing
Our Moms and Dads aren’t here as they have passed on
At last they’re together again in the Heavens beyond
Husbands, fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, aunts and uncles are not here amongst us
Yet, we will all feel them as they look down upon us
So, Let’s PAUSE right here and now and experience the love
That they’re sending down on us right now from above

BOW HEADS, PAUSE FOR A MOMENT OF SILENCE

Someday, once again, together we’ll all be
At a Raymer Reunion held in eternity


By Sue Raymer Woods
July 1, 2005