More of Susie's Poetry

"Grandma" was a poet, penning a unique collection of rhyming prose and other entertaining thoughts, captured in "Poems by Mrs. Susie Brooks Overton"

If you did not read last week’s post, Susie’s Poetry, please take a moment to click that link and you’ll understand why I’m not ranting about politics, or college athletics, or golf, or life in general.

This space for the next few weeks is about my Grandma, Susie Brooks Overton, who was quite a poet and story teller. For instance, here’s a page out of her book, Poems by Mrs. Susie Brooks Overton:

Plagiarism or The Bird versus Khachaturian’s Sabre Dance

On a morning, while it was still dark, I was awakened by the determined trill of a gay and early bird. At first I sensed a familiar sound; then gradually it came to me how like it was to the notes of Khachaturian’s “Sabre Dance.”

For nearly a week he repeated this morning serenade; then he was gone.

Suddenly my mind moved into the realm of fantasy. What was the purpose of the bird? Was he flying over the world proclaiming his title as creator of the musical composition? Was he warning Khachaturian of his copyright and the retribution for plagiarism or, perhaps, filled with the ecstasy of the thrilling notes, was he giving thanks to his Creator that his song had been given form in the World of Man? Drowsily I wondered whether Khachaturian borrowed the notes of the bird for his composition, or whether the bird, listening on the window sill of the master’s studio, made the song his own to fill the air in the Kingdom of Birds. —Susie Brooks Overton

In 1934, the year Susie’s first child, Annie Laurie Overton (my mother) graduated from high school, Grandma wrote lyrics to be sung to the tune of The Old Oaken Bucket from which Grandma took liberty with some lyrics she lifted in entirety:

• How dear to our hearts are the days of our high school

• When fond recollections present them to view;

• The days that have witnessed our passing from childhood

• And brought to us dignity, charming and new.

• The chapel no longer can hear our sweet voices

• The hallways will echo our footsteps no more;

• The classrooms and library will miss our bright ideas,

• Our teachers no longer will add up the score.

• (CHORUS)

  • The old Sanford High School

  • The dear Sanford High School

  • The moss-covered high school

  • We’ll ever love well.

• We flunked mathematics

• And floundered through Latin;

• We’ve murdered our English

• Our history forgot;

• The sciences never have caused us to ponder

• Their wonderful mysteries;

• We now know them not.

  • —Susie Brooks Overton

Which brings to mind the Sanford High School building of my mother was the location of my 7th, 8th, and 9th grade classes in 1965-67. It was called Sanford Junior High School.

Today the building is a self-supporting community center thanks to my parents who, along with several area friends, prevented the building from being demolished.

It stands as a historical monument to many days and years and high school, junior high school and elementary school students gone by. The effort to convert the dying building was more than a labor of love during the day and more than planning next steps at night.

Thanks at Night

• For bed to rest from toil of day,

• For peace when sleep my cares allay;

• Or, failing this, for time to look

• At paper, magazine or book,

• For pencil, should some thought evolve,

• For crossword puzzle I may solve.

• And last, for strength that comes to bless

• In confidence and quietness.

  • —Susie Brooks Overton

Grandma had a knack for poetry to which nearly anyone could relate. If you enjoy poetry or if you know someone who does, please share my Grandma’s poetry with them.

Susie’s Grandson’s Observation

• Susie, a poem, she could write

• As she drifted off to sleep at night.

• Never a limerick she would rhyme

• And not one in pentameter time.

• But whatever she penned seems just right!

  • —Grandson Jim, 2025

Thanks for reading and sharing!