|
|
|
|
| My attempts at poetry were
written when our children were young. We lived on
a ranch just outside of the little town of Evant,
Texas which was in the central part of Texas.
We were experiencing some very hard times
financially. I don't pretend to be any good at
writing poetry, but the following poems expressed
what I was feeling at the time. Up until now they
have been shared only with my family and very close
friends. I hope you find some pleasure in reading
them. |
| |
My favorite poem. I
will never forget the day
I found this little graveyard |
| |
| I CAME UPON |
A little graveyard hidden
in the shadows of a huge oak tree.
A cemetery from years ago, before the slaves were
free.
Half a dozen headstones with the markings now weather
worn.
All little babies, some died when they were born.
Placed high on a hill to view the valley ‘round.
Now the graves lie beneath the leaves turned brown,
Families of these dead moved on, but memory holds
their sorrow.
Their grief is what I felt today, their sadness
I will borrow. |
| |
THE BABY BOOK
(for Lori) |
|
A little pink book
was a gift when you were born.
Brand new then, now the pages are worn.
Each page was lovingly filled in for you.
Records I kept of all the things you would do.
First smile,
first tooth, the first time you walked.
First toy you had and the first time you talked.
Your growth, your shots and a clip of your hair,
Pictures of the cute little clothes you would
wear.
This book is filled now, there's no more to say.
But I am keeping this book until the day,
When you have a family of your very own.
And you can
give it to your daughter when grown.
|
| |
COOKIES
(for Barbara) |
Get the out the mixer, the
book, and the bowl.
Yummy cookies she’ll make to feed the soul.
Dark chocolate, crunchies, and vanilla sweets.
Mommy taught her how to create the eats.
Some salt, some eggs, and OOPS, some shells.
This time she’ll try to do really well,
A cup of sugar, a sprinkle for the floors,
Same vanilla, some flour, a little bit more.
Mix it together with care and delight.
Daddy will taste her cookies tonight.
Drop on the sheets in globs big and small.
One for Mommy and one for her doll.
Cookies are done, and she’s full of wishes
That Mommy would come and do the dishes. |
| |
| THE FIELD |
In the midst of this field,
I came to be alone.
The sounds here are different from any I’ve ever
known.
Not a trace of city or houses, or man can I see.
I’m in a place where man is not meant to be.
The field belongs to Mother Nature, her insects
and beasts.
And for them, this field is their home and their
feast.
I hear the horses munching on golden grass,
And the cattle are unaware that I’ve passed.
In the sky black buzzards circle before they prey
on the dead.
In the trees nests of baby birds clamber to be fed.
I caught a glimpse of a family of deer,
As they run for joy and not out of fear.
Even the wind here has a voice of it’s own.
It whispers and howls, and then a soft little groan.
I must step softly around the hills the little ants
build
For this is their land, their home, their field. |
| |
A GIFT
(for me) |
This is the time when my
thoughts do roam,
For it’s night-time here in my quiet little home.
The children are sound asleep on their beds.
I wonder what dreams now fill their heads.
My husband has gone for his night of rest,
His day was long and he’s lost his zest.
Not yet time for me to end the day,
I have a lot on my mind and things to say
My day has been filled with the needs of others,
And a time of quiet is a gift for mothers. |
| |
| GOLDEN RULE |
Some think I’m no good,
some think me a fool,
For the only church I belong to is the “Golden Rule.”
I don’t go to church on Sunday as most people do,
And the thought that I worship is not very new.
It’s the rule I was taught when I was very young,
It’s the peace among men in songs which are sung.
Treat other men with respect and with love.
Don’t place yourself either below or above.
And if repaid with less than you offer, or give
Learn to pity, understand and forgive.
Be kind and honest to all that you see.
Follow the rule closely and you shall be
happy of heart and strong of mind.
Having the peace most are trying to find.
Come join my church, place your hand in mine.
The feeling you’ll have is the finest of fine.
No need to give up the church you attend,
For my church is a beginning, not an end.
The “Golden Rule” is for Catholic and Jew,
And everyone else on earth, even you. |
| |
GOODNIGHT
(yes, you Barbara) |
|
Every night bedtime is like a see-saw up and
down.
It starts out with kisses and ends with a frown.
Tuck her in bed and bid her goodnight.
Reassure her everything is all right.
Pretty soon the pitter patter of little feet.
“Mommy I’m hungry. I want something to eat.”
“Back to bed, stinker.
You’ve had quite enough.
And if you don’t stay in bed, I’ll have to get
tough.”
“Mommy I’m thirsty and need a drink.”
“Get your water and get right back to bed.”
Visions of sleeping pills dance in my head.
Quiet for a while, then,
“I gotta go potty.”
“Go! Goodnight!! And please don’t be naughty.”
Up again, down again, all evening long.
Oh, my God, where’d I go wrong.
At last the time comes when I haven’t a care.
For I’ve fallen asleep in the easy chair. mother,
And wouldn’t change my life for any other.
|
| |
| GROWN UP |
Twenty years ago, when
I was young and restless
To be “grown up” seemed to be the very best.
To be an adult just like Mom and Dad,
Were the thoughts I usually had.
To do what I wanted and eat all I could,
To stay up late, not just do what I should..
To earn my own money and fill every desire.
The thoughts within me burned a steady fire.
Now looking back at those years of unrest,
I know now “grown up” is the best.
But I don’t do all I want, or eat what I can.
I go to bed early so I can wake with my man.
The money we earn goes for shelter and food,
And that fire in me depends on my mood.
With three children, I’m tired at the end of the
day.
But wouldn’t change “grown up” in any way.
For I am happy you see, being wife and |
| |
| ANOTHER AND ANOTHER |
Thy do people say, “Just
skip this one.”?
They insist they don’t want anything to be done.
They think they are too old for a party, or a gift.
And confide what they really need is a face lift
Some say this day makes them very sad.
But not I, it makes me so very glad
That I have made it yet to another year,
To my birthday, it's the alternative I fear. |
| |
| BOOTS |
Upon my feet I have something
new.
A and to tell you about them is all I can do.
Cowboy boots is what I am wearing now.
My husband is the one who can take the bow.
This land in Texas is hard on the feet.
And with clay, sand and mud, it’s not very neat,
To wear nothing but sandals everyday.
I needed to find comfortable way
To keep out the dirt.
To step on thorns without getting hurt.
There’s only one problem I can seem to beat,
It takes two people to get these boots off my feet. |
| |
HAPPY HEART
(for Michael, Barbara Lori) |
The shimmering colors of
the sun setting in the west,
Put some talented poets at their very best.
For me it’s quite a different thing,
That always sets my heart to sing.
When I hear it, my poor pen does wiggle;
For what I hear is a child’s giggle. |
| |
THE HAT
(for Michael) |
It sits
upon his head like a crown
With the back part up and the front part down.
So proud is he of his new straw hat,
He must always know right where it’s at.
When he wears his hat he feels like a man.
When the heat burns his face he uses it to fan.
It shades his eyes from the summer sun.
And he adds a feather just for fun.
He knows to takes it off when coming inside.
But holds it in his hands for a sense of pride.
So important is he with that hat on his head
He even wears it asleep in his bed. |
| |
| IRONING DAY |
Looking back now, ironing
day wasn’t as bad as it may seem.
While standing at that board,
oh the dreams I would dream.
Clean clothes would stuff my bag from end to raggedy
end.
And with the iron in my hand, hours I would spend.
I’d grit my teeth and grab a can that spit spray
starch.
And ironed for what seemed a year, from April through
March.
Then dreams of a luxury voyage would sometimes cross
my mind. But the bubbling water in my iron was all
that I could find.
I’d pretend to be a Surgeon, renowned by all my
peers.
But instead I removed wrinkles from delicate curtain
sheers. Sometimes I’d be a rich lady, lazily sunning
on my porch.
But gone is the dream when the shirt begins to scorch.
Daydreams still come, though not as often as before.
‘Cause thanks to permanent press,
I don’t have to iron anymore! |
| |
THE KISS
(for my children) |
|
As a child, a kiss was the loving thing
That only Price Charming was able to bring.
But as I grew older, I learned much more
About what a kiss is really for.
The affection of love between man and wife.
The makeup kiss during harsh times of strife.
The healing kiss for an ailing son.
The goodbye kiss for the departing one.
Kiss it now and make it well Is what Mommy can
always tell.
Baby don’t cry, I’ll kiss you now.
A kiss on the cheek will teach them how
To touch their loves when they are grown;
For a kiss is the way that love is shown.
|
| |
LITTLE PINK BOW
(for Barbara & Lori) |
Why does a little girl’s
face come aglow
When placed in her hair is a little pink bow.
Straggly and messy her hair sometimes hangs,
And then she behaves like a little devil with fangs.
Braids on the side bring out the tomboy.
Her baseball becomes her most favorite toy.
But when her hair is curled and neat,
She smiles coyly and acts so sweet,
How amazing is this little pink bow in her hair.
Does it make her feel good to know it’s there?
Can make such a difference in my little girl,
Then I must guard that bow as if it were gold.
And keep it until it’s ragged and old. |
| |
MORE THAN ENOUGH
(for my Bill) |
Oh my love, we’ve passed
the point, when riches come along.
So my love, the class of poor is where we belong.
No land is ours, and interest on accounts we do
not earn.
But If our loves is riches, then we have enough
to burn. |
| |
A MEMORY
(for me) |
It’s midnight here and all
are in bed.
The kids are asleep and the cat’s been fed.
My work is behind me for today,
And I feel there’s something I want to say.
The thought’s in my head roll around and around;
My pencil on paper is the only sound.
The joy and laughter filled this house
Is quieted now—quiet as a mouse.
If I listen really hard, I can barely hear
The echo of voices so very dear.
For in my mind the songs of the day,
Are only resting in silence not completely away.
It’s not only the walls that repeat the sweet sound,
It’s the voices in my heart which abound.
Memory is deepened by my pencil and pen,
And years from now, I’ll remember when
The only sound that could be heard on this night
were the sounds that said everything’s all right.
I am reading as I am typing and there are tears
in my eyes as
I remember those very hard days we spent in Texas.
Days filled with hard work, few rewards but a closeness
within our family that nourished us beyond belief.
|
| |
| MUD |
Oh my God, it’s everywhere.
On their shoes and clothes, and in their hair.
When it rains, the dirt turns to mush,
And we with just dirt, no grass or brush.
They track it in and through the house,
And when I yell at them, I’m am the louse.
Throw rugs don’t do a darned thing
To keep out the stuff they bring.
Upon their feet it clings like clay.
I clean the floor ten times a day.
Oh the sun is out and no more rain.
The sun’s warmth tells my brain
That for a little while, at the very least,
this wet mushy mess won’t increase.
Alas, to add to my sorrow,
The weather man says it’s going to rain tomorrow.
|
| |
| ONE OF THOSE DAYS |
The phone’s out of order,
the washer makes a racket.
I cut my hand and Bill tore his jacket.
“I should have stayed in bed,” I say to myself.
I’d like to take this day and put it on a shelf.
Close the cupboard door and forget it’s there,
It’s disasters have spilled everywhere.
The sun is too hot, my throat is too dry.
It’s times like this I wonder
WHY?
The kids are fighting now with each other,
Why did I ever become a mother?
What do you mean the car won’t start?
This whole day is breaking my heart.
Five o’clock now, and I’ve burnt the dinner.
I’m losing hard and this day is the winner.
I should go to sleep now quick as a wink.
No TV, ‘cause it’s on the blink.
Only one thing that’s going just right,
The sun is down, and now it’s night.
Turn out the lights, and close my eyes.
To this terrible day, I say my goodbyes. |
| |
| OUCH |
Bee don’t buzz around my
head.
Go someplace else to be well fed.
I sit here listening afraid to stand.
Oh, please will you get the heck off my hand.
You are so small, yet you scare me so I cannot think.
For if you sting, I shall turn pink
And itch and itch and itch some more,
And scratching is not what I’m intended for. |
| |
| PRECIOUS |
More precious than gems,
they can never be replaced.
Yet only on cardboard are they kept incased.
We take them for granted as they get shuffled around.
And yet in safes of steel should they be found.
They speak loudly of memories from out of the past.
With care, our lives they will long outlast.
Taken for granted we forget they are there
But family photos deserve great care. |
| |
| THE PRIZE |
Tonight I am a Princess,
or Queen of the Nile.
With eyelashes on, and my hair in a pile.
Rings upon my fingers, color in my cheeks.
And behind ears perfume softly speaks.
My dress is a beauty, though it’s ten years old
today.
And I’m feeling quite lovely in every single way.
Yes, I look like a beauty contest winner.
And the prize is being alone with my husband for
dinner. |
| |
| SHADOWS |
The shadows of my life
are invisible and silent,
they forever follow me.
They are what I was and what I am to be.
The shadows of my life are the dreams that filled
my childhood.
The desires for everything in life that is good.
The shadows of my life are that awesome time of
being Misunderstood.
Not yet a woman, but gone is childhood.
The shadows of my life are all the dances
I’ve danced, songs sung, books read; places
I’ve been , things I’ve seen, words I’ve said.
The shadows of my life are becoming my husband’s
loving wife
With all it’s wonder, confusion, joy and strife.
The shadows of my life are three babies so small,
sweet and dear; Growing now so fast it brings a
kind of fear.
The shadows of my life are all things
I’ve been in thought and deed; and errors made for
which
I must take heed.
The shadows of my life are standing tall behind
my years;
Some ring with joy, others weep sad tears.
These shadows are far behind for only me to see;
For what they are, is what I am to be. |
| |
| THE SQUIRREL |
Look to the tree where
the squirrel plays,
how busily he fills his days.
He goes up and down to fetch stuff for a nest
He works hard to make it the very best.
Up and down the whole day through.
He works, he rests, and wakes anew.
At the end of the day I have been told
This squirrel will not grow too be old.
I was suddenly given the forewarning,
The squirrel is a nuisance and will be shot in the
morning.
And so it came that time to be –
The squirrel fell from that nest in the tree.
He lay on the ground, a bullet inside.
I sat and cried for the little squirrel who meant
no harm
He added such love and joy and
charm to that big old empty tree that sat alone.
Alone as me. |
| |
SUNDAY
(for my family) |
Sunday morning wakes long
after dawn.
It’s a morning as relaxed as a sleepy yawn.
No need to rush, or get on with the day.
To spend Sunday unhurried is the only way.
A late breakfast with the family all together.
And we’re not going out, so no matter the weather.
Comics from the papers spread all over the place,
And a peaceful smile on everyone’s face.
Playtime for the kids and no work for Dad.
Time to do nothing is a good time to have.
I’m in the kitchen busily baking,
And cookies for all will be theirs for the taking.
A whole day of rest so peaceful and content,
Is a joyous was for Sunday to be lazily spent. |
| |
THE TOOTH
(for Lori) |
She and I knew the time
had come,
And now is when it must be done.
I pulled and poked.
She gave a yelp.
I yanked again and yelled for help.
“We can’t, we can’t it won’t come out,”
and then she let out the final shout.
And there she stood in front of me,
That little six year old so filled with glee.
For in the grin that lit her face,
The tooth once there had left a space. |
| |
WATCH OUT FOR MAMA
(for Homer, wherever you are) |
Why does he try, but usually
fail,
To catch those piggies by their tail?
They oink and run around the pen,
Small they are, but faster then men,
Maybe the reason is very clear,
For in the corner so sweet and dear,
Sits Mama watching over her brood,
Protecting her babies, her water and food.
The looks she gives of you dare to touch
one of her babies is much too much.
She snarls and growls and moves very close,
And all he can do is stand a still pose.
He runs when she turns and leaps out of the pen,
For she watches her babies like a mother hen.
But not a hen, horse or a frog is quite as mean
As a mother hog who rules her young like a queen.
|
| |
| WHAT WOULD WE DO WITHOUT YOU? |
Where would be without
a burger on a bun?
What would we eat when we’re having fun?
The grill would be empty if it waited for steak,
For a lot of money we just don’t make.
A ride with kids on a bright sunny day.
Then stop for a hamburger along the way.
A quick fix dinner for a busy mother.
We can cook a burger without much bother.
Five to a pound when the money is tight.
Four to a pound when the checkbook is right.
Put out the lettuce, pickles, and catsup,
A little mustard to spice it all up.
With or without onions is a matter of taste,
One thing for sure it won’t go to waste.
Dripping and messy, they are food for the soul.
And with them you don’t need a fork or a bowl.
Rich or poor, I’ve never met anyone
Who didn’t enjoy a burger on a bun. |
| |
| |
That's all folks. If you made
it all the way through,
I salute you for having a great deal of patience!
|
| |
|
|
