Wednesday, September 29, 2021

Today’s Teen

 She was a very young teen.  She felt she was grown up.  Should be

given all the freedoms of maturity.  She was looking for love, for a sense of

belonging, looking in the wrong places.  Her lifestyle was modeled on peers,

on parents and they all had the same problems, same shortcomings.  The real

love in her life was her grandparents, and she resisted their love.  They

offered security that she felt was oppression.  She was the cause of

heartache and pain to so many, yet she could have been such a sweet child.

It was not all her fault.  The permissiveness of society, going back so many

years, the groups who meant well, “let’s pass these laws to prevent abuse of

children”.  Good beginnings, but they didn’t know enough to stop.  Parents

lost the right to bring up their children as they felt they should.  They were

afraid to lose them.  So family roles were reversed.  The child told the parent

what she would do, where she would go, and how she would act.  “And if

you don’t keep quiet, I’ll report you for mental abuse.”  We have lost our

coming generation, lost the future of our country, a country founded for

freedom, and so to be lost for freedom.  And unfortunately, the ones we

have tried to help are the ones we have hurt the most.

Geese

 Did you hear those geese

As they flew overhead?

Did you hear them honking?

Do you know what they said?

Gather in your harvest,

Your veggies you must reap.

Time for all those things that grow

To have a nice long sleep.

Weather’s getting cooler,

Fall is in the air.

Sooner than you realize

The trees will all be bare.

Now take heed of nature’s warning,

As geese seek a warmer clime,

Shelter those tender plants you love,

Bed them down for the wintertime.

Underneath The Paw-Paw Tree

 Just remembering, ‘way back when - - -


Underneath The Paw-Paw Tree


Way down yonder in Arkansas

Under the shade of the old paw-paw,

I took your hand and held it tight,

Clung to it with all my might –

Had to find just how to say

What was on my mind to-day.

“Pretty little baby, light of my life,

Oh, how I want you for my wife.

Pretty little lady, will you marry me?

We will live in harmony.

Happy together ‘til we grow old –

A beautiful love story to unfold.”

“Yes, my darling.”  You said to me

As we sat ‘neath the paw-paw tree.

Your eyes were shining and I could see

In the loving way you looked at me

I knew that now we’d ever be

One throughout eternity.

I’d Give To You

 I’d love to give you the world

And a key to open it all.

I’d love to give you the heavens

At your beck and call.

I’d love to give you the song

That only a bird can sing.

The feeling of contentment

That sitting in the sun can bring.

But all I have to offer,

All I can really give

Is an ever-loving heart

For as long as I may live.

The Chick and the Old Biddy

 A movement out my window caught my eye

Took a closer look, wondered why,

The young girl was sneaking up my drive

Carefully, stealthily, trying to contrive,

Looking at my tulips, hoping not to be seen.

She thought that she would get away clean.

She stretched out her arms, a tulip in each hand,

That is when I interrupted her plan.

“What are you doing?” I sounded quite gruff,

I opened the door – I’d had enough.

I stepped to the porch, “Now bring them to me”

‘Twas more than irritation, I was angry to see

That youngsters had no respect for others’ property

With no regard to what it would do to me.

“Why did you do it?”  She started to say,

“I just wanted to pick a little bouquet.”

Her chin started to quiver, her eyes were full,

Inside I felt a tug, I felt a pull,

“You like flowers?” – A nod of her head,

She was too near tears for much to be said.

“So do I, and it took much work on my part

To clear the ground and give them a start

Something that’s mine you’ve taken away,

A beautiful thing to have brightened my day.”

“I’m sorry,” her voice could hardly be heard,

My hand on her shoulder said more than her word.

“Just knock on the door, next time you’ve a yen,

To pick someone’s flowers and do this again.

I’ll say yes or no, or what I think right.

I’m sorry I yelled, but you gave me a fright,”

With another “I’m sorry” and a hesitating hug,

She looked to me like a frightened little bug.

I took the tulips, held them out to her,

Now my eyes were starting to blur.

She ran down the walk, I thought “This is it.”

The end of what, to me, was an emotional bit.

An hour or so later, in the midst of a chore,

I was called by a rapping on my back door.

The little girl was there, I was surprised to see

Now she had brought some flowers to me.

Had I made an impression or were my words for nought?

Whose garden did she rob – of the flowers she brought?

Mother Earth’s Therapy

 Pull out the weeds, let the flowers grow.

It’s a way of life that we all should know.

It’s therapy that’s so good for my soul,

Stomp out the evil, let the good take hold.

I’ve lived many years, traveled down many a road.

I’ve carried my burden, helped others with their load.

My reward is when their frown becomes a smile.

That’s what makes it all worthwhile.

So get down on your knees, with your hands in the dirt,

And take heed of this lesson taught by Old Mother Earth.

Chicken Charlie

 Do you know “Chicken Charlie”? He lives a

little way up the road.


Chicken Charlie


I know a guy – Chicken Charlie’s his name.

He tends his flock and feeds them grain,

He cleans their house and keeps them warm,

And chases the foxes to keep them from harm.

He loves the beauty of their strain so rare,

And has sent their eggs most everywhere.


Now Chicken Charlie has a flock of another kind,

He cares for them, and feeds their mind.

He listens when they need to talk,

And guides them on the path they walk.

When they need him he tries to be there,

And soothes their hurt with his humble prayer.


He made St. Francis his ideal,

To him his beliefs are very real

From St. Francis, he takes the word,

Like him, his flocks he does herd.

Each dawn he awakes again

To care for his flocks of chickens and men.

Dust – So Soft

 The sun warmed my back.  The soft, yellow dust caressed my bare toes.

Saturday was a wonderful day.  I could just laze around, enjoy nature.  We

lived on a dusty country road.  Very little traffic came by, so we walked in

the tire tracks.  I was kind of lost in a world of daydreams.  I kicked a bit.

Dust flew everywhere, soon to disappear.  Into my mind came a scene

described in this week’s school paper, current events section.  It told of the

dust bowl in the mid-west.  I could not imagine how something so soft, so

fine, could ever be a threat to anything.  Just then, a small eddy of wind

swooped down the road, touching the dust just ahead of me.  It spiraled up,

loaded with yellow.  As the eddy subsided, the gold drifted over everything,

including me.  I could feel it in my hair, see it on my arms, taste it on my

lips.

My mind began to work.  This was only a tiny breeze.  What if it had

been hurricane force?  It could have taken all the loose dirt from the road,

and everywhere else, too.  Dust was evidence of dry weather.  The mid-west

was flat land, full of farms.  The drought and strong winds could easily rob

the fields of fertile soil for years to come.  Cattle, and even people, could

have nothing to eat, no water to drink.  Without water, the land had little to

offer.  I tried to imagine what it would be like not to be able to wash the dust

from my arms, or not to get a drink to clear my throat of its gritty feeling.  I

may have been just ten years old, but I began to understand the reason

behind the Western Rush, the search for livable lands.  In front of my home,

in my stretch of dusty road, I had my first insight into current events.

Spring Symphony

 The song of my feathered friend is sweet to hear,

‘Tis a symphony that falls on my grateful ear.

They’re symbols of hope, heralds of spring,

Melting the ice and snow that winter brings.

I stop, and look at the hillside by my drive,

And, Lo! The first crocus and tulips have arrived.

Now there’s still ice around, the temperature’s low,

But there’s a feeling of hope, when things start to grow.

Just a way of Our Lord’s saying, “Cheer up, my friend,

For rest time is over, the winter will end.”

Some Folks

 Remind you of someone?


There are some folks who know it all,

But I just can’t understand,

If they are so all-fired smart,

Why is their life less than grand?

Some folks are like a chatterbox,

With a mouthful of empty words,

It doesn’t matter what they say

So long as they are being heard.

Some folks can tell you how to raise

Your kids, nutrition, character and such,

But they’ve never been parents,

So how can they know so much?

Some folks are experts in money matters,

Can account for every cent,

But all they ever seem to do

Is somehow pay the rent.

Now I’m just an old grey-haired granny,

Trying to get along,

I’m not too smart, and not too rich,

And like to stay where I belong.

My Love

 If I could have but one wish granted,

I’d fly with you to lands enchanted

Where all my fondest dreams come true

Just because they are shared with you.

The plainest weeds turn into flowers.

Dark storm clouds – just April showers.

The warmth of the smile upon your face

Brings untold wealth to this heavenly place.

For you alone are the magic potion

That nurtures my undying devotion.

Disneyland

 From yesterday when there was but hope

To the atom that hid in a microscope,

From the pioneers who rode the trails,

To the futuristic glide on the monorails,

From the caverns deep with the pirates gold,

To landing on the moon, as it was told,

Seeing and thinking and going these ways,

“Tomorrowland’s” memories are yesterdays.

The Big Red Door

Mary and I stood outside the big red door –

Seemed like we’d been there many times before –

But this time, ‘twas a little different scene.

There was icy snow packed high between,

Right up to the doorknob and two feet out –

‘Twas four in the morning, so no good to shout –

We were the early birds, that we knew –

And it was up to us to start the brew.

But to do that, we must first get inside –

Must find some way to get that door pried –

No tools had we, no shovel, no pick,

We had to do something, and do it quick.

I had a broom handle, I’d used for a cane –

Mary used it to poke the ice again and again.

Then with mittened hands we dug at the bank –

And threw the chunks out by the gas tank.

I looked at her, she looked at me –

We giggled like kids on a holiday spree.

The wind chill factor was way below

As we fought our way through the icy snow.

Our feet did slide, our pants got wet –

But that didn’t stop us, on that you can bet.

In a very short time, we dug through –

Surprising what some “OLD” folks can do.

Once inside, we put on the speed,

Filled the trays to take care of the need.

We had hot coffee ready for the plowing crew,

And donuts to build their strength anew.

We were open and ready with your coffee and sweet

At The Donut Shop on Central Street. 

Christmas Love

 Artic winds are howling outside my kitchen door.  Gray skies are

threatening more snow.  But, the chill out there vanishes with the warmth in

my heart, the warmth that’s nourished by friends, good friends, old friends,

new friends, and true friends.  This Christmas time, the season of love, I’m

filled with awe.  The love of friends is so great to me, how much greater is

the Love of Jesus for me.  He took on mortal frailties, was born a Babe in a

manger.  Human love I can understand, by Divine Love, I feel so unworthy.

I can only join the shepherds of old, fall to my knees and say, “Praise You,

Thank You, Baby Jesus, my Lord, my friend.”

Daddy’s Little Girl

 Daddy’s little girl is day-dreaming again,

Trying to see how this tale should begin.

Got to find out just what and just who –

Got to know what they might do –

Must know where to set the scene –

Select a plot that is fresh and clean –

Got to make her people come alive –

Make them struggle, make them strive

To understand, and do what’s right,

Even though it means a fight.

To err is human, that she knew,

And this is how her story grew.

Daddy’s little girl is dreaming again,

Back to long ago days, the way it was then,

When she sat in the sun, a book in her hand

And she took that first trip to a far-away land.

She planted the seeds for what was to be,

They grew in her mind to maturity.

Now that she’s old, with gray in her hair,

She puts them on paper for others to share.

Happy Birthday

 So it’s two days already into your new year –

What does it matter? Your family’s here.

We’ve not much to offer but a whole lot of love

To a wonderful lady, the Lord’s gift from above.

You’re friend, you’re family, you’re strength in my need.

So gather, my children, please take heed –

Our voices as one will fill this place –

Blessings and happiness to our very own Grace!

Turkey in New Hampshire

 Speaking of Thanksgiving, did I ever tell

you about our …


Turkey in New Hampshire


Back in the early sixties, when our children were young, we had a

summer camp on a small lake in southern New Hampshire.  We spent all our

weekends there and enjoyed every moment of it.  We became very close

friends with our next door neighbor and also with a family who lived there

year round.

One year we decided to celebrate Thanksgiving together.  We were to

all bring part of the dinner.  Since we raised our own turkeys, we were the

logical ones for this.  There was a great deal of excitement as the day grew

near.  We selected a twenty-seven pound bird.  It was carefully cleaned and

stuffed with a delicious bread and pork stuffing (an old French recipe).  It

was roasted all night in a slow oven.  When we arose in the morning, the

whole house was filled with a heavenly aroma.

My husband loved a joke and he came up with a good one for this

occasion.  He told me about it.  I would have no part of it.  If he wanted to

go through with this, he was on his own.  He did, and I was quite nervous.

Time came to leave.  We packed up the car with excited children and

great smelling goodies.  We were on our way.  Forty-five minutes later, we

arrived at our destination.  Each of the four children were given some dish

of goodies to take in.  My husband took the roaster from the trunk.  That

would only be trusted to himself.  He announced his coming with great

shouts of “Clear the way.  Make room on the table.”

By the time he reached the table, there were seventeen hungry people,

drooling.  He sat down the roaster, and with an “AH HA”, he lifted the

cover.  He let out a sigh, “It shrunk!” the “aw’s” went right around the table.

In this big pan, surrounded with drippings for gravy, was a beautifully

browned, stuffed Cornish Hen.  The joke had its moment.  My oldest son

entered with the real turkey in time to rescue his father.  Don’t think any of

us will ever forget that Thanksgiving.


Teenage Self-Importance

 I stood in awe at what I saw,

The teenage girl was with her Ma –

Able bodied and healthy was she –

But she said to her Mom, “Do it for me.

Tuck in my blouse – tie my shoe.”

Which Mom obediently started to do.

I surprised myself, and the others, too

When I bellowed out – “Don’t touch that shoe!”

With finger pointed to enforce my word,

I turned to the girl – Surprised as she heard,

“Tie it yourself!  How old are you?

You’re acting like a child of two.

On merit of my age, I stand –

I’d like to shout through all the land

Respect your Mom and love her, too –

Some day she may be taken from you.

It’s doing for her that will bring happiness.

Demanding attention – ‘less I miss my guess –

Puts you back in the age bracket of two

When nothing much is expected of you.

That means - no decisions – no choices – no gain –

For you’re even too young to use your brain.

When you’re wrapped up in yourself, what’s in it for me?

You suddenly wake up – too late – to see

Life is so empty – so alone – so cold –

Before you know it – you feel so old.

So take heed – my friend – before it’s too late,

Take these priorities – and set them straight.

Pizza Party

 Did ja see that dog run?


I sat at my table – my head in my hand –

I thought and thought – Tried to make a plan.

How could I discipline those two naughty boys,

Who now lay so innocent in the midst of their toys?

I was saved this decision when a friend came in –

These were his two dogs – I was minding for him.

“Were they good boys?” he asked with a grin.

“No way – Bad boys!” and I did begin –

“Bad boys?” he interrupted, “What did they do?”

“They went to the Pizza Shop and had pizza for two.”

“Did what?” He looked at me as though I was nuts.

“It’s true,” I said, “No ifs, ands, or buts.

They pushed open their gate, down the street they flew,

Don’t know what told them, guess they just knew –

A car drove off, left their pizza on top.

Down to the street it fell with a flop.

Now Freckles and Rosco could not abide waste,

And they were grateful to the driver for his great haste.

They tore open the box and began their feast.

They were in doggy heaven – to say the least.

Just about then, I spotted the two –

There was traffic around – didn’t know what to do –

I drove my car as close as I could –

Called them by name, as I felt I should.

Freckles came, and I put him inside.

But not Rosco, though I tried and tried.

He stood there eating, as if he owned the place,

With pizza and cheese stringing over his face.

There was no way he would leave it to be –

And certainly was not going to come to me.

I was flustered, and frantic and began to shout –

Somehow, he knew his luck had run out.

Rosco joined Freckles in the back of the car,

We headed for home, thank goodness ‘twasn’t far.

Once inside, they lay as quiet as a mouse.

You’d never know they’d even been out of the house.”

Little Man

 Here’s a darling baby boy.

He can fill my heart with joy

Like a brand new Christmas toy.

He’s my darling baby boy.


Here’s a cheerful little man,

Growing up as fast as he can

Into a charming “Dapper Dan”.

He’s my cheerful little man.


Here’s a curious teen-age youth

With mannerisms yet uncouth,

Searching for eternal truth.

He’s my curious teenage youth.


Here he is in man’s estate.

Now he thinks the world’s so great.

He’s the master of his fate.

He’s my babe in man’s estate.


Street Sense For A Five Year Old

 Young lads have a taste for adventure –

I’m sure that you know this is true –

If ever you’ve watched a youngster

And you’ve seen what he’d dare to do.

Like riding his bike down the middle of the street –

Must make him feel like a groove, big guy –

Though he looked both ways before getting on the seat,

The cars still go whizzing by.

Like riding a big-wheel down the driveway

Sloped enough to give a fast ride –

He has no concept of danger –

Or of the car with whom he might collide.

You cannot expect understanding

From the mind of a five year old lad

But with loving parental guidance,

He has the chance to grow up like his Dad.

It’s not easy to say “No” to a youngster

When his request seems harmless enough –

But he’s learning no self-discipline

Needed when the going gets rough.

Just stop and think for a moment

And search deep inside your heart –

Your years of living give you experience,

These things, to your son, you should impart.

Would you rather have just one day of fun –

Would you rather see one thrill on his face –

And then have him taken forever

By death, lost to the human race?

Or to have him become a cripple,

His life a hopeless flop –

Because he flew out in front of a car

And the driver just couldn’t stop?

I’m just an old grey-haired granny,

Hoping to save a child –

If but one Mother heeds this warning –

The writing will be worthwhile.

Mama’s Cleaning Spree

 When Mama goes on a cleaning spree

There’s nothing safe but you and me.

All our clothes and all our toys

Have found their way to other boys.

When Mama’s in her cleaning mood,

She’d grab a broom and I’d be shooed

Out to the other side of town –

I didn’t want to hang around

To see my treasures disappear –

The things I’d saved for nearly a year –

My baseball bat, all cracked and splintered –

And my baseball glove that the ball indented –

A football that was much too soft –

A kite that wouldn’t stay aloft –

My favorite sneaks that I outgrew –

Somehow I guess I always knew,

They’d find their way to the city dump,

But I just can’t help getting a great big lump.

When I came home, ‘twas to a room like new –

Space in the closet, an empty drawer or two,

Just calling out for a new collection –

I cast my eyes in every direction –

And I could see around every bend,

The makings of a brand new friend –

More treasures to keep within my room

‘Til Mama comes in again with her broom.

March Blizzard

 It snowed all night the day I left –

The drifts were six feet high.

The plow got stuck – it couldn’t go –

It didn’t even try.

I started out – began to walk –

But I did slip and slide –

I knew that I was going down –

I landed on my “pride”.

With a snow-covered butt, I did get up –

And continued on my way.

Hurting and chilled –

But still strong –willed,

‘Twas a hell of a way to start my day.

Mothers, Beware

 Did you see the Weekly News?  I just had

to send that in.




I feel obliged to write this letter,
Perhaps some toddler will fare a little better.
This little lad, I doubt if he was more than two,
Came onto my porch – Now what should I do?
A pacifier in his mouth – he was all alone.
No one could know where he had gone.
Back from the street, my house sits up high,
With bushes in front – no one could spy.
“What is your name?” as I stepped out the door.
“Where do you live?” I asked no more.
He looked at me – said not a word,
The pacifier never moved – Don’t know if he heard.
He turned and marched like a mechanical toy,
Not a word came from the lips of the boy.
Down three sets of steps to the street below
He headed towards town – where the cars really go.
Luckily a sister was playing a few houses away
She came to his rescue and saved the day.
It made me think of this sick world today,
How some children are not safe in their own yard at play,
How easy it would have been to lure him inside,
Or into a car to go for a ride.
So, Mothers, be sure when your little ones are at play,
That they are supervised in the right way.
Please don’t fail to guide their direction,
Or leave to chance their very protection.

Goldenrod

 I thought that goldenrod made me sneeze

When it was nudged by a gentle breeze.

Now I’ve found that it just isn’t so,

And I’d like for all the world to know

It took the blame for the awful ragweed,

That spreads like wildfire by its tiny seed.

That sturdy stalk with its head of gold,

With arms outstretched as if to enfold

Each passerby who gaze in awe

At the waving fields of gold topped straw.



Dreamer

 My father told me when I was a girl

That I’d never survive in this old world,

‘Cause I lived a dream of make-believe

And I wore my heart upon my sleeve.


Fresh out of high school - and eager for life –

I jumped into the ocean of turmoil and strife,

Armed only with my standards of honesty and truth,

Instilled in me in my childhood and youth.


Now I was not mean, and I was not tough,

But I certainly knew when I’d had enough –

And when I felt my reasoning was right,

I was not afraid to stand up and fight.


There were times when the going was hard –

Didn’t know if I’d make the grade –

But memories of these and lessons I’ve learned,

That’s something I never would trade.


Now I have survived to near seventy-five,

Through troubles, and sorrows, and pain,

With happiness and family I have been blessed,

Who could ask more than this, to be gained?


‘Though my father has long since departed this earth,

I’m sure that he still watches me.

I can almost see a smile on his wrinkled face,

For a dreamer’s not a bad thing to be.

Our Town

 ‘Twas a sleepy little town in the mountains,

A way off the beaten track,

Where walkers could amble at leisure,

With never a need to look back.

Main Street never was busy,

The end was always in sight.

I could see the tree covered hillside,

A symbol of vigor and might,

A perfectly natural setting for the

Little white church with its steeple,

Pointing upward to the Maker,

A beacon of hope to its people.

I saw a fine old gentleman,

Whose years were well passed their prime.

He shuffled over the crosswalk,

And traffic stopped for a time.

This is the way in our town,

An easy, relaxing pace.

I’ll sit back and enjoy,

Let the others take on the race.

For I am growing older,

Priorities have changed for me.

It’s not how much I gather,

But the joy in what I see.

October Leaves

 Nature took her paintbrush for one last giddy fling –

Knowing quite well what December winds would bring –

Leaves would blow all around, ‘till on the ground they lay

And beneath the snows of winter, they would soon decay.

This is nature’s way to recycle, ‘tis her way to show

From the beauty that has gone before, next year’s saplings

grow.

Saturday Service

 The sparrows flit by from tree to tree,

The frisky gray squirrels were curious to see,

All of them wondering just why

We were holding our Prayer Meeting under the sky.

‘Twas somebody’s goof – that caused this to be –

A gathering at church, without a key.

We were a small group with hearts filled with love –

To raise our voices in prayer to the Lord above.

Now what better temple, than the one God made,

The bright fall leaves were on parade

As we heard those familiar words so dear –

The breeze made music to our ear.

When our thanks to God we were addressing

I silently gave thanks for this special blessing.

Sometimes when things become too routine

We tend to take them for granted – forget what they mean.

Then God, in His own gentle, loving way

Gives us a nudge – takes our apathy away.

This was just a no-frill ceremony, and yet

A heart-warming memory I’ll never forget.

The Trials of a Parent

 The trials and tribulations of a parent never end –

I can see that you know this, my fine feathered friend.

When your curious fledgling tried too soon to fly away,

You were terrified by the thought that he might fall prey

To some feline pet who thought it would be fun

To pounce upon him on the ground, knowing he couldn’t run –

Or maybe he’d be crushed by some enormous foot

Of a forest monster who didn’t see him by the root.

I’m sure the thought ran through your mind –

“What will he get to eat?  He’s much too small to ever find

Anything at all.”  He sat so still, his peep was like a plea,

I heard it answered by his mother up in the maple tree.

She hovered over him, and in a little while

She even brought some dinner to her naughty child.

Joined by the father, they coerced and they did tease,

They preserved ‘til success had the babe back in the trees.

It took all day, but they didn’t rest

‘Til they had their fledgling back in the nest.

Many a parent could learn from you,

If they could but observe the thing that you do.

Family Is -

 Family’s what you feel when you’re comfortable at home –

Family’s what you have when no pretense must be shown.

Family’s being together and sharing as you’ve grown –

And family is a knowing of when you need time alone.

Family is a group who are related by their genes –

Family is just as strong in a group who shares a dream.

Over The Backyard Fence

 I’ve been at this same address almost

twenty-five years.  I’m sharing some

neighborhood happenings, overheard

conversations, and some drifting back

into my long gone days.


Welcome, Neighbor.

Come visit with me.

Hi, Neighbor!  Have you heard?  Debbie
had her baby.  A fine boy.

Small Town, U.S.A.

City born — and city bred,
Urban scenes deep in my head –
To small town life I could adjust,
If my instincts I would trust.

My infant son, just two days old,
Getting fussy for me to hold.
His young sister, unaccustomed to being apart from me,
Putting on a show for me to see.

I was so happy to be home once more,
But a little frightened by what was in store.
Into these thoughts, a knock I heard,
In an unknown voice, a friendly word,

“Hello, though we did not actually meet,
I’m your neighbor from down the street.
I thought that perhaps you might
Appreciate your supper for tonight.”

I could not hide my great surprise,
The tears welled up into my eyes.
This act of kindness was heaven-sent,
Surpassed only by the casserole’s scent.

The warmth of this neighborhood will always be
Deep in my loving memory.

Untitled

 Dearest Lord, stretch forth Your hand,

Let me know You understand.

Guide me, lest my footsteps falter,

Up the path to Thy great alter.

And once I’m there accept from me

My life, from birth to eternity.

ESCAPE

 SNOW SWIRLING

FURNACES RUMBLING

ICE COATED DRIVEWAY

GOING NOWHERE

ITCHY FEET

IDLE HANDS

PICK UP THE PHONE

ALTER PLANS

TAKE A BOOK

SNUGGLE IN A CHAIR

AND IN YOUR MIND

YOU TRAVEL THERE.



Mother, dear, I must tell you,

I really want you to know

My love for you is so special

And it will continue to grow,

‘Til we meet again.

Butterfly

 What was that thing that flew past me?  A beautiful

Monarch butterfly?  Or was it a glance

from a caring eye that came back to make me

smile?  Perhaps just an idea from inside myself

suggesting a path to take.  Maybe a memory

of long ago, a moment in time, revisited.

From whence it came, I just don’t know, but it

takes my spirits and soars.  ‘Tis the butterfly

of dreams and memories that warms this aging heart.

Waiting — Waiting

 Here I am, sitting at my kitchen table, waiting for my hairdresser’s

appointment.  That seems to be my major thing lately.  Waiting, waiting for

a ride, waiting for the mail, waiting for the rain to stop, waiting for the sun

to shine.  I’m a sun child, need that brightness to recharge my energy.  I

guess I’m really waiting for something to push me into awareness of who I

am, of why I am, and why I am waiting.

In the last couple of weeks I have lost two good neighbors.  Both my

age.  Both, like me, widows.  Both busy, active people with no obvious ill

health.  Both, quite suddenly.  It’s made me do a bit of soul-searching.  I’m

not afraid of death.  I’ve come to see it as a beautiful thing, serene, peaceful,

bright.  I’ve always believed that we’re here for a purpose, and will stay

until that purpose is fulfilled.  Perhaps that is what’s disturbing me now.

I’ve been waiting, not doing.  Waiting for the urge to get my hands in God’s

good earth to make things grow, when what I really need is a good hard

kick.  Time passes by so swiftly and the opportunity is gone if we don’t act

promptly.  The alarm bell is ringing.  God has given me my wake-up call,

my call to action, not waiting — waiting.

Daybreak

 The grayness of first light of day greeted her eyes as she peered through

sleep swollen eyelids.  She lay still for a moment, pulling her mind to the

awareness of a new day.  She flexed her toes, wiggled her legs, slight

movements, but necessary to insure mobility when her feet did touch the

floor.  The motions continued up through hips, back, shoulders, —

undulating, gyrating, squirmming.  Actually not much movement, but

enough to loosen those reluctant muscles.

If anyone could see her, they’d think her crazy, just as she did when as a

very young girl visiting her chum, she saw her friend’s grandfather.  He was

sick abed and, as she walked by his door, she saw him hitting the back of his

neck with the side of his hand.  That had been her thought then, “He’s

crazy.”  Now, in the wisdom of maturity, she knew that stimulating the

blood flow could lessen pain.

She did a little cloud hopping as she loosened muscles, back to the hills

of her youth.  The legs that were moving under the covers were once more

scampering over hillsides bursting with springtime.  Ferns were shooting

through their blanket of last year’s leaves.  Briers, some folks called wild

asparagus (they ate them), were full of tender new tips.  Some oak trees had

a rosy glow to them, while others were just refreshingly green.  Other trees

had blossoms, little wormy looking things, that hung down for a couple of

inches.  She couldn’t even remember their name.  But that didn’t matter,

‘cause she had to rouse herself, back to reality, enough to face the drabness

of a cloudy day, of spring rains, chilling, but necessary to nourish springtime

growth.  Out her window she could see yellow forsythia bushes, tiny green

leaves on trees, and the red stems of dogwoods, promises of things to come.

A Flashback

 The gloom of World War II filled the air.  Service men in uniform were

plentiful on Memphis streets.  My chum and I did our duty, going to the

Y.W.C.A. club once a week.  It was a well chaperoned, properly conducted

affair.  As two seventeen-year-olds, we enjoyed it, too.  In fact, I became

comfortable talking to any guy in uniform.

One evening, I was having a snack in a “quickie eatery”, (today’s fast

foods), when a G.I. sat down beside me and struck up a conversation.  We

lingered.  As I rose to go, he made his move.  “If you’re not busy, why don’t

you come to my room and see my etchings?”  I had led a very sheltered life,

was very naïve, had no idea what he was talking about, but also, was very

curious.  I went – to a hotel, down a long hallway to his room.  Once inside,

he closed the door, put his two hands on my shoulders, and, not too gently,

sat me on the bed.  Standing erect, he towered over me.  I admit I was

scared.

“What do you think you are doing?  A nice kid like you —.”  He

proceeded to give me the strongest lecture I had ever heard.  He ended with,

“Don’t you ever, ever, EVER do this again!  I have a young sister about

your age, and I pray to God that if she’s ever in a situation like this, she will

get this same treatment.  Now, come on, I’ll take you home.”  He did, and

left me shaking, but more aware of dangers in life.

Fifty years later, to the beautiful strains of Guy Lombardo’s music, this

scene was vividly recalled to my mind.  I had long ago forgotten it, couldn’t

remember a name or face.  I suppose that was because I outgrew the need

for this lecture.  Be that as it may, it’s just one more time that I knew

someone’s watching over me.  In telling this story, I can acknowledge the

kindness of this stranger, now knowing how much I owe him.

Thank you.

My Table – My Life

 My table – filling my kitchen – large enough

for a holiday family meal yet

leaving ample room for movement around

it.  My table, piled high with clutter.  Bills –

depression.  Paid receipts – relief.  Coupons

that I might use – hope.  Recipes to try

at Thanksgiving dinner – anticipations.

Pictures from friends – warmth.  Letters and cards

to be treasured.  Scotch tape, stapler, and rubber

bands for when I do try to organize.

Ibuprofen for when the mountain is too

staggering and the muscles ache.  A deck of cards

to keep my hands occupied while my mind roams.

Crumbs that have become stale like some of my

notes I’ve never used.  Copies of some poems

to give friends or anyone who takes a fancy to them.

My table – a strong backbone to offer support

until I get the burst of energy to clean

up the scene, to file away for safe keeping

the treasures that must be sorted from the junk

mail and once more see the fabric beneath it all.

My table – My life.

Nuggets of Gold

 Day after day became monotonous,

I’ve slipped into a secure cocoon of each

day repeating the day before — Active? Yes

but repeating – repeating – same motions –

same faces – depressions?  I guess so, mildly.

I followed my daily routine, did the necessary

things, until three very special faces reappeared

before me, stepped out of the not to distant

past.  They came alone, had no connection with

each other.  Within a week, they each met me,

smiling, hugging, bringing an inner glow I had

almost forgotten.  They were as family

to me – very special.  I became sharply

aware of the void I had been in, how much I

had missed them.  How stupid of me to have

neglected dear friends.  I had thought of them,

should call them, should see them.  But always some

excuse was conveniently there.  Or, I’ll do it

tomorrow.  How could I have taken my dear friends

for granted?  Where were my priorities?  I was

struggling to pay my dues, meet my obligations

and neglecting my most valuable possessions —

My friends – My nuggets of gold.

A Mother’s Touch

 Too many cloudy, rainy days had left their mark on me.  Achy bones,

stiff muscles.  I was going to bed, but knew I would not sleep.  The tension

in my neck would not let go.  As I lay there, some of the days happenings

came drifting across my mind.  My daughter had called.  She had been

troubled most all her life, manic depression.  She had done a good job of

hiding it from me.  She has been under doctor’s care for many years.  Now,

as we are both older, she is telling me incidents from the past.  How long

ago, I don’t know.  In one of her suicidal moments, she was sitting at the

kitchen table, with a butcher knife in front of her, ready to slit her wrists.

There came a knock on the door, a door-to-door evangelist.  He spoke to her

briefly, then left.

Moments later, another knock.  He was back with his partner, no books,

no pressure.  They sat at the table, just talking, for over two hours.  They

had talked her through her bad time.

The point she wanted to make to me was that even though she couldn’t

believe in God, she knew that these men had been sent to her, that they had

seen her desperation, and they responded. Sent by whom, she didn’t know.

Without hesitation, “Your Grandmother” passed my lips.  In that instant, I

told myself an obvious fact that for over fifty years I had failed to see.  My

guardian angel was my Mother, doing what she had not been able to do

physically.  She is still protecting the child she had to leave behind.

In a soft, yet audible voice, I said, “Thank you, Mother.  I’ve felt your

hand on my shoulder many times, just didn’t know it was you.”  I talked to

her for several minutes, saying some of the things I would have said if she

had been face to face.  I felt like a child, safe, protected, healed.  Most of all,

loved.  I felt the tension drain from my neck.  I slept almost instantly, a

sound relaxing sleep, waking in the morning refreshed.  Ready to face

another rainy day.

Mystery

 Don’t know what — Don’t know why —

All I know is I gotta try.

Don’t know when — Don’t know where —

But some new adventure will take me there.

Don’t know what I’m suppose to do,

So each new task I’ll follow through.

Unfamiliar challenges, unknown highs,

‘Tis therein the mystery lies.

A Lesson In Life

 In 1941, as a trusting, naïve high school graduate, I came to the distant

city to live with my sister and her husband.  I was only with them a few

months when they were transferred to another state.  So, I settled in with a

girl I worked with, sharing a room, two meals a day with the landlady.  Not

a bad arrangement.  I liked my work in a downtown store, was quite content.

I met a few people and was pleased when a new stock boy happened to be

from my hometown.  In fact, his family lived on the same dusty road, just a

short distance from my home.  We talked a bit, just small talk.  After a few

weeks he asked me for a date.  It was to be a double with his older brother,

his car.  We were going dancing.

The night finally came.  There was a full moon.  The twinkling stars

gave my spirits a lift.  Fresh spring breezes completed the scene.  The dance

hall was an old weather-beaten building several miles from city limits.  I had

never been to one before, didn’t know what to expect.  Inside was just as

drab as outside.  Tables and chairs circled the outer wall leaving a large

floor for dancing.  In one corner was a small counter where chips, pretzels,

cigarettes, ice, and such were sold.  There was the nickelodeon.  It had some

good records.  The policy was bring your own bottle.  I had a couple of rum

cokes, leaving the heavier drinking to the others.  I didn’t notice much

around me, the dancing was nice.

So went the evening – enjoyable enough.  The ride home was another

story.  His hands became quite groping in a way I was not accustomed to.

Holding hands was a necessity and even that not totally successful since his

strength was greater than mine. “No” and “Stop” were about all I could say.

I was angry and scared.

Brother could hear what was going on.  His admonition was “Leave her

alone.  Can’t you hear – she said NO. “  It fell on deaf ears, no let up.

Brother took control of the situation.  He stopped the car, got out, opened

the back door and pulled my date out.  One strong jab to the chin and he was

out cold.  Brother pulled him off the road, through the dry drainage ditch,

into the field.  He returned to the car.

While this was going on, Brother’s date started to mouth off, accusing

Brother of having his eye on “that one” all night, ignoring her.  Brother

opened the door.  With a well directed tap he quieted her.  Then he opened

the back door.  I was terrified.  What would happen to me?  I held my

breath.  My fears were calmed a bit.  He lifted his date from the front seat,

placed her in the back, folded his jacket to cushion her head which he placed

in my lap.  He assured me that she was not really hurt and would come to

about the time we reached my home.  That was the longest two miles I have

ever ridden.  I was trembling with fear.  What would his next move be?  I

didn’t even know him.  My eyes had already seen more than I could ever

imagine possible.  Two people knocked out cold.  Would I be next?  Would

he try to take over where he had stopped his brother?

I was so glad to see city lights and even happier to reach my front door.

I was still shaking and not sure of anything.  Brother opened my door,

gently removed his date’s head from my lap so I could get out.  She was

starting to stir a bit.  He walked me up the walk to the door, put his hand on

my arm, apologized for his brother’s actions.  He added for himself, “I’m

sorry things turned out this way.”  He told me that he’d take his date home,

then return for his brother.

I let myself in, carefully locking the door.  Needless to say, I slept very

little that night.  I felt I had aged fifty years.  I knew that I had a faithful

guardian angel.  I really put him to the test.  I thank God he was there for

me.

I never saw Brother again.  As for my date, he worked second floor.  I

was in the basement.  Our paths did not often cross.  When they did, we

ignored each other.  Life goes on and so helped restore my faith in my

fellow man.

A Time For Growth

 Springtime, time for joy, anticipation, for rebirth of every living thing.

But not the spring of 1938.  That was gloom, despair.  To a twelve year old,

my thoughts were what will happen to us?  Where will we go?  We were

living in a small farming town in Arkansas, about a mile or so from the

Mississippi River.  My Father was managing a clothing store.  We had

moved there the previous fall.  I liked the new school and I had made new

friends.  In just a few months I felt I was part of that town.

This April had been rainy.  But wasn’t that supposed to be the weather

for spring?  There was talk of the river rising.  It had been a snowy winter in

the North Central states.  Melting snows played a big part.  The adults in

town knew of the impending danger, prepared for it.  But kids had no

comprehension of how serious is was.  The day came when the river reached

the top of the levee and in places was seeping over.  Most of the farm

workers’ homes were built on stilts, so high an adult could walk under them,

making room for high water.  Experience had been their teacher.  Floods in

the delta were common, and this was their way of coping.  The greatest fear

in everyone’s mind was of the levee breaking.  That would have caused a

flash flood.  That didn’t happen.  But the “Evacuate” order was given.

We piled everything we could into our old car, a little food, a few

changes of clothing, a few of my brother’s favorite toys, a truck, a coloring

book, and his kitten.  These he insisted on.  Some others made it too,

because to a four year old, everything is important.  Things we had to leave

behind were piled as high as possible on top of bureaus, tables or whatever.

Then we joined the parade.  There were horses and wagons, some with a

horse or cow in tow, loaded so full that nothing else could be put on.

Mothers were hugging their toddlers, knowing how difficult this would be

for them, dreading the time when they would have to try to answer the

questions of these little ones — “Where is my—?” and “Why?”  There were

cars, trucks, all loaded the same way, all heading for Helena, in the foothills

of the Ozarks.  Travel was at a snail’s pace.  You could only go as fast as the

slowest mover, no passing.  There was no room.  The opposite lane had to

be kept open for the few trucks that were returning to help anyone stranded.

We passed the shores of Long Pond.  In dry season it was not much

more than a swamp.  Now the water stretched over the cornfield almost to

the road.  The cypress trees stood with their knees almost hidden.  They

were a tall, straight evergreen, average sized trunk of a foot to a foot and a

half across.  In dry season the roots stretched out for four or five feet around

the trunk.  I guess that was to anchor them better in the water.  I always felt

they were making a seat for any animal that was caught in the pond.  These

trees also had garlands of Spanish Moss.  It was as if this spot had moved up

from the state below.  I’d heard about them, but this was the only place I’d

ever seen them.

After what seemed like hours, we passed the pond and my escape from

reality was over.  I was once more aware of the procession, and the sadness,

of the wagons off to the side of the road, broken wheels, crying children

brave parents, trying to make repairs and hold their families together.  Some

were just abandoned, if they were fortunate enough to get rides with

someone else.  I felt so sorry for them.  To this day, when I hear of

evacuation for any reason, I relive this day.  It is a sad memory.

That thirty mile trip took hours.  We were so glad to reach Helena and

the welcoming home of my Father’s boss, Mr. Harris.  We stayed there for a

few days until they could make other arrangements.  The merchandise from

the store was moved to a rented store in West Helena.  Upstairs were rented

furnished rooms.  There was about six or seven feet of storage space in the

back of the store.  My Father slept there on a cot.  We had a portable

kerosene stove that we cooked on.  We used boxes for a table and chairs.

No ice box, so we bought only food for the day.  The four of us kids slept in

a room upstairs.  These were managed by a lady and her father, also her

daughter who was about my age.  The rest of the rooms were rented.  The

entrance was next to the store, up a flight of stairs, into a wide hallway, with

some furniture and chairs, rented rooms on either side.

This particular night, it was my turn to do supper dishes.  My sisters

were already upstairs.  My Father was cleaning the store.  We heard a very

loud noise.  Daddy said, “Pat, go upstairs and see if the heater is okay.”

That’s what he thought he heard.  I went up and into our room at the top of

the stairs.  My two sisters and my brother were terrified.  They couldn’t tell

my why – too scared.

“Was he out there?”

“No one.”

“Run!  Hurry!”

My little brother was crying.  “He’s got a gun!  He’s shooting!”  That

was all he could say through his tears.  I had no clue to what was going on

and I was not about to stop and ask questions.  We made it downstairs.  By

that time, my Father was out of the store.  The police had arrived and we

were rushed down the street to a building several shops away.  There we

began to piece together the happenings.  All we really knew was that the

grandfather was drunk.  He told his granddaughter that she couldn’t go out.

She went anyway.  My guess is that she went to get away from him.  He was

a nagger, and alcohol made it worse.  She could never please him.  Her

grandfather was furious.  He sat at the top of the stairs with his shotgun.  He

was going to show her who was boss.  The noise we heard was the gun

going off.  Deliberately or accidentally, we’ll never know.  Serious enough

that his daughter called the police.  In that split second that I had gone up

those stairs, he had gone into his room.  (One more time that I know

someone was watching over me.)  He was so drunk he would have mistaken

me for his granddaughter, and shot me.

Other occupants were taken out windows, over the flat roof of the store

next door and down ladders.  Police surrounded the building, tried to coax

him out, or at least, to throw out his gun.  His only reply was to start

shooting at them.  After hours of trying, waiting, pleading, dodging bullets,

the drunk man was fatally shot.

That’s were my memories stop.  I don’t know were we spent the night

that night, but I’m sure it was not there.  I don’t ever remember going back,

even to move out.  Don’t know if it was my oldest sister or my Father who

got our few belongings out.  I do remember moving into a small house

nearby, living there for the rest of the school year.  It was really a temporary

situation.  Mr. Harris took the merchandise from the store back to his Helena

store.  In June, the school year done, we went to Prairie, Mississippi to

spend the summer with my aunt.  On returning, it was to our old homestead

in Helena.  My Father had resumed his job of clerk in Mr. Harris’ store

there.

I have no memories of this actual move.  It was done while we were in

Mississippi.  I’m sure it was very difficult for my Father to come back to the

same house where he had spent so many good years with his loving wife

and young children.  He was never the same after her death.  He did his best

to care for us.  He wanted to give us room to move around, at the same time

to move in the right direction.  He was there when he thought I was in

danger.  But, he was a lost soul.  Time heals.  One thing I now know, my

Mother was there for me, to see me through my developing years.  And I’m

sure she was there for my Father, too.

Busy In My Leisure

 I’m just an old biddy of seventy-three,

Living a lifestyle that satisfies me.

At the Donut Shop I cook three days a week,

Frying and baking things yummy and sweet.

When weather is right and time is my own,

I’m out in the yard where the weeds have grown.

Out by the roots they come with a tug

As I swat off that bothersome bug.

My hands in the dirt is great therapy for me,

Relaxes the tensions, helps make me stress free.

Later that evening, as darkness is falling,

I follow another of my crafty calling.

With crochet hook and yarn, I try to create

Toy teddy bears – some small, some great,

Elephants and camels, giraffes and black cats,

Nativity sets, baby sets, winter mittens and hats,

When I finally call it a day and crawl into my bed,

Thousands of thoughts go running through my head.

Projects to finish, (how should they go), others to start.

Childhood memories, mine and my kids, straight from the heart

Lulled by the warmth, relaxation brings sleep.

Dreams? Who knows, but in subconsciousness I keep

Fodder for the times when I sit down to write

Poetry or prose, just putting on paper my mental sight.

Some folks say I’m busy – that part may be true,

But there are no clocks telling me WHEN to do.

It’s busy in my leisure where I have scored –

One thing I’m sure of, I’ll never be bored.

Peony

 The sun was slowly sinking in the west

As three tired old gals sat down to rest.

They chatted ‘bout the happenings of the day,

‘Bout some of the folks they’d see along the way.

Then the talk turned as it so often will,

To the empty chairs that no one else can fill.

Remembering each dear, departed friend –

Wondering just what would be their end.

One said she felt so all alone – so very cold –

That there was no sense at all in growing old.

One sat remembering her youth, straining for the sight

Of faces of her loved ones in the fading light.

Then the remaining wise one – a serene look on her face –

Told this tale to them, with great dignity and grace.

This is how I see my life – from start to bitter end –

A flower growing in a garden – to make a beautiful blend –

Perhaps as a peony in bud – in my adolescence grew –

Swelling with learning and love – enhanced by what I knew –

‘Til full maturity burst forth – I was in full bloom.

At this peak in my existence – there was no room for gloom.

With the withering of the blossom – that’s my declining years.

I’ve known love, I’ve felt the sun, I’ve no room for tears.

I’ll continue to live my life – no more desire for fame,

Just going day by day, ‘til my maker calls my name.

As the stars came out, twinkling in their light,

These friends felt very close, as they said “Good-night”.

Out Of The Blue

 The mailman came right up to my door –

Gave me the mail – ‘twas junk – nothing more.

I opened the envelopes – put them in a pile –

They were heading for the circular file.


I was kind of depressed – just sat there –

When I heard a voice – I don’t know from where –

“I’d love to help you, to show that I care –

But for me to do this – you must also do your share.”

Now I sat there, stunned by what I heard –

From whence had come this awesome word?


There came to mind, a story of old

Of a man in a flood – as it has been told –

In swirling waters, he clung to a tree.

Praying, “Oh, God, please save me.”

Boats came twice – but he said “No,

The Lord will provide a way to go.”

He drowned, and when the Lord he did see,

He said, “Lord, why did You not help me?”

As he stood beside Heavens’ Pearly Gate

The Lord said to him, “My friend, wait –

Twice I sent help – and twice you said no –

My help is often disguised – this you should know.


Somewhere deep inside, I knew what was meant,

Too many hours I had uselessly spent.

God gave me these feelings – put them in my brain –

I had put them on paper and there they remain,

Stacked on the table and out of sight –

Unable to reach out to someone who might

Be helped by something that has happened to me,

Or encouraged to open their eyes to see

More of God’s beauty in our universe –

Or to make them aware that things could have been worse.

Simple pleasures are there for the taking

For nature is just God’s way of making

A gift to us – for all to enjoy

To lift our spirits, like a child with a toy –

And with the same gift, to make us aware

That at times there will be darkness and sorrow there

But always to follow – smiles, and sunny skies –

Thank you, Oh, Lord, for opening my eyes.

They’re Still Close To Me My Mother

 We were not a demonstrative family.  I have no memories of kissing, or

hugging, not even a simple “I love you.”  But we didn’t need to express it –

our very life was expression of love, centered around family.  My childhood

was in the “big depression” days.  Money was scarce, times hard. But we

never were hungry, never cold.  We were happy.  We moved often, so never

had the same friends for long.  I have some good memories, had some good

times.  The time of this story was my eleventh year.  We had an annual class

picnic.  For a couple of years my Mother had made cookies as my

contribution.  This year, she was sick and had me buy them.  The nun was so

upset because she expected my Mother’s delicious homemade treats.  I went

off alone, hid behind a tree and cried my heart out.  I didn’t really

understand why I was so hurt.  Perhaps some inner feeling, I was too young

to know.  Several days later, my Mother was taken to the hospital.  She went

into a coma, two weeks later, she died.  I had a very hard time accepting

this.  I couldn’t talk about it because I couldn’t see any connection of my

feelings with my loss.  I guess I withdrew into my own little shell.  I became

very sarcastic, cried easily.  Time heals most hurts and this was no

exception.  I grew into a typical young adult with a normal life.

My last and most vivid recollection of Mother was about twelve years

later.  I was married with two sons, one eighteen months, the other two

months.  One night I was awakened from a sound sleep.  I heard someone

calling “Patsy, Patsy”.  It frightened me because my Mother was the only

one who called me that.  I got up, went to the boys’ room.  The oldest was

all right, but the baby was tightly caught up in his blankets.  He was okay

but, if I had not moved the blanket from his head, I don’t think he could

have made it through the night.

It is so reassuring to me to know that even though I can’t see her, my

Mother still watches over me.  And, she has taken some of the sting from

death.

Caring - Sharing

Caring, sharing, like the elders of old

Ready and willing, the young ones to enfold

With a loving heart and an open ear

Ready to comfort when troubles are near.

Sometimes it’s just a nod of approval

When they must decide acceptance or removal.

Perhaps a toy or maybe a friend

They must judge whether to give or just lend.

But most often it’s just a smile or a cheery “Hi”

And they are stronger just knowing that you are nearby.

We can remember the times when we needed someone,

Unaware and inexperienced, our life just begun,

And always someone was there to save the day.

Thank God, at last, we are able to repay. 

He Watches Over Me

 I have a faithful guardian and

I thank God every day,

That as I travel this rocky road,

He’s there all the way.

He watches over me.


In my youth I never knew

The things He did for me.

But now, in retrospect,

It’s plain enough to see –

He watches over me.


Twice was saved from death’s dark door

Given life anew –

I thought I was just “lucky” –

I never really knew

‘Twas Him, watching over me.


Many years it took to sharpen insight,

Many more to understand –

Many things just seem to happen –

Now I know He has a plan.

He watches over me.


I’ll take these feelings as they come,

And do my very best

To do His work right here and now,

My Lord will do the rest –

He watches over me.

Better Late Than Never A Tribute To My Mother

 I was born in 1924, the third daughter.  Early memories are spotty, just

glimpses of a moment in time.  It was an era of depression.  We made do,

got by, always had food, but I’m sure it was not what my Mother would

have given us, if she had the luxury of choice.  I do remember, being at her

elbow when she was cooking, sewing, or any of the crafty things she liked

to do.  I admired her work, thought she was the smartest person on earth.

My brother was born in 1932, their long awaited son. Looking back, I

think this pregnancy left her with kidney problems.  There was no money

for doctors and I’m sure she did not get the proper care.  I remember her

backaches, taking medication, days she lay down every chance she got.  She

died at the end of May, 1935.  We were told it was from the boils she was

having.  I was eleven.  At that time, I was still considered a child, too young

for “grown-up talk.”  I can’t remember any admonitions, no advice, nothing.

We spent that summer in Mississippi with an aunt.  When we returned

in the fall, my Father had us settled in a small town where he was managing

a store.  I was beginning to feel resentment, picked on, self-pity, and

everything else in that line.  I didn’t have sense enough to see it as being the

loss of my Mother.  I just shut her out of my mind.  She was gone.  The end.

As I grew into a teenager, I had lots of “near misses”, “close calls”, or

whatever you want to call them.  I always felt I had a guardian angel, and

was grateful.  It was some fifty years later that my angel’s identity was made

known to me.

I hope this will help you read these thoughts and memories with more

understanding.  Thanks for hearing me.

The Blueberry Muffin

 I stooped to pull the tray of muffins from the oven.  The smell was

heavenly.  I stood, inhaling deeply.  One muffin caught my eye, held me,

hypnotized.  It sat in the corner of the tin, staring at me with moist, blue

eyes.  I could see the sun-tanned brow, the healthy glow of two cheeks.  I

was speechless.  Those blue eyes held me, like limpid pools.  I could see

nothing else, I was so in tune to them.  They begged!  They demanded!  So

loudly, yet silent —

EAT ME!

EAT ME!!

My Cardinal Friend

 Oh – pretty bird – with feathers red,

Topped with a regal crested head,

While you’re munching on your seed

I’m watching you as you do feed.

I give to you just a little grain –

You bring me hopes of spring again.

And when you soar into the sky,

My spirit on your wings will fly.

Oh, pretty bird with feathers red,

Crowned with a regal crested head.

After All These Years

 The withered old lady sat for a spell,

Thinking of all the stories she could tell –

Some were so joyful – some full of tears,

But she was still going – after all these years.

When she was a young thing, she began to explore

The beauties and mysteries that life held in store.

Woven together were her hopes and fears,

Laying foundation for all of these years.

She met her mate – for her he was ideal.

They married and started a family to build.

The troubles that go with a young family,

After all these years, are just a memory.

A memory that for a long while

Will warm her heart and make her smile,

For in her heart she’ll know she’s done her best –

And after all these years – she now can rest.

New Years – ‘93

 Father Time’s about due to go to sleep,

And Baby ‘93 is getting ready to creep

Into our lives and give us a second chance

To move ahead without a backward glance –

A chance to look at dark corners deep inside –

To see the faults we’ve tried to hide –

To see ourselves as God would see –

To know just what we’d like to be.


I know that if I, but sought the way

I could make changes each day by day.

For the poor and homeless I should care –

For, but for God’s grace, I’d be there.

In good works I’d take a more active part,

Perhaps to ease the pain in one lonely heart,

To reach out my hand to an abused child,

To give him a lift and bring him a smile.

So as each of us make a positive move

The whole world situation will improve.

If we start out with one small deed,

With a snowballing effect, we will succeed.

Christmas ‘92

 Twinkling lights on a Christmas tree,

Candles in the windows for all to see,

Boughs of holly – wreaths of green –

Memories of Christmases I have seen.

Cherubs’ faces bright with joy

Thinking of some brand new toy,

And deep within our innermost heart

We’re in awe at how it all did start.

God sent His Son as a tiny babe,

A gift of love to the world He had made.

Born in a manger, a crib for His bed,

Just a place where the animals were fed.

In the still of the night, with love all around,

The shepherds adored this babe they had found.

And still today, it’s Him we adore.

On wings of His angels, our spirits soar.

It’s His love, through us, that we must spread

To hungry peoples, that they might be fed

With inspiring hope – to live life anew,

To trust in God in all that they do –

So give the greatest of gifts – this gift of love.

Merry Christmas to all – and Praise God above.

Hi, Grace

 I went outside to play with the boys –

They’re more fun than a whole bunch of toys.

We ran and jumped and barked a bit –

‘Twas going fine – ‘til I stepped in some — !

I’ll get hell – but what do I care –

I can always blame it on “that pair”.

Maybe someday they’ll grow up to be

Just as calm and lovable as “little ole me”.

Wish you were here to scratch my head

Instead of way off in a far away bed.

Don’t let Huey take my place

‘Cause I’m just itching for your embrace.

Miss you,

Love, Missy

Teddy Bear

 A bit of brown yarn and a crochet hook,

Beady black eyes with a happy look,

A pattern from a dog-eared book,

A little bit of a personal flair,

Some time spent in my old rocking chair,

And so shapes up another teddy bear.

Some small girl will hug it tight,

Not even care if it’s not just right,

‘Cause it’ll be perfect in her sight,

And keep her company through the night.

Fantasy

 (In response to one who called me “A gal with a pen in her heart”)


I’m just a gal with a pen in her heart –

Looking around for a jolly old fart

One who will stay around and have some fun

Before he thinks it’s time for him to run.

When it’s all on paper, I can say what I please,

Flutter my eyelids and start to tease,

Act as coy as a teenage girl

Luring a boy to a romantic whirl.

But when in person you happen to see,

I’m an all together different, staid old me,

Moving very slowly, feeling content to be

Left on the side line, to see what I can see.

And when it’s all over, through the night

I’ll take my pen and start of write

In rhymes to record the things that have been –

Preserving them to savor again and again.

Flu Bug

 Here I lie – sick a-bed –

Got a stuffed-up, achy head.


Sinuses and allergy

Simply got the best of me.


Bones are hurting, muscles sore –

Really thought there’d be no more.


Now it’s coughing when I lay,

Chasing even sleep away.


Think I’ve lost my appetite –

Food doesn’t seem to taste just right.


Wish that there was a miracle drug

To knock the shit out of this flu bug.

Stolen Power

 ‘Twas just another day and close to time to close

When a customer came in, said, “Goodness knows –

Someone might trip on that wire in the hall,

Not a very safe thing at all.”

I looked out the door, and to my surprise –

I could hardly believe my own two eyes!

From our electric outlet there was a running cord

To some work in the street – I said, “Oh – My Lord!”

My customer had said that someone might trip –

She didn’t know ‘twas me who would slip –

Out came the plug at the tip of my toe.

And I stood there waiting for the next blow.

A young man came in to restore his power –

But I stood tall – over him I did tower.

“What are you doing? “  I glared from the door.

As he bent down, took the cord from the floor.

He was bold and brassy, showing no shame,

As on his boss’s shoulders he placed the blame.

“Oh”, he replied, “It’s okay,

My boss told me to.”

“Your boss has no right, this thing to do –

It’s my power you’re using – I’m paying the bill!

It’s just plain stealing, call it what you will.”

I mellowed a bit, said, “Go ahead.”

Though really, I was still seeing red.

But when across the street I saw him lay

His cord – I screamed at him – “NO WAY!”

Like a broken record, his one reply,

“My boss told me” – That I didn’t buy.

My dander was up and I was steaming –

I was on the street, and I was screaming.

By now I was most out of control,

But adrenaline kept me standing bold.

“You’ll pay for that and you’ll pay dear.

You’ll pay now – Do you hear?

I want ten dollars – you know you were wrong –

I want ten dollars now!  Then go back where you belong!”

He gave me the ten – but this tale’s not done.

When my story’s well known, then I will have won.

New England

 Lush green trees and flowers wild –

The happy voice of a frolicking child

Splashing in the “ole swimming hole”

Living the life of a carefree soul.

Nearby the waving fields of corn

Will feed the calves that this spring were born.

And down where the waves crash the ocean-side,

A bounty of crustaceans and starfish abide.

Summer’s a peaceful time to be

In New England – This is for me.


Fall will come with its brilliant hues,

Chilly nights and morning dews.

There’s hustle and bustle in the animals wild,

Preparing for a winter that’s not so mild.

Many of the birds are joining the race

Southward – to a warmer place.

Signs of harvest are everywhere –

Smell of apples fills the air.

Fall’s a wonderful time to be

In New England, sharing in its bounty.


Winter’s the time to slow our pace,

Take a good look at her snow-white face.

Like night-time, when trees and animals rest,

Time to say “thanks” for ways we’ve been blessed.

Time to seek out every seed

That could help us to succeed

In growing stronger – growing better –

Turn us into an active “go-getter”.

When I see the stark beauty of ice covered trees

It brings me down on bended knees,

Makes me even more aware

That in New England’s beauty, God’s there.


He’s also there in spring’s rebirth

When every living thing on earth

Burst forth with new vitality.

Buds are swelling on the apple tree.


Grass is greening – birds are singing

Of the promises this season’s bringing.

Signs of hope are everywhere

Blooming in the flowers there.

‘Tis in spring – I have confessed

That I love New England best.


Rolling hills and mountains high,

Ponds and lakes blue as the sky –

Land so rich in history –

This is what New England is to me.

Wood’s Ambulance Personnel

 It was a bad year, full of suffering and sorrow.

Seemed as if there could be no hope for tomorrow.

With a heavy heart, for the one that you love

Was called to return to his home up above.

Now the Lord, in His wisdom, uses all things for good,

He gave me the strength to do what I should.

He crossed my path with people like you,

And developed some friendships, lasting and true.

The trips we took were not very long,

But they gave me a feeling of being more strong.

Just knowing how much you really did care,

Made the pain so much easier to bear.

The extra “something” you put into each day

Was what made it easier along my way.

Now all of you are dear to my heart,

It’s Mary and Fran who share a special part.

Though I know we may never meet again,

Each one of you is a very special friend.

My Angel

 It was Christmas time of ‘83

When God sent a special angel to me –

Let’s back up a bit, so you’ll understand

Just why I think that he is so grand.

I was flat on my back in a hospital bed

When the Doctor came in, this is what he said –

“The news I’ve got is very sad –

The tumor in your back has gone bad.”

This news hit like a ton of lead,

Weighed so heavy on my head –

Was just what Satan wanted to hear –

He jumped right in, tried to fill me with fear.

But my angel was there with the gift of God’s grace,

With words of comfort and a smiling face.

His daily visits sure made my day,

Took much of the worry and pain away.

He came with his prayers and blessings, too –

With papers and books and a flower or two.

But the times to me that meant the most

Were when he’d bring the Sacred Host.

I thank the Lord for my angel and friend,

Without him, I know, would have been my end.

Now we all know my angel – we all love him much,

He’s our very own, beloved Father Hutch!

He and She

 Cupped in her hands, as a bird in a nest,

She fondled his face, ‘til he did rest.

She tickled his nose in gentle jest –

With tenderness, he was caressed.

She loved the feel as she stroked his hair,

So soft and shiny, beyond compare.

His eyes had mellowed – lost their stare –

He seemed to know, for him, she’d care.

She felt her heart skip, “Rat-a-tat-tup,”

As into her lap she picked him up.

For she was just a lonesome girl,

And he — a little lost pup.

Boy of Eight

 Though he’s never very tall,

Now he’s like a rubber ball.

Arms and legs are intertwined

‘Til his feet you cannot find,

As he sits upon the floor,

Starts backward roll from the door.

Round the room his course he launches

‘Til he stops – sits on his haunches

Big brown eyes are focused on me,

As from his lips come, “Ma, I’m hungry!”

Cook’s First Dinner

 She loved to cook, and learned to bake,

Made homemade bread, and then a cake.

Next came a salad called “Bunny Rabbit”

Enjoyed by all who had it.

Hamburger, juicy, but well done,

Coffee was served to everyone.

Father said, “The meal was simply great!”

After all, his cook was just eight!

Poor Chevy

 Have you heard of our misfortune?

Have you heard of our hard luck?

Have you heard of how we were left

Alone – with just our truck?

Sit you down and listen to my tale of woe –

Take a towel ready for the tears will surely flow.

Round the curve and over the hill, all at once we spied

Another car approaching us from the other side.

No time to think – no place to go –

Quick — into the bank of snow.

The engine stopped – the tension grew –

We were doomed, that we all knew.

Seconds like hours – with breath abated –

As we sat, and waited, and waited –

Up and on – I see it now –

Up and on – toward us – KER-POW!

Against that door poor Armand struggled,

Vainly – yet with all his might

Would not budge – for against it

The mudguard jammed up tight.

The radiator held its water,

But a wonder that it “oughter”

‘Cause against it, fan was crumpled -

Like a piece of paper – rumpled.

The headlight was so bent

You could see where you “had went”

And the grill was broken up

Like a babe’s first china cup.

George’s head found glass was hard,

The windshield – it was cracked.

Thank heavens, ‘twas only twisted steel,

The bones remained intact.

The cops, they came, and the “Staties”, too.

Our friends from the farm were “to the rescue”.

They measured feet and measured inches,

Shoveled snow and loosened clinches –

Sent her once more on her way –

That poor injured Chevrolet!

“Bread And Butter” Note

 Seems to me I’m always late

In everything I do.

It’s not because I haven’t thought

An awful lot of you.

But life goes on and we must meet

Our challenges day by day.

Seems to me there’s work galore,

With little time left for play.

Guess that’s because I’ve had my fun –

You don’t know how much it meant,

Time spent with ones I love so much,

It’s brought me such content.

As days go by, and they always do,

So soon to become another year,

And tho’ mountains and plains stand in between,

In memories, you’ll always be near.

Decisions

Shall we go?  Or shall we stay?

Near to home?  Or far away?

Questions all – you must decide,

Any one could turn the tide.

Ponder deep – like pioneer of old,

To desert’s heat – or winter’s cold?

For dusty sands or bubbling streams?

Realities?  Or empty dreams?

Opportunities or struggles bitter,

Many things you must consider.

The fate of your family – everyone –

The satisfaction of a job well done.

To break close ties with friends and relations,

It’s much too far for weekend vacations.

We can only do what we think best.

‘Tis up to God we leave the rest. 

I Don’t Care

 I don’t care if it’s day or night,

I don’t care if the tune’s not right

Long as I can sing a song.

I don’t care if the words are wrong,

I don’t care if it’s soft or strong,

Long as I can sing that song.


That’s all I need to set me free,

A happy, carefree melody,

Set my heart to dreaming now,

Take those wrinkles from my brow.


Take that darkness from my eyes,

Bring right back those sunny skies.

Just as long as I can sing

I don’t care about anything.


Don’t even need my doctor now,

Tensions just got lost somehow,

Throw those pills right out the door,

A little tune will help me more.


Come on now and join the verse,

You’ll feel better – never worse.

Just start out with “I don’t care”.

Just relax – let down your hair.


Open your throat and start to sing,

Words – or tra-la’s, or any old thing.

Just you make those rafters ring –

You feel so free – when you can sing.

The First Snowfall

 “Oh, Mommy, Mommy, come and see

What is happening to our tree!

It’s full of white and powdery stuff.

Looks like a lot of marshmallow fluff.

Look at it falling all around –

It’s covered leaves and hid the ground.

I’ll bet it would be so much fun

If I could go outside and run!

Do you think that I would fall?

Or would it make me very tall?

Would you see me if I lay?

Or make a hill so I could play –

Oh, Mommy, come and play with me!”

Shouts the youngster, full of glee,

As he stares at cars and trees

Planting scenes for memories.

“I saw it once – long time ago –

Now I ‘member – It was snow!”

Junior Shopper

 I have a little boy who

Goes in the store with me,

All he does is ask for

Everything that he can see.

He looks up high –

He looks down low,

With devilish excitement,

His eyes begin to glow.

He remembers a commercial –

‘Twas on T.V.

Then he starts to work on me.

“Mommy, Mommy, buy me this?

It’s the one thing you did miss.

I’ll eat my breakfast – every bite!

It’ll help me treat my toys right.

Just this one – Oh, Mommy, Please!”

I feel that tugging at my knees.

When the tuggings touch my heart,

That’s when a fool and her money part,

For the sponsors know full well,

It’s to the little ones they sell.

Recipe For Everlasting Cake

 Take one large bowl and start to blend

A heart full of love for foe and friend,

Compassion for those who must bear a cross,

Comfort for those who have suffered loss.

Mercy for those to whom injustice is done,

A helping hand to assist the struggling one.

Exhilaration for all who are free,

Hope for the ones who would like to be.

Bind all together with faith in eternity,

Flavor with joy and laughter and glee.

Bake in the warmth of a glowing face.

Frost it well with charm and grace.

Top it with a candle that burns like a star

To dispel dark fear wherever you are.

Serve this cake to all you know –

Your happiness will surely grow.

Sermon from the Mountain (of food)

 A word of warning, my fatty friends!

Take that first bite and trouble begins.

The second and third are sure to follow,

Adding weight with every swallow.

When you come to bite number four –

‘Tis not enough – you’ll want more.

You’ll take the fifth – sixth – seventh - yes, eight.

Oh, look at that food piled on your plate!

By now, results are beginning to show.

Without a doubt, your waistline will grow.

And that, my friend, will tighten your skirt,

Make it hopeless for you to flirt.

For who will be flattered by coy glances

Of a roly-poly who waddles as she dances?

Please remember, when it’s time to eat again,

These last words – “DON’T DIG IN!”

For sixteen bites CAN make a pound!

And keeps your “tummy” much too round.

Keep on trying – Success will make you feel great,

When YOU have learned to master YOUR weight!

Puppets

 The glories of love – the agonies of hell –

Weave them together, a story they tell

Of two in love, who know they must wait,

Like puppets, on the hand of fate.

The sweetest of music when no one is near,

The vision of loveliness so bright and clear.

The dreams that come when wide awake,

The fears that hover as dawn does break.

The thrill of a glance ‘cross a crowded room,

The loneliness that feels like the day of doom,

All brightened by the golden thread that ties

The puppets, by hope, to the stars in the skies.

For those in love are blind to each day

When, with cherished ones, they share life’s way.

J.F.K

 We thank Thee, Lord, that from our state

Should come a man to rise so great,

That on his death a nation mourned,

The whole world felt a bitter thorn.

He loved his people, everyone,

Loved his daughter and his son.

He tried to make a better world

O’re which a banner of peace unfurled,

He lived his life just for his nation,

Proved at the end his dedication.

His aims were high to outer space,

His plans included every race.

He set for us a good example.

Let us follow, true to his sample.

Keep alive the spirit of this man,

Strive to continue with his plan.

We are soon to graduate,

Start upon our “ship of state”.

May his life be to us a herald,

The memory of our John Fitzgerald.

Cowboy and Snow Horses

 ‘Twas a bright winter’s day and the wind was blowing cold

When a fine young boy with adventure in his soul

Looked to the highest of the mountains of snow –

Decided to make that his bucking bronco.


He climbed to the top – dug in for a saddle.

“Giddy-up, giddy-up!” The peak he did straddle.

He bounced and bounced and his thoughts did run wild –

As a herd of wild horses through the mind of the child.


Then, all of a sudden, as all riders know,

He made a wrong bounce and rolled off in the snow!

Now the little boy was furious indeed –

To think he had trusted that bouncing steed.


He’d shared with him an imaginary whirl,

Now he had to call for the help of a girl!

For though he tried with all of his might,

He could make no headway up the mountain of white.


“Mommie, I’m stuck, I can’t get out!’

The little boy cried and began to shout.

Now the mother was listening to his shouts of glee –

She knew immediately there was an emergency!


For the boy was fearless, he never cried.

Thank God, now he did – for she’d never have spied

That poor lost guy in his snowy nook

Without his voice to make her look.


“Don’t be afraid, my son, don’t cry.

I’ll help you out, just let me try.

I’ll get my boots and get my coat –

I’ll climb that snow like a mountain goat!”

Now the boy’s tears had stopped for a while,

When she could see his face – he’d even smile.

For mommie was here to rescue him,

To get him out of this mess he was in.


Now mom reached the top and there she found

The snow in the back was as fluffy as “down”.

The more she tried to find a grip,

There more she’d sink, the more she’d slip.


She told the boy when she reached his hand,

“Climb right up – as best you can.”

He had no trouble with a hand to hold,

Right over the top, he reached his goal.


Down on his back, he slid all the way.

With a hearty laugh, he resumed his play.

Now this should be the end of my story –

A rescue – complete – in a blaze of glory.


But alas and alack – I’m afraid it’s not so.

For now it becomes a tale of woe.

It didn’t take much effort to set my babe free,

But it took much more to liberate me.


I was in the soft snow up to my knees –

By now my hands were starting to freeze.

My fingers turned into immovable claws,

At best, I could say they were a couple of paws.


If I could put my foot where it would not sink,

I stood, for a moment, and tried to think.

I tried to lift myself with strength anew,

But all I did was lose my shoe!


I had a shovel that I could not hold –

Could not bend my fingers cold.

Look as I would – all I could see

Was a baby’s face turned up to me.


Eyes full of trust and confidence,

Yes – that was all that made good sense.

He was caught in this mess the same as me

But never once got panicky –


For he raised his eyes to the One above,

Knew he’d be helped by the hand of love.

So I followed the example of the child of three,

Thank you, Dear God, for helping me.

Now It’s No Fun

 I’m remembering those days of yesteryear

Of snow piled deep – after the sky would clear,

Of sleds and toboggans and all that gear,

‘Twas never too deep, we knew no fear.

Just happy youngsters out for a slide,

We’d even take our dog along for the ride.

But those days did pass as we older grew,

Before our fun, some chores we must do.

It was “shoveling out” in this winter land,

Walkways to open, driveways to sand.

After that, the frolicking was ever so grand.

As I said before, the years pass so fast –

I’m now in the “Golden Agers” class.

Now the snow’s still beautiful when you’re snug inside,

I wish some way from that shovel I could hide.

The snow might not fall so deep as before

But now parking’s needed for three cars or more.

Now my bones are more brittle, my muscles don’t give,

I just want to sit, to live and let live.

So please, dear Lord, when the cold winds blow,

Don’t give us such a bounty of snow.

Ice

 Though they’re like diamonds in the rough –

I confess I have had enough –

Of New England roads just glazed with ice.

It’s a pretty picture that they make –

But I’m afraid my bones will break,

And that would not be so very nice.


Now I know that ice is part

Of New England’s very heart –

It’s a part that I can live without.

I fear my feet will slip and slide

And on my fanny I will glide –

Couldn’t print the words that I might shout.


Come on, “Ole Sol”, Shine on high,

Make that ice go “Bye-Bye”

And put my feet again on dry ground.

My apologies to you snow-bunnies,

And to all other cold-blooded honeys

But I’ll feel better when spring comes ‘round.

Peace Of Mind

 Put your two feet on the ground,

Take a good look all around

And see what you can find

That will bring you peace of mind.


Just accept life’s little troubles,

Turn them into colored bubbles.

They reflect what’s good and kind

As the rainbow does sunshine.


When the dawn breaks bright and clear

And the ones you love are near,

Thank the Lord and have no fear,

For He has blessed you so, my dear.

My Dad

 I’ve grown much closer to my dad

As years go passing by.

Things that had made me wonder –

Now I understand why.

In fertile earth he planted seeds,

Veggies of every kind.

But the ones that bear the longest

Were the ones he planted in my mind.

This thing he gave to me was

His love for growing things.

I have reaped a bountiful harvest,

The fruit that his gift brings.

When I was just a youngster

I thought he didn’t care.

But the things he felt so deep inside,

He just didn’t know how to share.

Now when my grandchildren visit me,

With all their endearing charms,

I’ll just remember by-gone years,

And hold them in my arms.

For children need this tender touch

So they won’t have to wait –

Show them you really love them,

Before it gets too late.

If I had known these things before,

I would have been so glad.

He would have known that I love him,

And I’m so proud that he’s my Dad.


Squirreley-Girley

 See the little squirrel go scurrying by –

Chasing her brother up the tree so high –

Scampering along to the end of the limb –

Oh, how I do envy them!


A beauty to behold – a joy to the world –

Sitting so proudly – with her tail unfurled,

Waving like a flag for all to see –

Seems to be saying, “Come look at me!”

Captured in “Reminisce”

I was thumbing through the pages of your latest book

When I saw this picture that instantly took

Me back to the days when I was a kid,

Remembering the things that I once did.


There was a youngster sitting in a tree,

The same sloping ground that I could see,

Tall Johnson grass making waves in the wind,

Down in the hollow where the hill would end.


Sitting on that limb I spent many hours,

Dreaming sweet dreams and smelling sweet flowers,

Recovering from the hurts and disappointments of a child,

Knowing that all’s better in the warmth of God’s smile.


Though I appeared to do nothing, I was growing inside,

Storing up memories and a great sense of pride.

It was better than any of our wonderful parks,

My home was in the foothills of the beautiful Ozarks.

Reflections

I stood in awe on a mountain high,

The view around reached the sky.

My thoughts were lifted to the Lord above –

For how could this be, without His love?


I stood beside a cool, clear brook

And watched the bubbles as they took

A fallen leaf down to the sea –

God has made this – just for me.


I stood beside a forest green,

Breathed in the air so sweet and clean,

Thought of pollutants we’ve caused to be,

Please, Lord, don’t let this be ancient history.


For generations yet to come

Surely, they deserve to have some

Of Your wonders, before they’re spent,

Destroyed by us, in our environment.

Clouds

Seated one day, at rest, in the shade,

I gazed about me at the wonders God made.

Billowy clouds hung in the blue sky,

Nudged by the wind, they float gently by,

Wispy and thin, or piled high in a fluff

Surely their elegance is great enough

To make a fine throne for Our Blessed Lord

As He watches the earth where once He did trod,

While He eases the pain and cures every ill

And gently guides mankind, His heaven to fill.

God’s Little Angel

When God began to create the earth

He knew He must add a bit of mirth.

He fashioned a wee angel, with an impish smile,

Who romped in the sunshine with grace of a child.

He danced about in our atmosphere

Enhancing the beauty that God has made here.

God gave the small angel a job to do –

Mainly to watch over me and you,

To be an angel of mercy – angel of love,

Sent down to us from Heaven above.

So when you feel worried – or scared – or blue –

And not quite sure just what you should do –

Reach your hand out – let your angel lead,

He’ll take you through your time of need.

So don’t forget, when you thank God for all,

To include thanks for this beautiful angel so small.