Tag Archives: poetry

Attitude of Simple Humbleness

Inspire humble thoughts and majestic images.

Inspire humble thoughts and majestic images.

Thank you Ageless One.
My wrinkles, scars, and bruises,
They demonstrate your generosity,
Your gift of longevity.

Thank you Rising Son.
Not as a complaint, but a deep sigh
For the aches and pains of old muscles and bones
They are a gift of a new day.

Thank you Heavenly Father
Each wheezing breath is a prayer
For clarity of mind and heart.
They bow in reverence.

Thank you Gentle Loving Spirit
So many faults and weaknesses,
And so I feel slovenly unworthy,
But still you pour out your bountiful graces.

Within your embrace I face the daily toils,
Overcoming the challenges of bigotry
Sharing the smiles and cheerfulness
With an attitude of simple humbleness.

Originally written: July 7, 2014

I have just finished reading Ann Voskamps’s
book titled: “one thousand gifts, A Dare to
LIVE FULLY right where you are.” I was unable
to read more than page or two at a time. Her
words provoked thoughts and meditation thereby
limiting the number of pages I could read in
one sitting. The above poem is a result of
the reading.

https://www.facebook.com/AnnVoskamp

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Autumn Has Arrived

Autumn has arrived.
The brisk winds blow.

The temperature announces
Frost on the grasses.

The early morning
Crisp in newness.

My breath
Comes with clouds of white.

Yes, autumn has arrived.
I am refreshed.

Originally Written: November 14, 2003

Ahhhh! The brisk breeze kisses my cheeks and air is crisp and tastes so fresh. The leaves are changing colors from shades of green to fall colors of yellow to brilliant reds. I know that later they will turn to browns. It is autumn and I am refreshed. I hope you are too.

Scritch Scratch

Scritch Scratching Away

I sit here and scritch
Scratch my thoughts.

Of life and love,
Upon this piece of paper.

It surprises me
As much as you.

The words that flow
And appear upon the page.

Yet, I feel tranquil
As the page is filled

Filled with drivel
And drabble from my mind.

Originally written: November 12, 2003

I am surprised by what words appear on the page sometimes. At times the words hide behind a grey screen of fog called writers block. At other moments the words flow directly to the page without a thought or effort. The prose arrives complete without correction or interference. Then there are those hours and days of hard work to mold a piece into a sentence and into a stanza. Yes, I am surprised as you, the reader, how some pieces twist and turn.

Family Gatherings

Family gathers
In celebration and grief.

Time to say “Good-bye”
Remembering special moments.

Time to cherish
Each others precious memories.

Family gathers
In reluctance and prayers.

Time to joyously
Tell the family stories.

Time to laugh and chuckle
One last time remembering together.

Originally written: November 22, 2002

Written in memory of Gene Kalney. Gene was the father to my daughter-in-law. He was a very intelligent and driven man. He was loved and cherished.

Snuggle, Snuggle, Snuggle

Snuggle, snuggle, snuggle,
Rub, rub, rub,

Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Sigh, sigh, sigh.

I love you, love you, love you
Communicated through each touch.

Heard through each word.
I need you. Yes, need you.

Originally written: June 20, 2002

Once the bedroom door closes and a couple slips under the bed coverings a
different type of communication begins or on frequent occasions continues.
Yes, it can and will become intimate. There are times when it does not. The
communication is less urgent. It conveys something deeper than lust. It
conveys almost a basic emotional and personal need. Even a back scratch can
be something almost supreme pleasure. There is this quarter sized spot on
my back in an unreachable location that almost makes me want to stamp my foot
in beat with the scratches. I am sure many others have a similar spot satisfied
by a bamboo back-scratcher from China or a person of choice.

The Perfect Christmas Tree

In days long remembered
A young boy lived in a small village.

Small is wrong image.
Just 4 streets, one block long.

Surrounded by farms
Snuggled close by forests.

Days were happily fillled,
Filled with walking here to there.

Walking the forest’s pathways
Listening to the birds singing.

Leaning against the trees and rocks
Listening to the breezes in the leaves.

Enjoying the colors and shapes
Of the trees, bushes, and streams.

The perfect person to find
The special Christmas tree.

A memory of journeys past
Trees along the path.

That perfect tree comes to mind
The path known and followed.

Snowshoes strapped on.
Shush-shush out to the tree,

Zaw-zaw, the saw cuts through
The perfect tree is taken.

Pulled down the path
To home to be our tree.

Shush-shush,
Tug and tug again.

It is the perfect tree
Everyone agrees.

Oh no, our friend has none.
Unanimously, give him ours.

A wonderful Christmas gift
A perfect tree to decorate.

We need a new tree
And tonight is Christmas eve.

There is no more time
For a long walk to the next tree.

Rush-rush, pick one quick
Zaw-zaw cut it down

Tug it home
Tugging quickly.

Oh so scraggly,
Up goes the ugly little tree.

Put the lights on quick
A ornament here and there.

Put the tinsel on top to bottom
Wrap the garland round and round.

A miracle is taking place
The transformation complete.

From the scraggly little tree
To our perfect Christmas tree.

It was a replacement no more
It was our perfect tree.

Originally written: December 6, 2011

Once upon a time, I did pick out a Christmas tree. A beautiful fir tree
shaped by nature. It was straight to the sky with full branches, a conical
form. Proud of the tree even to beat my chest a little. It felt so good to
have looked all year for that tree and now it was our tree.

A neighbor had been laid off and was not able to go out in the woods to cut
a tree nor purchase one from the Boy Scouts. Dad took our tree to them
about 4 pm on Christmas eve. So I went back out and cut another tree. I
was ten years old. It was the first Christmas I got to go pick our tree.

The scraggly tree was transformed by our holiday spirit. A holiday season
remembered and cherished by our family and our friends.

Truths Dreams and Hopes

Our truths
Define our personal reality.

We must be on guard
Against our own fanaticisms,

It is an intolerance
For other’s reality.

It is the lack of respect
For other’s realities.

That we create
The destructive forces.

That can overwhelm us
And will rebound against us.

Our truths
Limit our realities, our lives.

Our truths may
Define our reality.

Our dreams may
Define our future.

Dreams provide us hopes
Even in the most dismal circumstances.

Our hopes
Define our needs.

Hopes provide us the ability
To overcome catastrophes.

Without our dreams and hopes
We are overwhelmed by life’s dramas.

We need our dreams and hopes
To be happy, to be sad.

We need our truths
To experience life to the fullest.

Originally written: June 20, 2002