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ANNOUNCING!!
2TheHeart's FIRST Annual
Summertime Poetry Contest Finalists!
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Poetry is simply the most beautiful,
impressive and widely effective mode of saying things,
and enhances their importance.
--George Arnold
 |
FIRST PLACE: "Heavenly Reunion"
by Lori Vannette mealz@decaturnet.com
She stands at the gate in all her glory,
Waiting for her firstborn son.
The angels are bringing him home to heaven;
His journey on earth at last is done.
She carefully looks at each new arrival,
Hoping to see his familiar face.
She "feels" his presence as he's ushered forward;
They greet each other with an embrace.
"It's been too long, Son, since I've seen you--
With our health failing in the final years;
But here in heaven it's just as promised--
There's no illness, sorrow, pain or tears."
"I have only been here for a moment.
Or maybe it just seems that way.
It's hard to tell when you live in heaven,
Where a thousand years seems like a day."
"Let me show you around this beautiful city!"
He looks at her and gives a nod.
"There's lots to do while we wait for the others.
But first of all, let's go see God."
They walk hand in hand down the golden sidewalk,
That mother and her firstborn son.
And together they'll welcome each one of us,
When our journey on earth at last is done.
*In loving memory of Ala Long, whose journey ended June 19,1998 and Alvin Long (my Dad), who joined her on January 16, 1999.
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SECOND PLACE: "Saved By A Gibson"
by Patricia A. Kellemeyer PKellemeye@aol.com
Atop the trash lay the old guitar
its finish battered and scarred.
Its once-taut strings sagged lifelessly down,
clearly a useless discard.
A lump of humanity fetally-curled,
lay in a heap nearby,
leached of any promise from life,
save eventually all men die.
A scavenging rat, searching for food,
caused a can to tumble down.
The man looked up out of red-rimmed eyes,
startled awake by the sound.
His eyes focused in on the old guitar,
and his faltering steps led him near.
With trembling hands he reached for it,
and held it as treasured and dear.
Like him, the guitar had been cast aside
as worthless, no longer of use.
But surely someone had once treasured it,
before it had seen such abuse.
With gnarled hands he tightened the strings,
attempting to bring them to tone.
His scar-thickened fingers settled in place
in a style uniquely his own.
A forgotten song began to emerge
as he sat with tears streaming down.
A guitar virtuoso, ill-treated by life,
now filled with fervour, new found.
The guitar itself seemed to come to life,
when played by the master hand.
Two things had been saved from the trash heap of life, the guitar and the broken old man!
|  |
Artwork by Kathe Campbell
THIRD PLACE: "Miracle"
By Deb Simmons dsimmons@remc8.k12.mi.us
At the end of a long and painful week, when Life had gone astray,
And the twin sins, Spite and Anger, had visited each day...
As my dreams left me abandoned--all alone and in dismay...
I sank, dejected, to my knees--and to the Lord I prayed.
"I could really use a miracle, to fix the things that broke,
To mend the battered friendships, to restore my shattered hopes,
To heal my wounded ego--to patch my broken heart...
It may not happen all at once--but a miracle's a start."
"I could use a chance to redeem myself--to show I really care,
And take the time to prove my worth to loved ones everywhere,
I'd appreciate a little time to try to make amends,
If things I've said or done this week have hurt my dearest friends.
"I'd like to sit and ponder on my blessings, large and small...
And thank you, Lord, for my great wealth (and for loving me at all)...
I promise I'd appreciate the ones I hold most dear...
If you could grant me one more chance, then I could persevere."
The Lord took pity on me...and in response to my appeal...
Said, "I know you want a miracle--instead, let's strike a deal.
I'll send a glistening sunrise--each and every day,
I'll grant you hours--twenty-four--to spend in work or play.
"Use the clouds to wipe your slate clean--of hurt and spite and pain,
Rinse the anger from your memories--with the mist and falling rain.
Wash your hands of hate and insult--with the sparkling morning dew,
Use the brand new day I give you--and start your life anew."
"Each new dawn brings possibilities--endless in their range...
For forgiveness, love and caring--and for honest, heartfelt change.
Use the means that I provide you--they'll help to guide you through...
I'll furnish all the tools you need--but the miracle's up to you."
Copyright 1995
FOURTH PLACE: "Amos"
We all (save Grandpa) said he was sharp
as a pebble at the bottom of a stream.
He had a reddish-orange mane, a crust-toned beard,
and an old-fashioned name.
Life on the dairy
gained a rugged wrinkle
after Amos came.
Amos moved ponderously,
like a tree-chunk
bumped forward
by the tide.
Still, he worked late,
sleeping on the battered barn couch
even when it was cold outside.
Not one for backtalk or excuses,
Amos rarely opened his mouth,
spoke less, and was never known
to disobey.
Milking cows for us at night
let Amos share his smile
during the day.
Amos wouldn't lift
a cattle prod,
as seldom
raised his voice.
He saw no point
in rushing
when he could quietly rejoice.
Afternoons, Amos skimmed cream
from the weighted
milkcan near
the rust-ringed sink.
Filling three chipped saucers
for cats and kittens,
Amos helped the puniest drink.
His bushy hair and peculiar ways
made us feel
like we were working
with a smelly clown.
Though the parlor shower was his to use
(and he did), Amos was too proud to borrow soap,
too forgetful to buy it when he drifted into town.
Amos invested free mornings
walking to nearby La Luz,
yielding joy for Amos; a twinkle for Grandpa;
for the rest of our brood, mirth mixed with shame.
We never could tell when he would return,
could only guess what strays
or junky treasures he would claim.
Persuing possibilities,
Amos would casually lose his bearings,
wandering obscure dirt roads
or leaping ditches.
He considered injuries incurred
fair payment for
relishing riches.
Proudly plodding home
with greasy springs,
oversized nails,
and canning lids,
he loved lavishing the whole
upon me
and other farm kids.
Amos repeated
his solitary trek
every morning,
every day.
Foolish Amos walked
pretty steady
just to give his wealth away.
We once rattled past Amos
in our cattle truck,
worn weary
from loading chalky lime.
Arms stretched full of discoveries,
he was limping a bit, grinning,
and covered with grime.
"Amos was lost!" I giggled to Grandpa,
who first silent, finally obliged:
"So were the wise men,
but only for a time."
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Runners Up:
"Our Love is Like A Rose Garden"
Still snuggled in your bed,
As from my room I creep.
Knowing not I venture forth,
You think I'm sound asleep.
Early in the morning light,
Spring's day begins anew.
As I walk into the rose garden,
It makes me think of you.
To me each rose is a delight,
A love gift just from you.
Here's a yellow rose so bright,
Another a somber hue.
You planted each to please me,
And you tend them all with care.
Upon your face its joy I see,
Each bloom you love to share.
The roses remind me of my marriage,
I've lived in a garden fine.
And it's been all of fifty years,
Oh, my life has been divine.
God blessed us with a family,
Our children bring us love.
Grandchildren are our bonus,
Each a gift from Him above.
We've shared so many happy years,
And had some sad times too.
All through our happiness and tears,
I've stayed in love with you.
'Twas September 1950 dear,
When wedded we'd become.
I treasure each and every year,
And plan for more to come.
I try to count the many ways,
You make my life complete.
But that would take too many days.
You're love just can't be beat.
You like share your laughter,
And your special loving way.
You show me kindness always,
And this is what I pray
May you know my dearest one,
I love you more and pray,
We'll share the roses now,
And share "Forever and a Day".
To my Willie, with all my love
on our 50th Wedding Anniversary,
Pat
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Greg"
by Rhonda Lunsford rlunsford@webzone.net (for my brother Greg)
The clouds were immense that black freezing day.
Like the warmth from his body, they scudded away.
By the graveside we mixed our shivers and tears
With a curse and then thanks for Greg's twenty years.
As well wishers gathered to bring food and chat,
The holes in our hearts were apparent . . . but that
Wasn?t what seemed aberrant since we acted tough
And tried to ignore the piles of Greg's stuff.
On one shelf was stacked some favorite books.
Everyone munched while averting their looks.
But the break in my heart, the biggest black hole,
Didn't want to remember his toys . . . just his soul.
That hole never healed and the hurt burns much brighter
When I see kids like him, the chasm gets wider.
But the way that he lived and the way that he died,
has taught me a lesson that can't be denied.
He wasn't rocked until he fell asleep.
Dear God in heaven, he was over six feet.
Though his mind was just three in a body of twenty,
His heart was much bigger than I've known in many.
Each Christmas morning, we'd open our gifts,
Then right after breakfast emotions would shift.
We'd all get dressed up and go out in the cold,
To visit my brother who was young, yet quite old.
While he choked on saliva, we acted so gay
Praying each moment that he'd pass away.
Hating ourselves for those secret thoughts,
Yet wishing that Greg's final battle was fought.
Like Jesus, Greg suffered not blaming another.
While disease stripped his body, death came for my brother.
I was always reminded as I watched him get worse
Today could be your last, so make it your first.
The Spring day was cold on the day that he died,
And my broken heart felt like the North Pole inside.
Whether you know it for one year or twenty,
The death of a loved one just leaves your soul empty.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"The Gifts"
by Deb Simmons dsimmons@remc8.k12.mi.us
As you unwrap gifts bestowed to you by loved ones, young and old,
As you hum familiar carols with the Christmas lights aglow,
As you read the cards sent near and far by those you long to see,
Be sure to note those gifts you'll never find beneath your tree.
Remember sultry August days with children at the lake,
Or the strains of "Happy Birthday" around a blazing birthday cake?
Did you note the sounds of summer, did you sniff the scents of spring,
Have you glimpsed the hues of red and gold that only autumn brings?
Have you held a squirming kitten, heard a newborn baby sigh,
Or beheld the twinkling summer stars beneath the velvet sky?
Have you stood your ground in a summer breeze, or tasted sweet, fresh rain...
Have your days been filled with blessings--and devoid of hurt or pain?
Are there friends who bring you laughter, are there loved ones in your life,
Have they brought you peace and comfort when your days were filled with strife?
Can you count on those around you when your fortitude is low,
Is there comfort in the knowledge that we reap the good we sow?
If you can claim possession of just one or two of these,
Then you're rich beyond the cost of any goods you could receive.
Take stock of all your treasures, lock your riches safe inside,
Count your blessings, share your feelings, put your differences aside.
For beyond the lights and tinsel--and beyond the Christmas cheer,
Lies a year of love and laughter with the ones you hold most dear...
Though the holidays are fleeting and the revelry will pass,
Your memories are precious gifts that nothing can outlast.
Copyright 1997
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"The Single Shoe"
I find a single shoe
by the side of the road.
A men's white tennis
shoe, almost new. Now, I
could understand finding
one earring, or one glove,
or even a child's shoe
tossed out, in anger or
for fun, of a parent's
passing automobile.
But this shoe puzzles me.
Who, after all, could lose
one shoe? A drunk, perhaps;
or maybe I've blundered
onto the scene of a
crime. I search the area
and find not a single
corpse with only one shoe.
I pick up the shoe and
take it to a nearby
Goodwill donation box.
I place it inside with
this note: "Lonely white male
shoe, divorced, no socks, loves
to dance and hike, jogging,
enjoys long walks in the
rain and cuddling in front
of a warm fireplace; self-
supporting. Seeks sole mate."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"The Final Awakening"
Don't think of me as gone away, my journey has just begun. Life holds so many precious gifts, the earth was only one.
Just think of me as resting, from the sorrows and the fears, in a place of warmth and comfort, where there are no days, no months, no years.
Think of me as living in the hearts of those I touched, for when you touch the hearts of those you love, that part is never lost.
God's hand touched me and I slept.
Death is not the last sleep, but, The Final Awakening
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"True Worth"
Every one of God's small creatures has a purpose here on Earth,
Though there are times when He alone can measure our true worth.
Our mission may be grandiose; our mission may be small...
But despite the work God plans for us, we're equals--one and all.
Even mighty heads of government are mortal, after all,
And despite their earthly titles--someday, they too will fall...
And stand beside the poor man, the mother, or the child,
To face their fate in Heaven, when God's books are reconciled.
So plan your life accordingly, and see that it's well-spent,
And listen with your heart to hear the message God has sent.
Our work may not bring glory; our deeds may not bring fame,
But it's work that God's assigned us -- to accomplish in His name.
So...help a child who needs your guidance when others' backs are turned,
Be a friend to those around you--whom others may have spurned.
Help a mother and her family face the problems they've been dealt...
Be there for all who need you....(but help a man to help himself).
For the smallest man among us is a giant in some way,
And the youngest child may stumble, but will find his way someday,
And it's true the world is richer for their presence here on Earth...
But we must take the time to love them--and to measure their true worth.
So when pondering life's purpose, or regretting your steep path,
Take a moment for reflection--look to your heart to ask,
If your days should end tomorrow, would those around you care?
Have you done what God has asked you--do you really feel prepared...
To stand beside the poor man, the mother, or the child,
And face your fate in Heaven--when God's books are reconciled?
Copyright 1994
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Honorable Mention Finalists
"Unexpected Blessings"
by Michelle Kiger jmkiger@tds.net
Life brings uncertainty
and disappointments untold...
Ones you are not expecting
causing your world to unfold....
But God is always with us
when the times are hard....
His heart breaks for us
when our dreams seem marred....
He gently turns the rough times
into blessings so rich...
But you must look inside yourself
to see them if you wish...
Look for the rainbow in the rain
the sun behind a cloud...
And you will see that true peace
can and will be found...
For in the darkest times
God will always send...
Unexpected blessings and
love without end!
"The Human Spirit"
OH BRIGHTEST OF THE BRIGHTEST STARS
YOU SHINE OUT GREATLY IN THE DARKEST NIGHTS
AND ALL AROUND THE DARKNESS FALLS
YET YOU DO NOT, YOU STAND AND FIGHT
TIME AND AGAIN, WAVE AFTER WAVE
THE DARKNESS ASSAULTS YOUR SOUL
THREATENING TO SMASH TO A THOUSAND PIECES
AND YET YOU STILL STAND TALL AND WHOLE
RELENTLESSLY THE SCORCHING FIRE RAINS DOWN
AND YOU ARE BATTERED FROM EVERY SIDE
WEAKER NOW, TO YOUR KNEE'S YOU FALL
DESPERATELY SEEKING FOR A PLACE TO HIDE
FOR ONE WHO ONCE STOOD TALL AND STRONG
NOW FORSAKEN AND LOST AND NO MORE FIGHT
A MIRACLE OCCURS, AND THE SUN IT SHINES
NOT IN THE DAY, BUT IN THE DARKEST NIGHT
AND THE BRIGHTEST STAR HAS LOST ITS SHINE
CONSUMED BY AN INFERNO OF LOVE
NO LONGER TO STAND ALONE AT NIGHT
NOW IS ONE, IN THE ONE FROM ABOVE
"Recompense"
I came into this world with nothing,
So nothing did I owe,
Except for life that God had given,
So into this life I had to grow.
When I was young,
With little sense,
I found that what I owed in life,
Would be compensated by recompense.
When I matured to adult hood,
There were debts that I had acquired,
But only for materialistic things,
So for this to God, recompense was not required.
So now that my life is fading fast,
And for all my sins, I now must pay,
To my Lord and Creator,
Recompense will be required this day.
The hourglass is running low,
Each grain of sand, a day I spent,
Some were diamonds in the rough,
And some were those I must repent.
Each grain fell through the neck of the hourglass,
And came to rest in it's place,
But all lie in the bottom of the hourglass,
As my days now, all rest in it's base.
I pray Oh Lord You will forgive,
And forgiveness is all I seek,
So take my hand, Oh Lord I pray,
Before Your Throne, I lay humble and so meek.
Our Lord looked down and said "My boy,
Your time has come, your coming home,
I gave you life but now it's over,
So no more on earth, you need not roam.
Your trials are over, your tasks are done,
A place is prepared beside your lovely one,
So don't look back, that's not for you,
For as I promised 'everlasting life' is really true.
AND TRUTH WILL SET YOU FREE,
FOR MY SON GAVE RECOMPENSE,
FOR YOU TO BE WITH ME."
by LMWillson
"Creations"
By Deborah Dee Simmons dsimmons@remc8.k12.mi.us
God issued to his angels a challenge most divine....
"Find ways to please My children--ease the suffering of Mankind..."
So they sought to bring us to our knees in grateful, reverent praise,
And give us cause to celebrate the Lord's most wondrous ways.
Taking wing, they fluttered down to earth from Heaven's halls above...
To scatter God's sweet blessings--a sign of His great love.
They brought the warm, sweet rain to Earth, and the sun's most brilliant light,
Then filled the satin sky with stars--and gave us velvet nights.
They planted fragrant roses, and countless leafy trees,
They danced upon the waters, and kissed the whispering breeze,
They brushed the skies with painted hues of colors bright and bold,
In rainbows arc'd o'er fertile fields, with grain--both green and gold.
Then followed dancing moonbeams--upon the glistening snow...
Crashing surf and sandy beaches, mountain ranges, valleys low,
Northern lights and molten lava, autumn's colors, springtime's breeze...
Jagged lightning, rolling thunder, summer storms and winter's freeze.
They filled the Earth with treasures rich--all there for Man to reap...
They streaked the hills with veins of gold and planted diamonds deep,
And to spread the wonders of His deeds--His name to glorify...
Shooting stars and fiery comets streaked across the nighttime sky.
Though Man was pleased with all he saw, his heart was barren still,
His soul bereft of comfort--no inner peace, until...
The angels cried out to their Lord, "We've failed--he suffers yet!"
And God just smiled and promised--"Man's needs will soon be met."
So, softly as a whispered prayer--from His Heavenly home above,
God sent us health and strength and joy--and a mate's most tender love.
But what finally brought Man to his knees, and made his life worthwhile,
Was that look of trust in the innocent eyes--of his precious newborn child.
Copyright 1995
"Granddaughter"
She is
Golden sunshine,
Soft waves
Kissing the shore,
Gentle breezes
Skipping in a door
Heard in a robin's
Pure, sweet song
And silver drops
Of summer rain,
As whispers of
Evening's twilight wane
Find her in
A green meadow;s
Sparkle after a shower
In butterfly wings
Amongst all God's
Truly wondrous things
"Parchment Roses"
At my wedding dinner
My mother's face was delicate,
Brushed with shadows and light,
Sensitive, soft with comfortable lines--
Hints of fine face weaving, beautiful
As a parchment rose under moonlight.
I thought of pink Rose of Sharon floating
In my friend's round bowl, a tribute to my gift
Of the multifoliate bush, double blooms clustering
The living branches, swaying in the summer breezes,
Tiny off-shoots down below spreading and growing
Until the clustering wrinkled roses grew like weeds,
Lush and prolific, their blooms rioting like revolution.
I remembered the Hollyhocks down the back alley
Of the country town where love and service
Found fruition among the simple folk of the village,
Gossiping over fences about favorite bits of news,
Children, dogs, husbands, and cats dotting the backyards
While the ladies leaned over fences thick with tall blooms,
Nodding agreement about cozy affirmations of life.
Like cobwebs over a quiet pond
Like grain in finely cultured wood
Or radiating creases in soft leather
The fine lines, networks of love,
Etched the faces of those I cherish--
Softer than water bleached, sun cracked
Surfaces of sandy mesas or dry creek beds,
Sweeter than Clematis or Hibiscus,
More relaxing than scent of clustered Poppies,
The lines of living cured by time,
Released the days, fulfilled the miracle--
Parchment roses reminding me that aging
Celebrates the consummation of taste,
Beauty in the gentle reminders of a life well-lived.
© 2000
"Carman's Poem"
Alone we sit
you and I
with the dark enveloping us,
swaddling us together
in a secret world no one can enter.
Let nothing break this quiet.
I want to hold this time
forever in detail.
Your tiny body nestled in my arms.
The exquisite perfection of your face
as you lie in repose.
So peaceful. So safe. So ultimately trusting
of me to take care of you.
This moment is just a breath in time.
The cocoon will unravel and
you will emerge
ready to fly away from me.
As you should.
But for this moment,
there is just the two of us.
And a darkness pregnant with love.
Copyright Spring 1990
Children splashing
in ankle deep pools
Playing baseball
with paperplate bases
Catching lightning bugs
in baby food jars
Ice cream covered faces.
A handful of flowers
picked by a child
Looking for treasures
on an afternoon walk
Barely-clad children
jumping through sprinklers
Two neighbors outside for a talk.
No shoes on the children
as they play in the yard
Swatting at mosquitoes
as the day becomes dark
A game of kickball
enjoyed by all
A picnic for two in the park.
Lying on blankets
looking at clouds.
Perfectly formed
in the sky
These are the sights
I will see this summer
As each glorious day passes by.
"At the End of the Day"
by Janice Leibowitz janice@learn.co.za
I'm not always able to muster that patience I need
To chase my precious children with the required speed
They race around with such delight
Jumping on the furniture with all their might
Should they stay outside or come inside?
Well, just leave the door open and let them decide.
"What's for dinner mommy?" "Can we help too?"
So I delegate some chores for little hands to do.
I know that in the end, there'll be extra work for me
But the pride they feel in helping means so much more, you see.
For at the end of the day, when I kiss them goodnight
And they ask for extra hugs before I turn out the light,
My heart gives a smile at their last words of the day:
"I love you mommy", they softly say.
"Toilers And Warriors"
In the undertow of barrio,
toilers and warriors
slouch down to earn their pay.
Sweat drips from down brow.
Callous grow the hands whose
fingers caress a young woman.
She scrubs linoleum
on wet knees. Chapped knuckles
wipe dry on damp apron then reach
for her child. A young boy
with such soft palms stretches
out to touch his mother's face,
to find the thin place,
hearing her heart hum.
His father lurks
in the shape of his hands.
"When the Time Comes"
Will you lay your hand
on my bony old shoulder
and remind me
to keep my voice down?
Help button my big ugly sweater?
Open this stupid can of soup?
Will you walk with me
to the car, drive me
to the store, help me
shop, carry the bags,
put it away
with labels facing out
the way I like it?
Install a handle in the shower?
Pay the young man
down the street
to mow our lawn,
shovel snow,
take garbage to the dump?
Will you sit with me in bed
clicking, clicking that damned remote,
holding my forever hand,
reading my precious poetry to me,
for me 'til you thirst?
Will you be able
to keep your half-hearted promise
to please, oh please, not sleep before me?
"Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star"
by Patricia A. Kellemeyer PKellemeye@aol.com
Nights when I have difficulty sleeping,
and they are too numerous to mention,
I sit lost in a pool of memories.
I might wander the house,
flip through the pages of a book,
browse through an old photo album,
trying to feel your presence.
But I think the closest I come to you
is when I go outside and gaze heaven-ward.
The sky resembles a black quilt,
with holes punched here and there
for the light to shine through
in the form of twinkling stars.
It is cold and wisps of my breath
drift upward towards the sky,
like smoke rising from the chimneys
of our neighbors.
Rising with a hunger to hold you again,
see you again, talk with you again.
I can't help but feel
that one of those twinkling stars is you.
Are you there, son?
(c) 1-8-98
"The Sermon"
by Patricia A. Kellemeyer PKellemeye@aol.com
He carried an old coffee can
wherever he went. And I often
saw him stop and pick up pieces
of broken glass, or a nail, or a
rusty can lid.
I watched him for quite a while
and thought at first he was collecting
junk to sell for whatever few coins
it would garner. But nothing that he
picked up seemed to have any value.
Then it came to me that what he
was collecting were things that
might injure the small bare feet
of a young girl or boy, or puncture
the tire on someone's car, a luxury
he has never enjoyed.
In his humble way, he was clearing a
safe pathway for his fellowman. His
simple act taught me more of faith and love
than any sermon I have ever heard.
© 8-11-98
"Treasures"
My son
brings me
handfuls
of flowers and weeds
to be placed
in a drinking glass
and set on the kitchen table
until they've withered.
My son
brings me
a fistful
of shiny rocks
to be displayed
on the fireplace mantle
until they gather dust.
My son
brings me
his stocking cap
clutched to his chest
and says,
"I brought you something, mommy."
I stare
into the emptiness
of his cap and he says,
"I caught some wind for you."
The flowers have withered.
The rocks have been discarded.
The wind has escaped.
Now,
trophies line the fireplace mantle
and framed certificates and blue ribbons
hang on the walls.
"The Red Flower"
It's the whirl of a gentle breeze
A sweet, powdery smell in the air
A ray of heaven so golden and sweet
That told me you were there
Where once was a weed
Now stood a bright red flower
I know I didn't plant it at your grave
It came from a higher power
I know this was your gift to me
A promise I had made to you
When you died at the age of three
Our red flower so real and true
Your many ways of letting me see
That you my son are still part of me
These are the gifts I hold so dear
It's all I have left; you're no longer here
Your red flower is our gift to each other
Your way of showing me I am still your mother
You have a sister now who often speaks of you
Do you leave her your red flower too?
Copyright 2000
"That Day"
Unannounced...
Death came
We know you weren't ready to go,
But in the darkness of night
it grabbed you, and it stole you away.
So many people loved you,
But you left us anyway.
I know it wasn't your plan to go,
You didn't know.
That day that we had lunch,
That was our last time together.
We didn't know,
And so we all laughed and joked
That day.
Living and loving our lives,
And each other.
Only to be awakened the next day
To learn that you were gone.
And we were angry with you,
Because you left us.
And we didn't get to tell you
how much you really meant to us...
The Lunch Bunch:
Helen, Bobby & Jill
We miss you!
We love you!
In Loving Memory of Robert. C. Harper
Forever Loved and Never to Be Forgotten
December 24, 1961-April 1, 2000
This poem deals with what happens to a child who is burned over most
of the body. Normally, if the child lives, the body will grow, but the
scar tissue won't. This means that the scar will cover less and less of
the child's body until when the child is grown, he/she will only bear
a seemingly insignificant scar over his/her abdomen.
"The Scar"
Be not dismayed
O tender child
as you must bear so great a scar
laid hard by trial's encompassing flames
to mar your weary, wounded soul.
Be not distressed
as the innocent beauty God shaped you to treasure
seems as though stolen away
by an angry dragon of hottest despair.
For, child
even amid this anguish
your heart will grow
your spirit will strengthen
while such sorest sorrow may not make pursuit
and as you take grander size and form
that which once cruelly embraced
will hover as but a tiny remnant
a mere echo of agony
that ever reminds of Heaven's swift healing.
Oh, reach for dear victory
for wholeness unhindered
and all that Love's mighty renewal shall shape
that even on earth as such stain may not shrink
it shall yet rest unseen upon conqueror tall.
"Angel Sarah"
by Miriam Campo Miry316@aol.com
You came to this world
and showed us your strength, your love and your worth.
You gave us the gift of giving
without asking for anything in return.
You will always be remembered as Baby Sarah to me.
You have touched my heart and soul
with your determination and strength
to fulfill your purpose regardless of your pain.
Today as you become an Angel
And tears are shed for you
know that you will be missed Angel Sarah
And forever remembered in peace.
Copyright May 21, 2000
Dedicated to Sarah Wood
February 14, 2000 - May 21, 2000
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