The first three are about my great grandma and the last two are about some times in my life I hope to never revisit.
Tiny enough to
Fit in a standard shoebox
A big life ahead
A heart so big it’s
Immeasurable; kindness
Flowed through her sweet soul
Perfect soul awakes
Within a tiny body
then flies far away
Tiny infant soul
Never to be born or known
Causes great sadness
Lost within myself
A life created dies
Maternal plug pulled
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Saturday, November 1, 2008
In Memory of GGF
I like to call Her St. Teresa
Because
Everything she did
Or said
Was so “saintly”
She was married
For 60+ years
He worried her sick,
Ran wild around town
Was ornery as all get-out.
She raised children
Who
Raised more children
Who
Created a plethora of children
Which rounded out the family tree
Her smile was
Kindness and beauty
Wrapped around a soul
That forgave and
Reminded us all of
Why we should wrap our hearts around God
Took care of her husband when
It seemed he was out for the count
Until he bounced back into the ring
Visited him everyday even when
She was forgotten like a missed errand
Yet it never crossed her mind to think of
Herself
Never forgot a birthday
Or a name
Or what she stood for.
Wrote letters up until the angels
Escorted her to the place
She’d been thinking about
Since he’d left her.
And quietly, she unlocked
Each of our doors at night
And silently snuck
Into our hearts
Reminding us of her,
Where we came from,
And how it all began.
In memory of Great Grandma Florence Roudabush
By Sarah F.E.
Because
Everything she did
Or said
Was so “saintly”
She was married
For 60+ years
He worried her sick,
Ran wild around town
Was ornery as all get-out.
She raised children
Who
Raised more children
Who
Created a plethora of children
Which rounded out the family tree
Her smile was
Kindness and beauty
Wrapped around a soul
That forgave and
Reminded us all of
Why we should wrap our hearts around God
Took care of her husband when
It seemed he was out for the count
Until he bounced back into the ring
Visited him everyday even when
She was forgotten like a missed errand
Yet it never crossed her mind to think of
Herself
Never forgot a birthday
Or a name
Or what she stood for.
Wrote letters up until the angels
Escorted her to the place
She’d been thinking about
Since he’d left her.
And quietly, she unlocked
Each of our doors at night
And silently snuck
Into our hearts
Reminding us of her,
Where we came from,
And how it all began.
In memory of Great Grandma Florence Roudabush
By Sarah F.E.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Poem #1
It’s time to go to the field
so we strap in,
grab our weapon of choice.
“Look for button, milk, or pig weed!”
you calmly beller.
“Do pig weeds look like pigs?” I asked.
I squirt what I think are weeds
but
being a virgin in the bean riding world,
I hit mostly beans which bring in money
we’ll never see.
I try to shrug it off like
I know what I’m doing.
Then I miss one and think
“too bad”
until you stop and
put the John Deere in reverse
and squirt it yourself.
You throw ‘the look’ my way
my cheeks flush,
and I begin
to wonder if bean riding
will ever get any easier.
--By Sarah F.
so we strap in,
grab our weapon of choice.
“Look for button, milk, or pig weed!”
you calmly beller.
“Do pig weeds look like pigs?” I asked.
I squirt what I think are weeds
but
being a virgin in the bean riding world,
I hit mostly beans which bring in money
we’ll never see.
I try to shrug it off like
I know what I’m doing.
Then I miss one and think
“too bad”
until you stop and
put the John Deere in reverse
and squirt it yourself.
You throw ‘the look’ my way
my cheeks flush,
and I begin
to wonder if bean riding
will ever get any easier.
--By Sarah F.
FYI
I'll be posting all of my writing on this blog site instead because that way I can keep it separate.
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