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Archive for February, 2009

    GOD’S MASTERPIECE              rosebud-toni-elaine

               (Toni)

 

Heaven’s gate must have opened

And a cherub slipped through

I know, because I’ve seen you

And hugged and kissed you, too

 

You’re quite a little treasure

Perfect in every way

A rosebud from God’s Garden

A flower in my bouquet

 

You’ve cast your spell upon me

And I don’t mind at all

In fact I rather like it

Being charmed by one so small

 

And what a perfect word to give

To someone just like you

GRANDchild fits you perfectly

I promise you, it”s true

 

God formed your pretty little mouth

And made it mighty sweet

Then He worked to perfection

On your wee hands and feet

 

Next, He formed your tiny nose

And eyes, (the bluest blue)

He fashioned perfect little ears

And silken hair, too

 

He kissed your cheeks to make them pink

And dimpled both your knees

And then He sent you on your way

Knowing you would please

 

You’re a marvelous little Angel

Although there’s not one wing

And I’ve fallen in love with you

My precious little thing

 

 3/10/66         Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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WE COULD NOT HARMONIZE

 

Our song started beautifully

And was lovely for a time

Then, discordant notes changed the tune

And the words no longer rhyme

 

The melody had been lovely

The words were sweet and dear

That wonderful orchestration

Was the only thing we’d hear

 

The song was meant forever

But this was not to be

Because the notes that came from you

Fused not the ones from me

 

And so our song has ended

Though we tried to rhapsodize

We just could not attune ourselves

We could not harmonize

 

7/16/73     Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

 

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    UNCLE JEB’S LEG

 

When Uncle Jeb was in his prime

And chose to settle down,

He found a piece of land up north,            

Several miles from town.                                    

                                

He’d say it was “the good old days” –

A nearly perfect life,

For he was busy every day

On a homestead for his wife.

 

Across the lake were lodge-pole pines,

Just perfect for his needs.

He rowed across to cut some down,

Then trudged through waist-high weeds.                                             

                                               

He cut down three, to float across,

Not so with number four,

It knocked him down and trapped his leg

There on the forest floor.

 

Since Jeb was trapped and injured

At waning of the day,

His Collie, Shag, stayed by his side,

To chase the wolves away.

 

But night’s dark curtain, beckoned..

The wolves would soon come back.

Though Shag would fight his best for him,

He couldn’t lick a pack.

 

Jeb unsheathed his skinner knife

To set himself free, …

Cutting through the mashed bone

Just below the knee.

 

He crawled and slithered to the boat,

And rowed himself back home,

Then rode a horse ten miles to town,

Down trails he used to roam.

 

That’s Uncle Jeb’s  story

About how he lost his limb..

I believed it when a child – but,

Could it be a tale GRIMM?

 

8/28/05      Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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This is a Spoon River, Dramatic Monologue.  I hope you will enjoy it.

 

RED FEATHER

 

What have they done!

Me, who loathed pretense,

lying here in pink lace.

A beaded-doeskin girl.

yet, here I lie

with satin ribbons

cascading across my breast.

I would rather be laid to rest

in my underwear.

Curls! Why did they

cut off my trademark

braids!  My long black hair

was my pride – – braided

and fastened at the ends

with beaded twine.

Foolish little pearls replace

the twisted-leather thong

earrings, made by my friend

of the Cherokee nation.

They have even removed

the braided-hair bracelet

that I had sworn to wear

to my grave

 

“Doesn’t she look pretty?”

That’s what they said,

as they gazed at the paradox

carefully laid out

in the satin lined box.

I wanted to shout,

“My adopted name may be

etched in stone, but I am still

Red Feather.”

 

I lie here, six feet of earth

separating me from reality.

Dressed as a debutante, and

my treasured tokens discarded

as if of no importance.

Stripped forever

of my tribal identity.

I am Red Feather

 

9/6/95     Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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My ‘promise’ ring

     TOKENS FROM THE PAST

 

Inside a box that’s tied with string,

           My promise ring.

Two locks of hair,

One dark, one fair.

The blueprint for the house we chose.

A faded rose.

Love beads of blue.

Our photos, too.

Old letters stained with tears I cried,

When our love died.

Mementoes, these.

Sad memories.

 

1/21/90             Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

 

Judge=s Special Mention … PAW (in Pa) 1991

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     SENSING BEAUTY

 

As morning shows her golden face

After late evening showers

I watch the busy hummingbirds

Dining on my flowers

 

Squirrels are eating sunflower seeds

I scattered on the lawn

But take time out to play a bit

Then, up a tree and gone

 

Two lively sibling rabbits

Enjoy a game of chase

The squirrels are back, and two join in

Challenging a race

 

Chipmunks share the scattered seed

And hurry underground

Then come right back for more of same

And pouch each seed that’s found

  

The birds are singing melodies

Led by a mockingbird

His concert is magnificent

A treat that must be heard

 

Leafy trees cast patterned lace

That filigrees my lawn

They offer birds construction sites

Until the season’s gone

 

Flowering bushes here and there

Join fragrant garden blooms

And kiss the air with heady scents

As nature’s own perfume

 

I’m blessed to sense such beauty

And such tranquility

I can’t think of another place

That I would rather be

 

5/27/96     Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

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THE BEST PART OF THE WEEK

 

 

When memory takes me to the past

Sundays come to mind,

To countless chicken dinners

And rapport, as we dined.

 

Our table seated nine, back then,

With friends, ten or more.

We never knew how many guests

Would enter through our door.

The huge oak table beckoned us,

We each pulled up a chair,

Everyone bowed his head in thanks

And someone led in prayer.

 

The youngest sat on catalogs

To reach her cake-tin plate.

Two siblings shared an old wood bench,

One used an apple crate.

Blue oilcloth graced our table top

The plates were mixed designs,

Jelly jars served as crystal then,

The flatware had bent tines.

 

There was lots of smiles and chatter,

Not one unpleasant word,

With some good-natured chiding done

And stories to be heard.

Then after dinner was over,

Dad played his violin,

While we sang songs and danced a bit,

Everyone joining in.

 

The old house rang with laughter

And music filled the air.

The women discussed recipes

And kids ran everywhere.

Those times left vivid memories,

And if the past could speak

It would claim those Sundays as

The best part of the week.

 

9/13/90      Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

 

3’rd … Indiana NPD 1990

 

This poem is based on my childhood.  There were three adults and six children in the house and Sunday company made for a crowded dinner table.  But, mom always had room for everyone. 

 

We called those cake pan plates, sideboards, and dad said they let you fill your plate full.  Times were tough back then too, but we were happy with jelly jars for glasses.  We didn’t know want because we had all the love we needed.

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