Posts Tagged ‘Book’


Up in branches of a huge oak tree,
Way up high where you can’t see,
Is a crude tree-house of slats and rope,
Held in place by nails and hope.

It’s way up there that I am King,
So I’m in charge of everything.
With flask of milk tucked by my side,
And a book to read, opened wide.

Sometimes I’m there to dream my dreams,
That I am fishing little streams,
But I let them all get away,
To be my catch another day.

I’m also Captain of a ship.
On windy days it’s prone to tip.
But never fear, it will not sink,
For everything’s just what I think.

Mom always knows just what I need,
And packs my lunch, as her good deed.
Some sandwiches and something sweet,
Along with scraps for birds to eat.

My books bring magic way up there,
So I can visit anywhere …
On trains, and boats, and airplanes, too,
I see the world – I tell you true.

I even take short naps when there,
But that is really very rare,
Because there’s much that I must do,
Ruling my Kingdom, ship, and crew.

7/25/05 Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

For David (for his 63’rd birthday)

Read Full Post »



Today is my sixteenth birthday

He gave me this book and a rose

Then he blushed and gave me a hug

And he kissed the tip of my nose


Today I’m eighteen, a woman

I wondered if he would propose

Then he gave me a diamond ring

He’d placed on the stem of a rose


Today is the day I’ll marry

And he didn’t forget a rose

It is in my wedding bouquet

With the yellow ribbons and bows


Today I gave birth to a son

And he’s perfect from head to toes

He pinned to the baby’s blanket

The most beautiful fragrant rose


This is my eightieth birthday           

As always, he gave me a rose

But I doubt there’ll be another

For I feel my life’s near a close


               ~ ~ ~


She’d be eighty-one today, he wrote

She left me in April, last year

I planted a bush by her headstone

So she’ll always have roses near


9/10/90 – Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck


3’rd … PAW (in Pa) 1990

2’nd … Indiana NPD 1995

Read Full Post »



A book that lies within my mind

Has memories on each page

And names of those who touched my life

While on life’s awesome stage


Just knowing you became a gift

That no one takes away

You touched my heart, my mind, my soul

When our paths crossed that day


We felt a kinship from the start

Back in those days of old

And I will not forget the day

That you signed that book in gold


8/4/00 – Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

Read Full Post »




A little book of poetry

Lies upon the shelf

Penned words revealing who I am

All written by myself


The once blank pages almost speak

When opened to the rhymes

For heart and soul, in black on white

Bear essence of the times


The leather cover’s brittle now

With title worn away

The yellowed pages loose and torn

But treasured to this day


It opens to a special verse

Where pressed upon the page

Is a flower that I placed there

At quite a tender age


A ribbon marks another page

A poem that makes me weep.

Other poems can make me laugh

Or dream sweet dreams, in sleep


God’s blessings fill some pages

Not written as a whim

For the pages would be empty

Without this gift from Him


When memory tugs my heart and soul

The book becomes my friend

As I turn the fragile pages

And read the words I penned


When I depart this earthly realm

I’ll leave a bit of self

Found within the written words

Of the book upon the shelf



5/29/94 – Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck


3’rd … Arkansas NPD 1994

6’th…. Indiana NPD 2001


      REVISED 2003

Read Full Post »

A Poet’s Heart

        A POET’S HEART


I gathered up dew-diamonds

From a silken-silver strand

And laid them on some moonbeam dust

Sprinkled in my hand.


I added gold the sun sent down

And a kiss the breezes blew,

Then put them in this little book —

That I might share with you.


2/3/01           Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

Read Full Post »

The Last Yellow Rose



I found an old book in the attic,

Its pages yellowed by time.

Its cover so brittle it crumbled,

Its title, My Book of Rhyme.


It opened to page sixty-five

Where a flower lay in repose,

And the only words recorded there,

“This is the last yellow rose.”


Intrigued by the masculine writing

And some stains made by tears,

I leisurely read the little book

And found it recorded the years.


The pages held four-line verses

Written in feminine script.

And along with each verse were petals

The creases and binding gripped.


Each verse in the book marked a milestone.

And the petals meant something, too,

For he’d given her long stemmed roses,

As he’d pledge his love anew.


It began on her sixteenth birthday,

With a rose from a shy young lad.

And there followed for years, a yellow rose,

On important events she had.


There were roses marking each birthday,

And a rose that came with a plea,

When he knelt in the young girl’s parlor,

Asking, “Will you marry me?”


There were roses that marked the birth dates

Of four daughters and a son.

And one for each anniversary,

For forty-nine years and one.


The last few pages,  in masculine hand,

Record an aging man’s grief –

“My love is so ill, she’s leaving me.

It’s true, death comes like a thief.


Her sightless eyes can’t see her rose,

So I placed it on her breast.

She smiled when she noticed the lovely scent,

Then she went to her final rest.”


I had finally come to the book’s last page

And the funeral flower he chose,

And the only words recorded there…

This is the last yellow rose.


9/6/90 – Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

 1’st … Indiana NPD 1992

1’st ..Arkansas NPD 1994

Read Full Post »