Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’

I want to thank everyone who has read my poetry over this past year and a half and especially those who have made comments. While my daughter handles the actual posting and site, the poetry is all mine and she forwards every comment to me to read and respond to.

Your comments have meant the world to me. I have printed each and every one of them and I feel as if I have made a difference in the world, in a smile, a tear and in a heart. Thank you all.

Everytime I pass a mirror and catch that glimpse of an old lady, I say, “Who is that? It surely can’t be me? While I only feel 26/36/46 years old.” Well, I am 88 years old and currently beginning to feel every moment of it.

I have a four heart valve insufficiency. I hate using oxygen twenty-four hours a day. I hate losing that old “zip.” I liked it much better when my husband complained about not being able to keep up with me. He passed in 1998. My son passed in 1993. While I have two daughters, one in Arizona, and one in Indiana, I feel rather alone lately and you have all enriched my life and let me know I am not alone.

I am currently working on my life story. It is not that it is all that interesting to anyone but family, but it is something I want to finish. There were some interesting spots, like the time Al Capone pulled into our driveway to recruit my father, who made the best bath tub gin in Hammond, Indiana. I also have a lot of funny family stories to put down for posterity.

In the meantime, while I have worked on a few poems, I will not be actively posting. My daughter will keep you posted on my health. I may be moving from my apartment, back into her home as my heart weakens. But, my thoughts are always with you and I thank each of you for stopping by.

Read Full Post »

THE OLD PORCH SWING

       

Just old boards and rusted chains

The old swing hanging there

It’s hardly ever used now

But saw its time of wear

 

‘Twas there Dad held hands with Mom

As groom and lovely bride

And through the years it also held

Six children at their side

 

There I rocked my dolls to sleep

Or so I would pretend

And there I giggled endlessly

With Crystal, my best friend

 

Whenever I was punished

And thinking life unfair

I’d swing awhile in its arms

While seeking solace there

 

On moonlit summer evenings

My Mom sat in the swing

And as it moved back and forth

I’d hear her hum and sing

 

Then I would sit beside her

Being quiet as could be

And listen to her sweet soft voice

Singing old-time songs for me

 

My Grandpa often sat there

As he sprinkled the grass

Chewing wads of Granger Twist

And spitting with rural class

 

The swing was witness to my muse

Yes, almost every time

It was the perfect place for me

And my attempts at rhyme

 

So fertile seeds of poetry

Were sown in that old swing

As sitting there, deep in thought

I rhymed most everything.

                  

Initials are carved on its arms

In hearts that entwine

Symbols of my first romance

(A hand grooved valentine)

 

And as I entered dating years

I’d sit with current beau

Saying things that sweethearts say

While swinging to and fro

 

There I received a diamond

On a warm starlit night

For such a romantic evening

The old swing seemed just right 

 

Three generations of infants

Were cuddled on the swing

Memories recall for each of us

The lullabies we’d sing

 

It often held our neighbors

Who came to chat a spell

If the swing had a memory

What stories it could tell

 

The old boards and rusted chains

Will soon be tossed away

But I’ll remember throughout life

That swing of yesterday

 

 

6/18/88        Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

Read Full Post »

THE BOOK UPON THE SHELF

 

 

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 »

Favoring Rhyme

FAVORING RHYME

  

I love to write a rhythmic poem,

With words that rhyme, like dome and home.

A poem in which the written word

Is understood and not absurd.

 

A poem that has a story line,

That doesn’t border asinine.

A poem in which the first verse read

Doesn’t clutter up one’s head.

 

Not cloaked in obscure masquerade,

Confusing what’s to be conveyed.

A poem for heart and soul and mind.

A poem that now seems hard to find.

 

I guess I’ll write some for myself

And place them high upon the shelf.

Then if the future favors rhyme,

They’ll be accepted at that time.

 

You’ll read the written word with ease

About such things a poet sees,

When complex forms are out of style

And rhyme returns in high profile.

 

9/3/93      Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

Read Full Post »

As the sun sets

EVENING’S BLUSH

 

The fiery orb of daylight

Hurries out of sight,

Kissing clouds with glowing rays

Before it says good night.

 

Excited by their kisses,

The clouds blush pink to red,

Putting on a radiant show

Before they go to bed.

 

Then in a blaze of splendor,

The sun sinks out of sight,

And evening’s velvet curtain

Is drawn for the night.

 

9/8/91 – Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

 

6’th … Indiana NPD 1992

2’nd … Arkansas NPD 1997

Read Full Post »

Along Old Willow Creek

ALONG OLD WILLOW CREEK

   

I paused when I saw you there

And thought you were unique,

Lipping a scented  lilac bush

Along Old Willow Creek.

 

Your spotted fawn was suckling then,

Milk staining one small cheek —

A lasting portrait in my mind,

Along Old Willow Creek.

 

What karma led me to that spot

When everything seemed bleak?

For the day then shouted beauty

Along Old Willow Creek.

 

I knew I did not dare intrude

And surely should not speak,

But I yearned to stroke you gently,

Along Old Willow Creek.

 

I watched until your tiny fawn

Bedded down in sleep,

And then I slowly backed away,

Along Old Willow Creek.

 

 

9/10/93     Phyllis DeWitt -VanVleck

 

4’th … Arkansas NPD 1993

5’th … Sparrowgrass 1994

Read Full Post »

       THE SILKEN QUILT

  

Late one day as the sun went down

A lonely fly flew into town.

He stopped to rest near a silken thread

That stretched from tree to vacant shed.

“I am so weary,” moaned the fly,

“Guess I’ll rest ’til the night goes by.”

From up above a voice was heard.

The fly flew up to hear the word.

 

There sat a spider in her den

Checking her larder once again.

“Come on in,” she said with a grin,

I’ll entertain you while I spin.”

With expertise she plucked a thread.

“Nice lullaby,” the fly then said.

Said she, “You have intriguing eyes.

Let me fix for you, a big surprise.

I know you’re very tired tonight,

And you’ve no bed, but that’s all right,

Because I’ll make one just for you.

It’s something instinct says to do.”

 

The fly gave thought, and then he said,

“Well, I really do need a bed,

But I’m a stranger  in this town,

And safety’s a must when I bed down.”

The spider said, with cunning smile,

“Just rest here for a little while.

No better hostess can be found,

Why, my guests always stick around!”

 

So in he flew and sat on her rug.

Long arms reached out in welcome hug.

He felt her teeth as she kissed his cheek

And suddenly the fly felt weak.

“What are you doing?” asked the fly.

“What are these strands you’re dragging by?”

“I’m weaving a quilt of silken thread,

To keep you warm,” the spider said.

“I wouldn’t want you catching cold,

And you’ll be cozy in this fold.

I’d like your bed to be complete,

Before I settle down to eat.”

 

Then around and around she did spin,

Making that quilt — the fly within.

The fly then slept and never stirred,

Tricked by the spider’s wily word.

 

If there’ a moral, let it be . . .

Don’t be tricked by flattery.

 

2/27/95   – Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

 

4’th … Indiana NPD 1995

5’th …Arkansas NPD 1996

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »