Posts Tagged ‘tears’


This poem is in progress. I would enjoy hearing your thoughts on this one.

(From My Youth)

In memory of my Mother
I write this little poem
On how she nurtured all us kids
And made our house “feel” home

There were many happy moments
When we’d sit on the swing
I’d ask for all my favorite songs
While urging her to sing

And she’d sing those old-time ditties
That so amused us all
We’d ask to hear them many times
When we were very small

Other poignant memories
That I would never trade
Are Sunday noon’s family fun
And countless games we played

We learned to be good losers
But gracious winners, too
That quarreling settled nothing
Advice we all found true

She gave us all a chance to win
And when the games were done
We made fudge or “skillet candy”
While sharing kitchen fun

She laughed with us, and cried with us
And shared our childish woes
With big doses of sage advice
That a wise mother knows

08-31-09 Poem in Progress

Phyllis Adair DeWitt-VanVleck

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A deep Abiding love


He came to me last night
to tell me he was sorry.
As he held me close
he kissed away my tears,
and I could feel his heart
beating in harmony with my own.
He whispered assurances
of undying love,
and I whispered mine.
Then from out of nowhere
came the soft strains
of our favorite song,
and we danced as one,
lost in deep abiding love;
a moment long awaited.

 And then . . . I awakened.

9/2/92        Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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She smiled through her bitter tears
Although her pain was deep
The flood of tears brought relief
And then she fell asleep

She dreamt of times when they first met
And years when they were young
When he declared his love for her
And two then lived as one

But time had brought some changes
Like when their love had died
And as that one had split in two
It devastated pride

When she awakes she’ll face again
The truth of what must be
But time will heal the pain she feels
In this, her destiny

June 29, 00 Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

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After she was gone
I found scraps of paper
Each piece torn
from whatever was at hand
when thoughts possessed her mind,
or touched her heart.
Little reminders
jotted down when senses
stirred her to capture
a piece of beauty
or a fragment of emotion.
Words, phrases, ideas
upon which she would
later elaborate.
Drawing from those small
scraps, pages of stirring
discourse that could make
one lose himself
in laughter, or touch
one’s heart to tears.
Those bits of written
emotion reflect how she
found beauty in everything,
and she comes alive
in the words
she jotted down
Musing about their value,
I could not destroy them.

In my closet upon a shelf,
there is a candy box
that holds her essence.
It is full of life and love
recorded on scraps of paper,
reminding me of her.
She was a poem.

2/5/93 Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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She doesn’t smile anymore,
but she will not discuss her pain,
although assaults are so traumatic,
she will wear the scars forever.
You can see her bruises, visible
without the colors of physical abuse.
I knew her when she smiled a lot.
Sometimes we’d laugh so hard
we cried, but now there is no mirth
behind her tears, and she wears
a wounded look.
Her attacker denies cruelty.
He is quick to tell everyone
that he loves her, yet
the torment continues,
smothering the spark in her soul.
She can tell you that.
She can tell you that battering
doesn’t always mean clenched fists.
She can tell you that a wrathful
tongue and disagreeable nature
leaves bruises and scars.
But she won’t.
She takes her pain in silence,
and wears the bruises inside,
yet, I am aware of her pain.

She doesn’t smile anymore.

8/28/93 Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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How will I know?

            YOU AND I


How will I know you love me

Unless you tell me so

How will I know you share my joy

If you don’t let me know


How will I know you feel my pain

If all your tears you hide

How will I know I can lean on you

If you’re not at my side


I’ll laugh with you and cry with you

And I will do my part

By demonstrating depth of love

That dwells within my heart 


But you in turn, must do the same

Committing love that’s true

Be there for me, as meant to be

And I’ll be there for you.



9/8/50          Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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