Tag Archives: poetry

It’s Called Alzheimer’s

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Being in a pastoral care environment, dementia is one of the major issues we see. It has also touched my life personally, and inspired the following poem.

IT’S CALLED ALZHEIMER’S

My love, where did you go?

How many times were you warned

that you would make yourself sick with worry?

And you did.

Not that worry robbed you of memory,

but it left little room for enjoying your life

before it was claimed by dementia.

I look at the shell that is left of you and my heart hurts.

Your eyes are still sky blue,

but the twinkle is gone…replaced by a vacant stare.

When a hint of recognition breaks through,

my heart soars, only to plummet

as the flash of memory disappears once again

into the distance of the disease.

It’s called Alzheimer’s.

It has robbed you of your life, and me of my life partner.

©2006

To all whose partners have succumbed to this disease, and to those who are caring for loved ones while watching them disappear little by little, my heart and prayers go out to you.

Shadows in the Wind

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I haven’t posted a poem in a long while, and while reading other bloggers’ poetry, am sensing a struggle with love. Let me share one of my love poems:

SHADOWS IN THE WIND

Perfect love is fulfillment

in perpetual motion,

seeing with the heart’s eye

that which the mind cannot grasp,

acknowledging the human need

for closeness under all conditions,

realizing that aloofness is a

suit of armor worn by those

who fear perfect love

is beyond their realm,

understanding the merest

reaching out of a heart’s desire,

passion and compassion hand in hand,

longing and belonging heart to heart.

Will it ever be reality

or are we pursuing shadows in the wind?

©1982

This was originally posted on July 25/14. Sometimes a second helping can be a good thing.

The Wonder of Christmas

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Wishing peace, comfort, love, joy, and all the blessings of Christmas to each and every one.

THE WONDER OF CHRISTMAS

The wonder of Christmas,

The birth of a Child,

The angels are singing His praises,

The people rejoice

At the sound of His voice

Echoing down through the ages.

Hope, love and laughter,

Peace and goodwill,

The message resounds loud and clear,

The birth of God’s Son,

His gift to us all,

This is the wonder of Christmas.

©1995

 

All Things are Possible

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I was asked to post more of my poetry, specifically the above title, so here it is.

All things are possible

to those who believe,

to those who have faith

as a small mustard seed.

All goals can be reached,

all dreams can come true

when you call on the Power

that’s inherent in you.

All life can be lived

to the fullest extent,

all wishes fulfilled

as you know that He meant

all things are possible

to those who believe,

to those who have faith

as a small mustard seed.

©1984

With God, all things are possible has been my mantra for many years, and what began as mustard seed faith is now as big as the tree depicted in Matthew 13:31,32.

 

 

 

The Me I Used To Be

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For those who like the poetry posts…(I hope it isn’t a duplicate)…

THE ME I USED TO BE

I miss the me I used to be,

the things I used to do,

I miss the energy and verve

the vim and vigor too.

I miss the way my feet could dance,

the way my body bent,

contorted to the Limbo

(under the pole I went).

I miss the feel of garden soil

where once my hands would dig

while scrunching down to plant the seeds

before my joints got big.

Yes, I miss the me I used to be

and all the things I did,

but even though the body’s old,

inside I’m still a kid.

©July 2014

Thanks to those who ask for the poems…I love poetry too.

A Meditation

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Recently I have been asked to post more poetry, so here is a poem I wrote in 1979. Thank you for asking.

 

A MEDITATION

Thirst a little

That you may appreciate water

Hunger more

That you may enjoy the feast

Suffer some

That you may earn tranquility

Die a little

That you may hunger for life

Love abundantly

That you may know you’re alive.

©1979

The Victim (Reblogged)

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I first posted this blog August 1, 2014 and then in again in September of that year and now it needs to be posted again When are we ever going to learn? (I wrote the poem in 1995 and it is still relevant.) 

Do you remember a post where I mentioned that a marriage counselor once told me I think too much? Well, you know, he may have been right after all. It seems to me that more of us should do more thinking. I don’t mean random, willy-nilly, helter-skelter thoughts, but deep down, deliberate thoughts that lead to changes in the way we see ourselves and others; the way we see our world and the way we live in it.

In 1995 I wrote this poem called The Victim. It’s about crimes and war and unsound government, and the entire world possibly becoming victim to all of these things. And then thinking about the poem in a new light, I realized that it’s not only crimes and wars and unsound government that hurt people, but the way we treat each other on a daily basis. The sad part of all of this is the take heed part. If we don’t take heed, nothing changes, and if we do?

THE VICTIM

People dead

before their time,

victims

of some heinous crime.

Callous killers,

world’s worst foes,

victims

of God only knows.

Wars created

through sheer greed,

victims

of abnormal need.

Governments

whose rule a hoax,

victims

of the peoples’ votes.

Our planet Earth,

soon indigent,

victim

of our ignorance.

World, take heed!

The time has come

for remedy

lest you become

the victim.

©1995

When I stop and think about it, I don’t mind being the victim of too much thought. Please join me; let’s help make the world a better place by looking at the way we think, and changing what needs to be changed. Only by recognizing that our part in global destruction may begin in our own thought patterns, the thoughts we hold about ourselves and each other, may we be a part of the solution.

Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgement…Romans 12:3

 

 

 

On Being a Mother

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I’ve recently met a young mom in “Bloggersville” who has three special gifts from God: boy/girl seventeen-year-old twins, and a fifteen-year-old daughter. She tells us that they keep her on her toes and on her knees. I can relate to that, having raised three daughters and two sons, all eighteen months to two years apart except for the youngest who came along seven years later. It was not an easy task, but would I trade it for anything else in the world? Not on your life…or mine! In 1977 after a particularly trying time coping with four teenagers and a ten-year-old (yes, Family to the 5 Power, I know where you’re coming from!) the words of one of my most popular poems came to me. Here then, is On Being a Mother.

Nobody warned you

How great was the task

Of being a mother

How long it would last

It’s no nine to five job

You don’t punch a clock

It isn’t routine

You have to take stock

There isn’t a pension

Or retirement plan

It’s all overtime

You supply on demand

But you know you’ve been paid

When your daughter or son

Softly kisses your cheek

Saying, “I love you, Mom.”

©1977

In my opinion, motherhood is the most important job in the world. Someone may argue that point and say, “Well, I happen to think rocket science or brain surgery is the most important job in the world.” Please be reminded that without a mother there would be no rocket scientist or brain surgeon. So Moms, keep on keeping on. Even though nobody warned you how great was the task, it is a great task.

 

A Toast to Antryump

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For those who may be unfamiliar, Antryump is a blogger who painstakingly posts of exemplary writers of bygone days–wonderful writers whose works will never be forgotten. And so I, whose works will be forgotten by most, would like to pay Antryump this tribute.

I toast you Antryump

because you triumph

over everyday mundane

by expressing thoughts

and quotes and words

of men of long-held fame:

Kahlil, Confucius, Socrates,

Emerson and Rumi:

men who from centuries past

still are speaking to me.

Mandella, Tolstoy, even Steve,

men of rare content

are brought to life

because of you

and precious hours spent.

It is with pleasure that I read

your each and every post

and dwell on words

that from the past,

speak to me the most.

So, thank you Antryump,

for being you,

and bringing light to bear

on these great artists, who through you,

make us more aware.

©Patricia Ann Boyes/2014

What if you slept? And what if, in your sleep you dreamed? And what if, in your dream, you went to heaven and there plucked a strange and beautiful flower? And what if, when you awoke, you had the flower in your hand? Ah, what then? (Samuel Taylor Coleridge – 1772-1834)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shadows in the Wind

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I love love; not necessarily just romantic love, but love of all kinds. I love babies, animals, friends, family. I love sunshine, moonlight, stars, trees, flowers. I love oceans, seas, lakes and rivers. I love singing, dancing, laughing, writing, daydreaming, night-dreaming, holding hands, hugging, being happy and seeing others happy. I love God and how he spent so much time talking about love in his Book of Books. Love is the most written about topic in the Bible, and the greatest commandment of all time is “Love one another!”

I’m going to share another of my poems here, and what’s it about? Love of course.

SHADOWS IN THE WIND

Perfect love is fulfillment

in perpetual motion,

seeing with the heart’s eye

that which the mind cannot grasp,

acknowledging the human need

for closeness under all conditions,

realizing that aloofness is a

suit of armor worn by those

who fear perfect love

is beyond their realm,

understanding the merest

reaching out of a heart’s desire,

passion and compassion hand in hand,

longing and belonging heart to heart.

Will it ever be reality

or are we pursuing shadows in the wind?

©1982

Will it ever be reality? I’d love to think so.