Poems – Page 2 – Valerie's Voice

Two Friends

My dad was a carpenter and built our house in a “brand new neighborhood” in Northeast Minneapolis in 1953, the year I was born. Everyone in the neighborhood was new to the area and many lifelong friendships were formed. My mother and Diane’s mother (my recycle birthday card friend) was one of them. I wrote this poem when Darlene died in 2013. My mom died in 2009.

Two Friends

Back in the Fifties

When life was pretty good

In Northeast Minneapolis

Up sprang a new neighborhood.

Children gathered daily

Going outside to play

Fathers off to work

Moms at home to stay.

Friendships were forming

Because everyone was new

Some lasting fifty years or more

Wow – who knew???

Two special families

Lived across the street

Two special women

Destined to meet.

Raising up their children

Having driveway coffee breaks

Always checking on each other

Vacationing to many lakes.

Their daughters grew up

Becoming lasting friends

Sharing McKinley Street stories

No more playing pretend.

Marriages, then grand-kids

Time kept marching on

But playing Bridge and having lunch

Kept their friendship strong.

Four years ago God took the first

And now He’s taken the other

But memories will linger on

Loving memories of our mothers.

September 2013

All Saint’s Day

Sunday’s sermon was about saints in the Bible that have gone before us, then we had an opportunity to light a candle for the saints and loved ones that have gone before us in our own lives. Pastor Abe reminded us that the saints were not perfect people and that the Bible is full of stories of imperfect people being used by God. He reminded us that God is faithful, he doesn’t give up, and he is in the business of redemption.

I lite a candle for both my parents and a very special aunt. Here is a poem I wrote about my mother shortly after she died in 2009. My father died in 1974 when I was 20 years old. I am saddened for the missed opportunity of getting to know him as an adult. I have not written a poem for my dad…maybe someday I will. He was a kind man. ruby

Ruby Red

Red was her color

Ruby was her name

Never much recognition

Never much fame.

But she was a faithful mother,

A grandmother, a friend

Loved and cared by many

Generous to the end.

She surrounded herself with beauty

Both natural and man made

She had a green thumb for growing,

An eye for things that stayed.

From the house on McKinley

To the apartment at Meadowbrook

She kept her place beautiful

It was always fun to look.

Her fun sense of adventure

Took her on many fine trips

And hours of playing bridge

Kept her mind sharp and crisp.

Being with family and friends

Made her most content

She found joy in remembering

Those times were well spent.

So here’s to Ruby

Whose color was red

God blessed her life to 86

An active life she led.

March 2009

Renewed Again

Vibrant colors on the trees: red, yellow, orange, lime green, with the deep blue October sky as the backdrop. Leaves gently fall, creating a mosaic carpet to walk upon.

Creation calling me to experience its beauty.

Once again I am grateful for eyes to see, ears to hear, and the sense of smell and touch and taste.

The earth is preparing to rest, but will be renewed again. I trust the same is true for me.

October 2004

2 Corinthians 4:16 That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day. (NLT)

Tonight’s Light

books

I went to the annual used book sale in our town last night and found some wonderful treasures to bring home and read, and some books to give away since I found some of my favorite books like new!

One book I bought was on seeing light in the world and that reminded me of something I wrote a few years ago on a 4^th of July evening as I walked home after watching our town’s fireworks display.

Tonight’s LIGHT

Twilight

Moonlight

Starlight

Fireworks!

Lightening Bugs

Street lights

Car lights

Garage lights

Porch lights

Indoor lights through the windows

Celestial light

and on the walk back home….fire light! (in a fire pit!)

Full Moon

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

There was a beautiful full moon the other night and whenever I see one it always leaves me breathless. I was reminded of a poem my son wrote for me several years ago. He wrote it after we witnessed a beautiful moon rise over a field of wheat moving with the wind that reminded us of the sea, or Lake Superior.

MOONWALK

Where the sky touches the water,

the field of wheat meets God’s beautiful creation.

Isn’t it neat?

The water displays its glistening haze,

The golden wheat stands tall, with no fear at all.

The sky shines bright in the beginning of night,

The moon is snow-blinding white.

Good Night.

My Mother Gives Me Her Recipe

These are hand-written recipe cards from my mother…the booklet holds all the hand-written recipes I have from her.

My mom made a delicious roast. Every time she made one it turned out well – every time! But when I went to make a roast it never turned out as good as hers. I wrote down her directions but they never seemed to work. It was a lot like this poem I’m posting below:

My Mother Gives Me Her Recipe by Marge Piercy

Take some flour. Oh, I don’t know,
like two-three cups, and you cut
in the butter. Now some women
they make it with shortening,
but I say butter, even though
that means you had to have fish, see?

You cut up some apples. Not those
stupid sweet ones. Apples for the cake,
they have to have some bite, you know?
A little sour in the sweet, like love.
You slice them into little moons.
No, no! Like half or crescent
moons. You aren’t listening.

You mix sugar and cinnamon and cloves,
some women use allspice, till it’s dark
and you stir in the apples. You coat
every little moon. Did I say you add
milk? Oh, just till it feels right.
Use your hands. Milk in the cake part!

Then you pat it into a pan, I like
round ones, but who cares?
I forgot to say you add baking powder.
Did I forget a little lemon on the apples?
Then you just bake it. Well, till it’s done
of course. Did I remember you place
the apples in rows? You can make
a pattern, like a weave. It’s pretty
that way. I like things pretty.

It’s just a simple cake.
Any fool can make it
except your aunt. I
gave her the recipe
but she never
got it right.

My mom passed away a few years ago so we have not had a delicious roast since – seriously – but I do have some of her recipes cards that include measured ingredients and directions, and they are grease stained with ruffled corners, but they are written with her own handwriting. I keep them in a special booklet and there are some of her recipes I make that do turn out well.

I make her Ginger Snaps. They are my favorite! I ask people “How can a freshly baked, out of the oven ginger snap possible be bad for you?”