Welcome To...
...at The Finest!
'Amy's Place' is more than just about poetry.
Come in, relax, and share with fellow FReepers
your thoughts about any of the things on the *Menu*.
Enjoy! :)
Graphic by Billie
Reflections
God sets a mirror down for us,
To bounce back sunny days,
He does it when the rain has passed,
To help us see the rays.
The reflection that we see in it,
Is not of hair and skin.
What we see is an image of,
The gloried state we’re in.
Light pink, and brighter orange,
And yellow brighter still.
I sit and look at glory’s frame,
Upon my favorite hill.
The others call it rainbow,
But I know what it is,
A magic mirror in the sky,
That lets us know we’re His.
The body that we occupy down here,
Is nothing like its start,
For one, the most attractive thing,
Has always been the heart.
God looks into our heart and then,
Just for His own amusement.
He gives a glimpse of what He sees,
And laughs at our confusement.
“That doesn’t look at all like me!”
I hear your protests start,
But when you look at other folks,
How can you see their heart?
If you admit there’s beauty,
Reflecting from some source,
Just think how glorious it will be,
When He’s revealed full force.
And you and I are with Him,
And joining in the glow.
Next time you see a rainbow,
I thought you ought to know.
NicknamedBob April 5, 2004
© 2004
Graphic by MamaBear
The Corner
That cupboard in the corner was where brother put his gun,
Right up top to keep it safe while he was having fun.
He made a good policeman. I always knew he could.
His stony face when he played war could scare me pretty good!
Yes, we played cops and robbers, and games like kick the can.
I know those games were helpful as I learned to be a man.
When brother came to visit, his gun went way up top,
He couldn’t win an argument just ‘cause he was a cop!
We liked to play our card games, with Dad and all the boys.
And all of us knew guns were something different from toys.
My brother used his in his work, just like the badge he had.
Although he never really used it, and for that, he was glad.
The rest of us all knew what guns were really for,
The government even gave me one when I went off to war,
Although I never used it, just like my brother cop,
The very fact that I was there, just caused that war to stop.
I have a picture of the guys, with cards all strewn about,
You’d get the notion all the rules had somehow been tossed out!
With cards in hatbands, cards in sleeves, and chips piled way up high,
But all of that was just to show for that nosy camera eye!
NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . . . . June 8, 2005
Graphic by MamaBear
THE OLD HOUSE REMEMBERS
The old ranch house is alone with its past,
The windows are closed and the doors are fast;
The windmills are hushed, a desolate pall
Of silence and heartbreak broods over all.
Only the wind in the cottonwood trees
Tells off its rosary of memories.
Once around the wells were cattle that milled
And cooled themselves in the water which spilled
From the brimming tanks and trickled away
To a wet weather stream which trees betray;
There the willows dip their long lacy plumes
Over low marsh grass where the smartweed blooms.
Now the cottonwoods murmur, the willows weep,
And all else is silent, the place asleep,
But above the stillness when soft winds blow
Are the phantom voices of long ago ...
A lone cowboy as he rides down the trail
And yodels to drown out the coyote's wail.
While the walls reecho with rhythmic beat
To the merry tunes and to dancing feet.
So the old house lives again in its past,
Lives in the joys that the years have amassed.
And the full rich life that it’s loved ones knew
Is wafted back when it comes into view.
By Laressa Cox McBurney (my great-aunt)
Published in Prairie Panorama in 1938
Many thanks for stopping by. : )
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
