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MORE POETRY BY MARIANE HOLBROOK
* M - Z *
And More Poetry ~ (A-L)
* Click on
each Poem for beautiful graphics and music
Denotes Humor
MIRROR, MIRROR
by Mariane Holbrook
I think that I shall never see
A mirror as it’s ‘sposed
to be,
A mirror that lies and makes me thin
And takes
away my double chin.
And with compassion’s gentle hand
It makes me svelte
and nicely tanned;
No wrinkles, sags or extra skin
That
covers where my youth had been.
Good mirrors hide my baggy eyes
And trim away my legs
and thighs.
No knuckles swollen from cold rains
No
worry ‘bout unsightly veins.
But I’ve decided not to fret
Or let myself get too
upset.
I’ve looked around and heaved a sigh,
For
others look as bad as I.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
MY BROTHER, JOHN
by Mariane Holbrook
My brother was a terror
From the day that he was born.
The doctor shook his head and cried,
"Oh, what an
awful morn.”
John never learned to walk but ran
From room to room
all day,
Creating chaos everywhere
And laughing all
the way.
When he was only three years old,
My mom would call to
me,
“Your brother’s down on
Broad Street
Just as
naked as can be.”
He'd wake up very early
Just to watch the milkman stop,
Then steal the neighbors’ milk and drink
The cream
from off the top.
One day my mother found him
In her closet on his knees.
He set her clothes on fire, he said,
Because he
thought he’d freeze.
He grew to be a handsome boy,
That much I still recall.
Of all the children Mother had
She loved John most of
all.
(In loving memory of my little brother who
suffered too much and died too soon.)
BACK TO
CONTENTS
MY GRANDSON’S FIRST STEPS
by Mariane Holbrook
My grandson took a step today;
The whole world held its
breath.
He fell down on his small behind
And scared
himself to death.
But carefully, he pulled back up
And tried it once
again,
While grandma bit her nails and watched
Just
like a mother hen.
He spread his feet so wide apart
For balance that he’d
need
To take those little baby steps
Until he built up
speed.
He sailed across the living room
And plowed into a
wall.
I watched him as he bit his lip,
Determined not
to bawl.
There’s bumps upon his forehead and
There’s scratches
on his knees.
And Jackson’s learning quickly that
To
walk is not a breeze.
This child is just the cutest thing
That ever walked on
earth.
The nicest thing about him is
He’s been this
way since birth.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
MY NAME
by Mariane Holbrook
The sweetest word I ever heard
Was said to me one day
By someone very close to me
Before he went away.
I fought to hide the tears inside
He tried to do the
same;
Then turned to press his lips on mine
And softly
spoke MY NAME.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
MY SISTER EVELYN
by Mariane Holbrook
My sister is my cheerleader,
My loyal pal and friend;
When things are rough I always know
On her I can
depend.
When Mother died, it left a void
That I found hard to
fill,
But Evelyn stepped up to the plate
And there
you'll find her still.
She's always let me know that she's
Available to me.
Though I don't see her often now,
We're close as we
can be.
I try so hard to let her know
How deeply we all care;
For when we need our Mother's love
Our sister's always
there.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
NEWLY-WED SQUABBLE
by Mariane Holbrook
“Why can’t you cook like Mother?”
Asked the husband of
his wife.
“She fixed the best food I have
Ever tasted
in my life.
Her biscuits are so fluffy
And her
homemade jam’s a treat.
Her black-eyed peas and ham hock
Is a dish that CAN’T be beat.”
“Why can’t you be like Father?”
Asked the young wife of
her mate.
“He was so very tactful
And that is a LOVELY
trait.
I CAN’T cook like your Mother
And that’s all
there is to that.
If you think her cooking’s better,
Well, then, honey, here’s your hat.”
I’d like to tell you something;
It’s some wisdom I’ve
accrued.
I’ve had to learn the hard way
When it comes
to fixing food.
I’ve got some good advice for you;
It
only takes a minute:
It’s not so much how GOOD it tastes
As how much LOVE went in it.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
PEARL JACKSON’S KITCHEN
by Mariane Holbrook
There in Pearl Jackson’s kitchen
As I’ve said so oft
before,
There’s no need to set the table;
You could
eat right off the floor.
Never has a home been cleaner;
Not a trace of dust in
sight.
Every sash and every window
Washed and scoured
‘til glistening bright.
There she stood in crisp, flowered apron;
Friends like
her we don’t deserve,
Getting out the plates and silver
For the meal she soon would serve.
Fresh-baked pies were on the counter,
New potatoes
cooked with beans,
Tender chicken, fluffy biscuits,
And some tasty garden greens.
How I miss that country kitchen.
How I’d love to see
her there
As she comes in from the garden
Laden down
with food to share.
When I finally get to heaven,
Way beyond the starry
skies,
Surely on the banquet table
Will be Pearl
Jackson’s pies.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
PRAYER ON THE SCALES
by Mariane Holbrook
Lord, shrink my body or stretch my clothes.
I’ve gained
more weight and heaven knows
I’ve tried on everything I
own
And can’t believe how much I’ve grown.
Lord, shrink my body or stretch my clothes.
I can’t
pull up these brand new hose.
Where did I get this extra
weight?
Is being fat my awful fate?
Lord, shrink my body or stretch my clothes.
I bend and
just can’t reach my toes.
You know that I’d be filled with
glee
If you could melt some pounds off me.
Lord, shrink my body or stretch my clothes.
This dress
right here is one I chose
To wear to church last Sunday
night;
It must have shrunk and I’m a sight.
Lord, shrink my body or stretch my clothes.
I know the
answer, I suppose.
To you my problems I can bring,
But
melting FAT is not Your thing.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
RED-FACED EMBARRASSMENT
by Mariane Holbrook
I walked along the crowded streets and people stopped to
stare;
The looks that they were giving me were more than I
could bear.
I looked at my reflection in the windows that
I passed,
"What's wrong with all these people here? Am I
just being harassed?"
I strolled into the mighty Mall where shoppers crammed the
aisles;
Some shoppers laughed uproariously, their faces
bright with smiles.
At first I thought 'twas me that
brought the giggles and the stares
But then I figured,
"Life is great and by the way, who cares?"
I looked at lots of clothing in the stores that lined the
halls
And marveled at the paintings that adorned the Art
Shoppe walls.
The laughter seemed to follow me no matter
where I went
But life is stressful, so I thought, and
people need to vent.
My shopping done, I went outside and someone touched my
arm.
"My dear, I hate to bring this up and cause you some
alarm.
Now please don't get upset and maybe have a heart
attack:
Because of static cling, there's panties spread
across your back."
BACK TO
CONTENTS
ROCK ME TO SLEEP, LORD
by Mariane Holbrook
Spray me with lavender,
Help me count sheep,
Do
what you can, Lord,
But please help me sleep.
Turn up the sound machine,
Let me hear rain;
Whatever it takes, Lord,
To quiet my brain.
Dim all the street lights,
Block all the noise;
If
I don't get some sleep, Lord,
This girl will lose poise.
I'll eat no more pickles
Before going to bed.
I'll
cut back on Fritos
And eat no dill bread.
Without some real sleep,
Lord I know I'll go nuts.
No question about it;
No ifs, ands or buts.
So rock me to sleep, Lord,
And hum me a tune
And if
I start to slumber,
Don't wake me til noon.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
SILVER LAKE
by Mariane Holbrook
She wants to forget.
She wants those harsh chisels of
time and space
to probe mercilessly into the far recesses
of her mind
and scrape away the painful scars that haven't
healed;
those mocking memories of turmoil
which they
couldn't solve as two
and she can’t begin to solve as one.
She wants to forget the fear and distrust
and
bone-weary prospect of yet another day
as they piled
failure after failure
on top of each other like dry,
splitting kindling,
waiting, knowing, but dreading
that burst of flame
which she knew would eventually
burn
all their mutual love into smoldering, acrid ashes.
But she wants to remember, please let her recall
the
faces of her four young children,
hopeful, trusting, eager
and flawless
as they walked hand in hand through the
packed snow
on the glimmering shores of Silver Lake,
free and unencumbered by distractions,
relishing the
clear Colorado mountain air as it
purged and cleansed and
restored them.
She wants to keep fresh in her memory box
for all time
their hikes around Fox Mountain to the
glacier
on warm summer days,
seeking respite from the
heat and frolicking in the snow,
laughing and falling and
leaving their angel imprimaturs
on that spotless,
untouched, pristine carpet of white.
So while the chisel is at work removing all that is
painful,
all that is long-since beyond repair,
let her
remember only the good days at that hallowed place,
her
shelter, her woodland home, her place of refuge
that she
could hardly bear to surrender.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
STREET CORNERS
(read at Mother’s memorial
service)
by Mariane Holbrook
Lincoln Street
Standing on the corner
Pacing back and forth,
Back
and forth,
My four-year-old knees scarred
From a day
of childhood play.
Waiting there on the corner,
Waiting, peering into the distance,
Impatient for the
first sight of
Daddy Who finally appears
Weary from
his long, unendurable day at work.
Lifted up in his arms,
I call out toward our house,
“He’s here, mama. My
Daddy’s here.”
Clark Street
Standing on the corner
Pacing back and forth,
Back
and forth,
Daddy holds tight to the leash
Of his
little white dog.
Waiting there on the corner,
Waiting, peering into the distance,
Impatient for the
first sight of his grown children
Who finally appear
After a long day of travel.
Waving wildly, hurrying to
meet us,
He calls back toward the house,
“They’re
here, honey. They’re here.”
Heaven
Standing on the corner,
Pacing back and forth,
Back
and forth;
Heaven’s beauty surrounding him,
News of
Mother’s arrival overcoming him.
Waiting there on the
corner,
Waiting, peering into the distance,
Impatient
for the first sight of his beloved wife
Who finally
appears.
Waving wildly,
Daddy hurries to meet her,
Calling back to his oldest daughter,
“She’s here,
honey. Your mother’s finally here.”
BACK TO
CONTENTS
SUNSET AT KURE BEACH
by Mariane Holbrook
Last night I faced the brilliant sky
And bowed my head
and wondered why
God painted such a canopy
Of colors
just for US to see.
The sky was pink, a rosy glow
With clouds which hung
both high and low.
The sea reflected day’s last light
With waves so high and foam so white.
I walked along the peaceful shore
And watched the
seagulls glide and soar.
The earth was bathed in glorious
hues
Of colors only God could choose.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
SURPRISE SURPRISE
by Mariane Holbrook
Grandpa liked tobacco
And he chewed it all his life,
In spite of all the protests
From his children and his
wife.
He’d stretch out in the kitchen
On his cot so warm and
snug,
Then he’d reach into his pocket
And he’d cut
himself a plug.
All of us were very careful
When we’d visit Grandpa’s
place;
Never mentioned Grandpa’s habit
Which we
thought was a disgrace.
Grandpa tried to be real careful
Where he aimed the
juice, you see,
So he kept the pan well hidden
Out of
sight from sis and me.
One day my sister gave a yell,
I never shall forget.
She’d stepped in Grandpa’s juice pan;
I can hear her
screaming yet.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
THE NIGHT WE MET
by Mariane Holbrook
It could have been a star lit night;
I don’t recall. It
could have been
an autumn moon
draped low,
flooding fallow fields
and barren trees
with
surreal light;
I don’t recall.
It could have been a wintry night,
I don’t recall;
with branches crushed
beneath the weight
of
cumbrous snow,
stalactites hung in
downward spirals
from wind-swept leaves;
I don’t recall.
It could have been a summer night;
I don’t recall;
when fireflies blinked
their smokeless light,
and
sleepless toads
in reed-ringed ponds
strummed mournful
songs
in soft discord;
I don’t recall.
All I remember of that night
was that you slipped in
unnoticed, by everyone but me,
and stood silent and
still
beside the spreading fern
when suddenly our eyes
met
and locked
in sudden recognition
that
something ethereal
and lasting
could well take root
in the fertile, promising humus
of our pounding
hearts.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
THE TRUMPET VINE
by Mariane Holbrook
From seedling it grew
by the porch of my youth,
reaching, stretching,
wrapping its spiral tendrils
around each protruding surface,
into each exposed
crevice,
climbing with set-jawed purpose
to reach the
highest peak
and then begin its down descent.
Back and
forth it weaved
to form a dense blanket of vine,
to
protect us from blinding sun
and giving summer shade for
our play.
And one by one, the orange buds
burst forth in season’s
brilliance,
their trumpet shapes snatched
by our
eager, young hands
as we blew into their narrow ends
and marched in staccato rhythm
like soldiers
victorious in battle,
invigorated by the taste, the smell,
the
feel of the lowly, orange-striped flower
from our
favorite trumpet vine.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
THE WOMAN IN WHITE
by Mariane Holbrook
The woman in white lifted her long fleece gown
and
stepped gingerly across felled saplings
strewn beneath
still barren trees,
whose bony arms and fingers reached
heavenward
to bask in filtered sunlight
of the
promised warmth of spring.
Leaning against a familiar sturdy oak
which offered its
bulk and strength to her fragile frame,
the woman hugged
herself tightly,
then slid down to the verdant blanket of
moss
which cushioned her from aged, exposed roots.
Her porcelain face,
remarkably unlined by time and
stress,
seemed oddly out of place here,
yet she felt
at home.
She came for reflection and worship
and where
better, she reasoned, than forest’s depths
where God and
nature communed alone.
Then she saw it.
From under a sodden leaf, a delicate
purple violet
twisted and turned on its slender thread
to peek out shyly at the woman in white
who deftly
pushed away nature’s small canopy
to give air and sun and
vigor
to this early spring harbinger
which had freed
itself
from winter’s endless tomb.
Carefully breaking its earthly umbilical cord,
the
woman smiled and placed the violet in her palm
where she
stroked it and inhaled its faint fragrance.
She rose,
holding it in her tender grasp,
never hearing God whisper
to the tiny flower,
“This, little one, is your raison
d’etre.
For this moment and for her were you born.”
BACK TO
CONTENTS
TO OUR HURTING CHILD
by Mariane Holbrook
We sit beside your listless frame
And squeeze your
small, frail hand.
Our anxious hearts feel time is short;
It’s not the way we planned.
The day God brought you
to our lives
We thanked Him for His love
In sending us
a child like you
Direct from heaven above.
Your smile is lasered on our hearts
It’s warmed us
through our tears.
We’ve prayed for God to heal you,
dear,
And give you many years
To fill our home with
your sweet voice
To watch you while you play,
And when
it’s time to say goodnight
To kneel with you and pray.
Though doctors try with all their might
To ease your
awful pain,
We know that God is with you now;
Our
prayers won’t be in vain.
We’ll trust in Him to see us
through;
We don’t know what’s ahead.
Our hearts might
break, it might be hard
And salty tears we’ll shed.
If God should take you Home with Him,
He’ll give you
special care
And wrap His arms around you tight
Til
all your family’s there.
Your times are written on God’s
hand
He knows what’s best for you.
He knows how much
we love you, dear;
His grace will see us through.
But if in God’s great planning
He looks down and sees
you there
And heals your little body
As he hears our
fervent prayer,
We’ll share our life together;
We
won’t have to be apart.
We may not understand God’s ways,
But we can trust His heart.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
TO RALPH FROM JENNY (circa 1923)
by Mariane Holbrook
You look at me and my heart breaks
I want you close to
me,
But I belong to someone else
So it can never be.
Perhaps if we had met before
I’d known my present mate,
We might have shared our love, my dear,
But now it’s
tempting fate.
I’ll carry deep within my heart
The portrait that you
drew
Of meadows lush with buttercups
You saw me
walking through.
I see the sad look in your eyes
I know what’s in your
heart,
And I will always love you,
Though we must
remain apart.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
TREAD SOFTLY
by Mariane Holbrook
When you open the door
to the heart of a friend,
tread softly.
When into its chambers
you slowly
descend,
tread softly.
When you look in the corners,
when you walk down the
halls
When look behind doors
and you look behind walls
When you stop when you hear
It’s your name someone
calls, tread softly.
When you start to feel comfy
and feeling at ease,
When you're having your fun
and starting to tease,
When you fall for the notion
this friend is a breeze,
tread softly.
For inside this heart
lives a delicate thing;
it
makes tulips open,
it makes songbirds sing,
it makes
every morning
a beautiful spring,
so tread softly.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
WE ALL CAN’T BE GOLDA MEIER
by Mariane Holbrook
How will my kinfolks remember me?
I scarcely know where
to begin.
All of my many accomplishments
Are engraved
on the head of a pin.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
WELCOME WINTER
by Mariane Holbrook
Welcome, winter!
Wrap us tightly in your warm, white
coverlet,
Cocoon-like, as a mother wraps her restless
babe.
Tuck in our naked limbs
To prevent assault from
the arctic blasts.
Provide us with that comfort zone,
Where we're inured to the blustering winds
That race
through the forests of our minds,
Bending our tender
saplings
And seeking to expose our near-surface roots.
Welcome, winter! In these quiet days,
Whisper winter's
secrets in our attentive ears.
Let us hear the soundless,
falling snow
Blanketing the earth while children sleep and
dream.
Let us look full upon that white, wintry moon
Which casts its probing searchlight
On sapless trees
and abandoned nests
Of birds long-since seeking friendlier
terrain.
And let us rest and sleep, renewed,
Prepared for that
butterfly day
When early spring will wake us,
Stretching, yawning, dormant children
Carelessly
shrugging off your protective quilts
And stepping doe-like
out of the forest
To drink deeply from that clear meadow
stream
Without even a glance back to thank you,
The
winter of our solace and content.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
WHAT CAN I EAT?
by Mariane Holbrook
Dill pickles are not good for you,
Forget about all
cheese,
It's full of bad cholesterol,
And who needs
that disease?
Whole milk is crammed with too much fat,
And egg yolks clog your veins.
Fresh peaches have been
sprayed too much
With stuff that hurts your brains.
A sirloin steak is just not fit
For humans to consume,
And if you eat some Chinese food,
You'll end up in
your tomb.
Oysters are so bad for you,
You just don't
want to know;
Tomatoes bring on such a rash
You itch
from head to toe.
Baked beans you just can't tolerate,
They also make a
noise;
When you're in church and beans act up,
It
makes you lose your poise.
Cornmeal is full of rodent drops,
Lasagna makes you fat;
The stuff they put in creamed Bratwurst
You wouldn't feed your cat.
Ice cream and cokes are no-no's now
And popcorn's full
of salt;
But there are days I'd give alot
For one cold
chocolate malt.
Hot coffee keeps you up at night
Forget about red meat;
Just so that I don't starve to
death,
PLEASE tell me what to eat.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
WHAT'S THERE TO EAT?
by Mariane Holbrook
I bring in the groceries, so dead on my feet,
My son
takes one look and says, "Mom, what's to eat?"
Nobody eats
broccoli, nobody eats beets.
So where's all the cookies,
the drinks and the sweets?"
He frowns at the shortening, he stares at the jam,
He
turns up his nose at a fresh leg of lamb.
He pushes aside
the ground hamburger meat;
"So, mom, in all this, is there
something to eat?"
I point to the milk and I point to the eggs
And point
to the box that says 'Frozen crab legs.'
"There's bagels
and pitas and whole wheat bread, too.
There's lots of food
here; what's the matter with you?"
"Now, Mom, just please listen, and don't get upset,
This isn't an order; it isn't a threat.
The food that
you buy isn't even real food;
It has to be broiled or it
has to be stewed.
"Us kids need our junk food; we all need our cokes.
We're still growing bones; we're not like you old folks.
We have to have chocolate, we need our ice cream.
If
we don't get Fritos, we're likely to scream."
I stare at my son, not sure what to do.
This subject is
one I don't think I'll pursue.
I start to fix dinner,
don't want to be late.
I watch as he gobbles the food on
his plate.
So, Mothers, when kids start to turn up their nose
And
make fun of foods; it's their right, I suppose.
Let's keep
fixing foods that are good, and, moreover,
They'll thank
us someday; (when heck freezes over) !
BACK TO
CONTENTS
WHAT’S WRONG WITH MOVING 28 TIMES?
by Mariane Holbrook
My sister flew to Africa;
My cousin to Peru;
My
brother slipped aboard a ship
And sailed the ocean blue.
My sister tried the Philippines
My brother moved out
West
My friend sold jeans in New Orleans
And left us
all impressed.
But Marian travels differently;
She has since time
began.
She does her thing while traveling
Behind a
moving van.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
WHEN DADDY DIED
by Mariane Holbrook
When daddy died
he took his benediction voice
as he
blessed our abundant meal.
He took the awe, the worship,
the reverence of his prayers
laced with ‘thee’ and
‘thou”
when he knelt before his God.
When daddy died
he took that gleam in his blue
eyes
when his returning, married children
hurried toward his
open arms
to receive unconditional love
and acceptance
and pride.
When daddy died
he took his distinctive gait,
that
walk he’d given to his stalwart sons
and which we as girls
tried to copy but couldn’t.
When daddy died
he took the comfort of his large hand
which tightly held mine
as we walked on warm summer
nights
to pass men who tipped their hats
and women who
fanned their brows
and waved from open doors.
But when daddy died
he couldn’t take his green tackle
box
with iridescent fishing lures,
his straw hat with
band of pale blue,
his dog-eared spiral book of sermons
and his Bible stuffed with folded notes.
He couldn’t
take his hoarded box of pencils,
his black metal lunch
box,
or his shaving mug and leather strap and razor.
He couldn’t take his gold watch
whose chain draped
from his navy vest.
And when he died
he couldn’t take his most treasured
possession--
the wine-colored harmonica
that he wanted
me, his little girl, to have.
BACK TO
CONTENTS
WHEN YOU LIVE AT THE BEACH
by Mariane Holbrook
Forget being lonely and saddened by tears,
Forget all
that quiet and "I-miss-you" tears,
Forget being worried
that you're beyond reach,
Cuz that will all change once
you move to the beach.
Your house will soon sprout a new "ALL WELCOME" sign
To
beckon folks in just to chat or to dine.
You'll find that
you'll sharpen your skills as a host
The day you unpack
and move in at the coast.
From far and from near they will drop by to say
How
much they have missed you since you moved away.
And bring
you such gifts as you ne'er knew before
The day you decide
to live down by the shore.
So if you're a friend or some long-lost kin-folk
Just
try to remember that this is a joke!
For our house is your
house and welcome you'll be
As long as you show us your
own Days Inn key!
(just kidding, just kidding!)
BACK TO
CONTENTS
WHERE’S OUR STUFF?
by Mariane Holbrook
Why could we not have saved some things
(We didn’t know
their worth?)
Those meaningful mementos that
We should
have kept from birth.
What happened to the sailor suit
My dad so proudly wore
When on that ship he sailed the seas
And helped to win
the war?
I wonder where the gas mask is,
He used in World War I.
Where is the harp, canteen and sword
That brought us
so much fun?
Where’s grandma’s metal drinking cup
That hung there on
the nail
Above the bench that grandpa made
To hold the
water pail?
The thimble that my mother loved
Should surely be
around;
The cookie cutters that she used
Were lost and
never found.
And who has Daddy’s fishing pole
He used there in that
boat
When Dad stood up and scared my mom,
Just tryin’
to get her goat?
And where is Evelyn’s cedar chest
That she kept by her
bed?
It held the things that she would need
If she
would ever wed.
What happened to the music score
That Margie played
with flair?
“Star of the East” would fill our house
Til we would tear our hair.
Where’s Norma’s worn-out Scrabble game
She carried
overseas?
That thing is worth a fortune now;
I’d buy
it in a breeze.
What happened to the can John stamped
When in the
grocery store
He learned he’d won the scholarship
That
he’d been praying for?
Is Eleanor’s crochet hook around,
The one she used with
skill
For afghans that she made for us,
For Linda and
for Bill?
What happened to the book Dick wrote
To make your
business grow?
I lost the copy that I had
(We’ve moved
a lot, you know.)
So when you’re throwing out some junk--
A sled or old
coat rack;
Remember there will come a time
You’d die
to get them back.
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CONTENTS
WHY DO I LOVE YOU?
by Mariane Holbrook
You ask me why I love you, dear, so let me tell you
why.
You've seen the seagulls lift their wings and soar
into the sky.
You've watched the tides rush in to bathe the
peaceful, golden shore
And swoop up nature's treasures
lying on the ocean floor.
But what I feel for you, my love, is stronger than all
these.
It reaches heaven's highest heights and to the
deepest seas.
It spreads its arms around the world to try
to hold you near
And with compassion's gentle touch, it
wipes away each tear.
So when you look at me and ask me why I love you so,
I
tell you all these things, my love, just so that you will
know
That nothing I possess in life means more to me than
you
And I can tell from all you've said, I know you love
me, too.
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CONTENTS
WINTER ON LINCOLN STREET
by Mariane Holbrook
Snow suits, and rubber boots
And ice-covered sleds,
Frozen toes
And runny nose
And warm sheets on our
beds.
As a child, I was beguiled
By winter’s knee-deep snow.
The air was thick,
The roads were slick
And icy
winds would blow.
Though I was small, I loved it all,
And gazed out at
the snowy night.
This fairy land
Was what God planned
To give a child delight.
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CONTENTS
YOU MADE IT, MY SONS
by Mariane Holbrook
You made it, my sons.
I stood alone beside your infant
beds
and marveled at your perfect forms,
your
beautifully-shaped heads,
and listened to the rhythmic
sounds
of your contented sleep.
Later on, I watched
the barber’s razor
shave your silky curls
and quietly
I gathered them up
and placed them in an scented envelope
and sealed it with my tears.
You made it through your
childhood
with skinned knees, and muddy shoes
and
Tinker Toys and Lincoln logs
that I tripped over and
picked up
because you kept forgetting to.
You made it, my sons.
I stood outside your school rooms
and heard you search for words
to describe the rainbow
trout you caught
in that swift, swollen mountain stream.
Later on, with basketballs, you ran the courts
and
made the shots and heard the cheers
from crowds in gyms at
city lake or there at school.
I saw you slide into home
base at Armstrong Park,
filling our home with trophy after
trophy
which we kept for years.
I watched you hurl
those tassled caps high into the air
when your school days
were done,
gripping your diplomas like hard-fought prizes,
which they were.
You made it, my sons.
I sat beside your father and
watched you
as you each embraced your bride
and
promised fidelity as long as you lived.
Later on, I looked
into the face of my first grandchild
and then my second
and I wept with thanks and joy and awe
that these
treasures from the heart of God,
who hold your genes and
mine,
have finally brought us full circle,
and now you
are both on the same journey
that I began so many years
ago
when I stood there alone by your infant beds.
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CONTENTS
And More Poetry ~ (A-L)
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