July 29, 2004

This is an updated edition of a document that was originally done up June 28, 2000.  I have added to this.  There is at least one more poem on here.  I am just finding things to fill the page with.  If I find any more I will add them on here.

It all started when my cousin was passing around a poem at our family get together one December. A friend of hers wrote this poem and even though it was about the annual December festivities, at my grandmother's, we were all baffled by what the poem was trying to say. My cousin and my mother had me look at it thinking I could decipher it. (Robyn, the weird writer.)

When I could not fathom this poem my mind immediately remembered how I am not much of a poet. But wait, I am just not a "trained" poet. There are all kinds of poets. The best kind of poetry comes from the heart. Anyone who has written song lyrics has written a poem.

I do not know that much about meter and rhyme schemes, so I have a lot to learn. I have written poetry before but wasn’t too confident in my abilities.

On the way home from one family gathering, I wrote three poems just so I could say “I have written poetry”. Most English teachers would probably say that they need polishing. I think they are a good beginning.




The second poem is about the desire to see exciting places. I was a cashier, and when I rang up someone from an exotic locale, I would “wish I came from somewhere”. [Meaning, somewhere other than ordinary old "here".] One day a lady reminded me that I do come from somewhere.

Why Don’t I Come From...

Switzerland, England, China and France
They all come through as I work and scan.
It seems the whole world has come to buy our wares,
My life feels dull compared to theirs so I say, “I wish I came from somewheres”.
It doesn’t take long for a reminder to brew
The next one in line says that I do.














The fourth poem was probably one of those “I can do better than that” things. “Better” is of course, is a matter of opinion. All I know is that I had to look at my audience. Who was going to be reading my poems? [At the time it was mainly my family] I wanted those people to be able to read and know what I was talking about. I used to write when I was in high school, and always had to explain [to people like my mother] what I was writing about. With this fourth poem, I wanted the participants of our December gatherings to have a piece of this event to hold on to. Maybe it was more for my own benefit, it is a way for me to “bottle” these times and experience them after they are over. I do not know if every poet cries over their work, but I cried as I wrote this poem.

I wrote this one when I got home from, the Christmas after my Grandmother died.  It was part of my grieving process I guess.  When we all get [got!] together at her house on Christmas eve it is [was!] customary for someone to read out of the Gospel of Luke.  After that, spontaneously we break into singing Silent Night in English of course.  The reason I put the German title for the song in the title of the poem is because I have some German heritage and I study some German off and on.  It just sounded "different".

One year my mother sent me an audio cassette of the sounds of the family gathering.  I was listening to it in January or February.  I got so homesick when they started singing Silent Night, I started to cry.  I was listening in the car as we went to get Douglas' grandmother from her work.

Holidays At Granny’s (My memories of Stille Nacht)

Those of us who come from afar dream for weeks of seeing familiar smiles
Anticipation grows with every mile
Each thin line of lights on the horizon brings an eager chorus of “Are we there yet?”
The last half-hour is the longest part of the drive
When the plane lands they never let the people off fast enough.
When you finally get there it’s like you never left
Hunger inducing smells come wafting to the nose
A chicken comes bursting out of the oven.
A new bunch of people arrive at the door
The squeals and greetings are louder since these have come furthest.
Kids who play Santa itch to unwrap
Long distance drivers long to unwind.
There’s much food to be had, game playing and catching up
Many stories are told and laughter remembered.
Things quiet down for the reading from Luke
Soft weeping is done while Silent Night is sung.
At the end of this time when all the food is “et”
The games played to finish, and how to make that salad is all written out
Tears will be shed at the time of leaving
Tears for smiles that won’t be seen for a while
And at remembering smiles that are no longer with us
Some man could make money a plenty
If only he could figure a way to bottle this up
Then there’d be no need for tears
You could open the bottle and experience it any time you like
But alas there’s no use searching pharmacy & cosmetic counters
Nothing like this could ever be found
Because “you have to remember, this isn’t the norm”.













I was thinking about Granny again.  This is another one that was part of my grieving process.

Favorite Words

Everybody has their favorite words.
Being a writer, I have many of these.
They come from The Greatest Book of All,
And they come from The Greatest People I have known.
Psalm 23 is very comforting,
When it seems like “all hell is breaking loose”.
Of worldly wisdom, the phrase that rings
Most in my ears, is “It’s just a part o’life”.
When my Granny was teaching me how,
When life gets rather rough, we must go on!
We can’t stand still and “woe is me” until
This life is over.
The words she used to bring this home
Were, “It’s just a part o’life”.
As I got older I carried these words with me.
I also remembered how Granny encouraged me to
Read from God’s Word.
God knew us humans would have trouble
Accepting the loss of loved ones.
So, he wrote in Thessalonians
How we are to comfort
One another with the words of Christ’s return.
God doesn’t promise us sunny skies every day,
But he teaches us how to have joy
Even when the skies are grey.
So when my Granny fell asleep,
And I missed her so,
I remembered her words
“It’s just a part o’life”.
She would not want me to give up now.
Besides, I know I will see her again some day!













Lately I have been watching "Dogs With Jobs" on the "National Geographic Channel".  It is like the program, "K-9 to 5" that was on "Animal Planet".  They are programs about dogs that are working animals.  I get in the mood to have a dog.  I think it would help me exercise, because I would have to walk it.  I just think I want a dog though.  Douglas does NOT want a dog. They are much more of a hassle than cats are.  I had a dream recently that we had the nicest big dog.  It was all mine.  It was so loveable and nice.  But dreams are not reality.  This dog in the dream did not mess on the floor or chew pillows. 

This poem is about my dog desire which may never be fulfilled.  As much as I THINK I might want one, I am not getting a dog.
A cat is much easier to look after, and they do not bark.  The mining of cheese idea, comes from "yellow journalism".  Back in the 1800's there was a news report that "they" had discovered that the moon was made of "green cheese".  People believed it, just like people believe things they read on the Internet.  "It's in the newspaper/on the Internet, it must be true".  Ha!  So my thought was, if the moon was made of green cheese why don't they mine it and sell it to us cheese lovers.  I do know that the moon is not really made of green cheese!!  There is not really green cheese on the moon for the "men" to mine.  So therefore, as I write in this poem, there isn't really any way for me to get a dog. 

Mining Cheese On the Moon

“They” are going to start mining cheese on the moon,
I am getting a dog by the middle of June.
My dog will be young and train very snappy.
I know this pup will never get yappy!
I will love to go with my dog for a walk.
He will look so attentive whenever I talk.
My pooch the best and brightest will be.
Just as soon as I’ve gotten my husband to agree.















Who knows, I might put more on here some day.













The first poem in this list is a response to a billboard about the dangers of second hand smoke that we saw on the road. We both came from homes that had smokers. We had a laugh as we thought about the amount of money that we would get if we sued our parents. This poem is from that whole train of thought.

Our Second Hand Smoke

When you start your day a wheezing
The lawyers you’ll be a pleasing
When you sue the old parentals
I’ll be suing mine for absolutely very little
You’ll be suing yours for even less
What a tangled weave we’ll web, Oh yes!





My husband, Douglas helped me with a line on the third poem. It has a Biblical theme. A friend of ours told me that when Jesus Christ returns and people who are born again start to disappear, people might, "explain it away" as alien abductions. Of course, I say hooey to all the alien stuff. This third poem is my reply to all the alien nonsense.

If I Ever Up And Disappear It Won’t Be Aliens That Take Me

My mother didn’t raise an alien abductee
She taught me to love God whole-heartedly
God says nothing in His Word about life on other planets
Confess Romans ten: nine & ten and keep his commandments
We humans* are God’s masterpiece the earth was made for us
The heavens aren’t just to marvel at, planets, suns, and bits of dust,
God wrote His Word up there with a great amount of care.
Jesus Christ is coming back some day; I shall meet him in the air.
If God so loved, that he gave his only begotten son,
Would he allow the polar ice to suddenly melt and run?
When in the twinkling of an eye people find me gone,
The ones that claim the aliens came will really have it wrong!
[*This is talking about people who are Born Again. If you want to
know about getting Born Again, let me know.]










































This one was about my mother's sister and her sister in law.  I have other aunts too and the good sentiments are passed on to them as well.  I just happened to be thinking of the aunts on my mother's side of the family when I wrote this.

A Hug For Two Aunts

Some people speak of their aunts like they were a disease.
“My aunt came and stayed two agonizing days”.
I could never talk of my aunts that way!
One aunt was always giving away clothes.
I had to wear the clothes my cousins outgrew.
The other aunt gave me bottles for my shelf.
I received beauty lessons from both these aunts.
Beauty comes from the inside.
Manners and politeness matter most.
I remember the time the aunt read a recipe,
“How to make face cream from household products”.
Everyone sat around with goop on their faces,
Eyes had to be closed.
It was like pulling teeth,
But they put the goop on my face too.
I kept my eyes open—
No telling what would happen to me with them shut.
I have learned lessons in courage from my aunts.
How to gain strength from God when adversity happens.
How to go on when life seems to be over.
It would be great if every one could have aunts as wonderful as mine.


















I wrote this one around the time I wrote "Favorite Words".  I was thinking about childhood and that "jar of buttons" my Granny kept over (above) her sewing machine.  She had a shelf above the sewing machine.  I got her jar of buttons when she died.  They had remodeled the house in 1974.  That is when the "den" became the sewing room.  Before that, her jar of buttons was kept in the hall closet where the linens were kept.  I remember she would get empty spools of thread from a lady who worked in the alterations department of a store in town. Granny helped me make a "necklace" out of an old shoe string, buttons, and the empty spools of thread.


Button, button, who’s got the button?
Granny’s got a jarabuttons over the sewing machine.
She isn’t the only one that’s collected buttons.
She’s just the first you ever saw to do that.
Remember that time you wore that shirt,
‘Till there weren’t no shirt left?
All the buttons went into that jar.
Here’s one she covered herself,
With the material of the dress she'd just made.
I know! Let’s take this old shoestring,
And string buttons, and empty spools of thread.
Now we have a pretty necklace!
These pants have lost a button.
“Look in that jar over the sewing machine...”
This one’s the right color, but it doesn’t look like the rest.
It will have to do.
Now, if anyone says to you, “Button your lip”,
Or if they loose a button, remember
“Granny’s got a jarabuttons over the sewing machine”!


















This is about how I progressed as a writer.  I used to write in long hand on paper with a pen.  I never thought I would get used to a typewriter.  I got used to an electric typewriter ok.  But the computer seemed like an impossible mystery.  It wasn't until I realized that I used a computer every day as a cashier, that I figured I could maybe learn to use a computer.  Here I am now using the computer very well.  Don't ask me how it works though!

Pen vs. Typewriter vs. Computer

Oh no, I could never use one of those,
Click, click, click;
I like the way I get the words to flow,
From the brain, to the fingers,
From the fingers to the paper;
All one long fluid motion.

Once you use one of these,
You’ll never go back to one of those,
Click, click, click;
I don’t see how I could,
Finger jarring noisy machine;
I get enough pain,
Whilst writing the old fashioned way.

Gee, I see what you mean,
I will never go back to one of those,
Click, click, click;
This is much faster,
This is much smoother;
I don’t know how,
I did it before.

Now, you should try one of these,
It is writing done with the most ease,
Clickety, clickety, clickety;
One of those? Never!
Complicated, expensive;
Eyestrain inducing;
How could I ever learn,
To work with that?

You are so right,
It is the most ease,
Clickety, clickety, clickety;
I have found the best way,
To get my words onto paper;
Smooth and simple,
With mistakes easily corrected,
How did I ever get on without one?