Some Poetry

Today, I would like to share three poems that I wrote years ago, that were actually published in anthologies.

The first, I wrote in 1993 as my then fiance and I were getting ready to get married:

Approaching Our Day

With each passing day, the time draws near

For us to pledge ourselves one to the other forever, my dear.

That day will be great —

I can hardly wait!

Then together we will go

Down the long, winding road;

Fulfilling old dreams and building new ones,

Constantly sharing both difficulties and fun.

We’ll share love and support, laughter and tears

As together we grow old through the years.

We’ll climb difficult mountains and race down steep hills

Encouraging each other forever, as we will.


This next one was written as I watched my grandmother’s memory slip away as her body gave in to Alzheimer’s disease:

Lament of an Alzheimer’s Patient

Many memories, once vivid and bright,

Now fade with the twilight’s last light.

They say it’s an incurable disease;

When I beg someone to help me, please!

I feel frustration, anger, and pain;

As this disease gnaws away at my brain.

I feel lonely, helpless, and lost,

As I ride the sporadic, angry waves, being torn and tossed.

There is nothing left to do now, but pray

And ask God to take all of my pain away.

For God is forever faithful and true;

And in my darkest hour, he’ll see me through.

So now with the rising and setting of each sun;

I turn to the Holy One;

Asking for mercy, strength and love —

I receive these, by God’s grace from above.


This last one I wrote because I hate what European immigrants (our ancestors) did to the Native American people.  I have a great love for the Native American people, and my great-great grandmother was a full-blooded Cherokee Native American that I never had the privilege of knowing.

Tribute to a Lost Nation

Shawnee, Cheyenne, Arapaho, Cherokee, and Crow

These, and many other tribes, freely roamed this land long ago.

They were warriors and hunters with arrow and bows;

For food and clothing, they killed the deer and the antelope.

They loved, respected, and worked this land;

With primitive tools, blood and sweat came from their hands.

They have lost much and no longer proudly stand,

For they have been scattered like grains of sand.

As across this land, the wind blows,

I hear a voice echo;

“Tribes, such as Shawnee, Cheyenne, Arapaho, Cherokee, and Crow

Have all but vanished, like their brother, the buffalo.”

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