Why Kids Love Halloween

Pumpkin Patches,
We wander around and pick our own pumpkin.

Knives,
We take a knife in hand and carve holes.

Fire,
We put candles inside and light them.
The glow they give off in the dark is magical.

Costumes,
We dress up like someone we are not and parade the neighborhood with friends and family.

Darkness,
We go out after dark to run, walk, talk, and play.

Time,
We spend a whole evening with Mom and Dad, brothers, sisters, and friends.

CANDY,
We collect a year’s supply of suckers, bubble gum,
bite sized chocolate bars, jaw breakers, and
Reese’s Pieces.

Why some parents dread Halloween,
All of the above except
Spending time with their kids.

Cerita M. Hewett
October 30, 2015

Solo S’mores

I made s’mores in the
Microwave today,
By myself,
Graham crackers—chocolate—marshmallows,
Leftovers from a family picnic,
Though I admit to buying more chocolate.

It took only milliseconds
For the marshmallows to swell and soften,
The chocolate to wobble and spread,
All the ingredients were present
For the anticipated sweetness.

Yet there was not much satisfaction,
Without red coals burning,
Marshmallow flame outs,
Children laughing,
Grown-ups talking,
Cool evening air,
And each of you there!

Cerita M. Hewett
October 2008

Home Building

A family working together,
Caring for a house and yard,
Grow muscles and
Bind themselves together,
Singing, praying, caring,
Creating a unique life,
Living life,
Eating mixed up taco salad,
Roasting hot dogs and marshmallows,
Mowing, weeding, vacuuming,
Painting, papering, roofing,
Making a house a home,
Never to be forgotten,
Yet moving out and moving on,
Taking with them the lessons learned.

Cerita M. Hewett
Summer 2014

Lullaby

Sleep, sleep for the sun has gone,
Sleep, sleep now our play is done,
Sleep, sleep after we pray,
Sleep, sleep at the end of day.

Rest, rest little arms and legs,
Rest, rest each strong muscle begs,
Rest, rest tiny ears, sparkling eyes,
Rest, rest as the night time flies.

Peace, peace from the day’s fast whirl,
Peace, peace for your tiny world,
Peace, peace in your heart of mirth,
Peace, peace in your home on earth.

Cerita M. Hewett
March 28, 2009

Woman of 1776

O woman of 1776 what was your pain, your travail,
What mighty labor did you perform,
When freedom’s child was born?
We know of Martha Washington how she came to Valley Forge,
Of Jane Adams’ sacrifice and her kindly charm,
But what of the women of ‘76 in the cottage or on the farm?

How did you farm with your man at war,
Did you milk with the boys away,
Who sheared the long wool from your sheep on shearing day?
Could you send the news of the baby born,
The daughter or son so fair,
Did you choose a name he would have liked, if he’d been there?

As you knit the socks and cared for the child,
Did you long for the battle line,
Could you imagine the glory of America free in time?
What news did you hear from Valley Forge,
Or the river Delaware,
Was the battle won or lost and how did your loved one fare?

Who helped you open the shop each morn,
Who sold the goods, counted the pay,
Did you sweep the floor before you “closed” for the day?
As you lighted the lamps when the night was near,
Could you hear the cannon roar,
Were you trembling to know how close they came to your family door?

What did your heart feel day on day,
Did it hold both fear and faith,
How did you bear the somber news of a dear one’s wound or death?
On the first of the week as you went to your church,
Did you sing and think and pray,
Did your heart cry out to Him all through the Sabbath day?

There’s not much written about you my dear,
The history pages are thin,
But when men fight for freedom true, the women must help to win!
Oh woman of 1776 you minded the shop and the farm,
You loved and cared for the children small,
You worked, you prayed, you did it all!

So when he came if that he could,
That loved one all battle worn,
He found you and the children, safe at home.

Cerita M. Hewett
July 1976 (revised 2015)

Blue Teeth

The first blueberries go
Plink, plink, plink,
But after the bottom of the
Pail is covered,
We can barely hear the
Soft plop, plop, plop.

The bushes lose their blues,
But our white teeth turn azure.
In the nearby rows,
The children pick, eat, and play.
The sun warms up,
So we pick on the shady side,
Plop, plop, plop, plop, plop.

At eleven o’clock we
We take off our hats,
Wipe our brows,
Weigh out.
Licking our blue teeth we start for home.
Sweetly ever so sweetly.
It is a good thing that
They only weigh the fruit.

Cerita M. Hewett
June 2014

Through Jarom’s Eyes

My mama let me

Play at dish washing,

Dig dirt and sand,

Mix water with dirt,

Stir cookies,

Roll down a grassy hill,

Splash in puddles,

Run in the rain,

Blow bubbles in my milk,

Pick dandelions,

Bang a pot drum,

Taste salt and sugar,

Smell cinnamon and mint leaves,

And pat the cat.

Mama read books to me,

Washed my clothes,

Helped me pray,

Sang lullabies.

I love my mama!

Cerita M. Hewett
October 30, 2015

Art Festival – for LeeAnn

A river of people flowed in and out
Along the art fest stalls displaying
Sculpture, painting, pottery, glass works,
With people floating in and out,
Seeking the medium that pleased them most,
Slipping by the booths that didn’t interest them.

We melted in among the swirl,
Swimming smoothly stopping and starting,
Soaking up the art, yet keeping Roger’s head in sight,
As he moved effortlessly, gliding quickly through the flood,
We paused longer at displays,
Talked briefly with some artists.

It seemed a thoughtful overflow of young and old,
Couples, singles, babies in strollers, teens,
Somehow calmed and gentled in the stream,
Amazed that in three hours of drifting,
We were jostled or bumped only once or twice,
And then received profuse apologies!

The sun, the breeze, the early Spring,
The coming back to life,
The art and its creators,
Came together for one delightful day,
Which flowed and ebbed into
A lovely memory.

Cerita M. Hewett
April 12, 2015
Revised May 18, 2015

I Love…

I love my mother.
         Her sparkling, laughing, blue eyes often read,
         She easily made the most wonderful bread,
         She knew how to listen to what I said.

I love my gray sweater.
         Soft, warm, and worn,
         Pulled over my head looking old and forlorn,
         I’ll keep on wearing it though it is torn.

I love the color blue.
On white Florida sand, the azure gulf rises,
Blue skies, blueberry pie, Roger’s blue eyes,
And blue butterflies.

I love to go to the mountains to roam.
         In summer away from our hot Texas home,
         Wading in cold streams won’t cause me to moan,
         Though building rock dams can chill one to the bone.

I love children.
         Tall, short, skinny, fat,
         Those who giggle, cry, and pout,
         The runners, the jumpers, and the sitters about.

I love reading and writing.
         Learning from poems, stories, and books,
         I like to see how my ideas look,
         Written on a page of my very own book.

I love baked potatoes.
         Covered with butter, chives, and sour cream,
         Topped with cheese, chili, olives, it will seem,
         Like something that came from your very best dream.

I love Roger sweet and true.
         Sailing on the lake so blue
         Working with an untried crew,
         Always, always, making do.

Cerita M. Hewett
About 1994 revised 2002

Box of Happiness

You brought a heart-shaped box of chocolates,
I don’t remember you doing this before,
It was the perfect gift this year
After so much sacrifice and service.

I opened it,
We smelled its richness,
We read all the descriptions of each specialty,
Peanut cluster, mint, caramel, pecan, vanilla nugget,

Then I suggested we each pick one to eat,
You remarked, “I bought them for you.”
I answered, “Eating alone is no fun.”

We each ate three,
Laughing, reveling, declaring their goodness,
Savoring the shared valentine moment.

Reluctantly we closed the glossy lid,
I washed the supper dishes in the glow of
Our heart-felt box of chocolate happiness.

Cerita M. Hewett
Feb. 14, 2013
Revised 2014

PineyWoodsPoet

a winding walk in the woods

Family