Poetry

Why Kids Love Halloween

halloweenPumpkin 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

Squirrels

Squirrel The leaves and branches of the oak
Flutter and spring,
I wonder why as there is no breeze,
The rainy morning has becalmed.

Then gray squirrels
Descend from the tree,
One, two, three.
They scamper away
Each in a different direction.

Only to return and leap
Up the trunk and out
Onto the ends of the branches,
Bouncing and swaying
Like children playing and swinging.

Now I see them biting off
Acorns and pouching them,
Working to acquire tasty nuts,
Before running back into the woods
To hide their treasures.

I never knew squirrels
Picked acorns,
Before, I had only seen them
Gathering from the ground.

Something new to me,
Delighted at the discovery
I filed this incident under ‘Squirrels’,
And sat still on the porch,
One quiet morning in October.

Cerita M. Hewett
October 23, 2015

Hitchhikers

weedsWalking through the woods today
I picked up a bunch of light weight hitchhikers.

They stuck to my socks,
Clung to my pant legs,
And even managed to
Attach them selves to my sweater.

Some are pointy and barbed,
While others are just
Rough, sticky, and
Clingy.

I sat on the porch picking them off
One by one,
Since it is impossible to just
Brush them away.

One cannot walk in the fields and woods this fall
Without giving them a most unwelcome ride,
So I remove them carefully,
As they can even hang on through the wash!

Now, carrying my pile of riders
Into the house to the garbage pail,
So as not to plant them in the lawn,
One pokes my ankle and
It becomes apparent that some
Are still hitchhiking!

Cerita M. Hewett
November 2014

Lullaby

lullabySleep, 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

Church Bells / Campanas de iglesia en Guayaquil

churchI like the bells!
Not everybody likes them
But I like the bells.

No they don’t play a discernable tune,
They mostly ‘cling’ and ‘clang’,
Sounding early and throughout the day.

Yet against a background of whining car alarms,
The clamor of Taxi horns,
And the guttural grinding of bus gears,

The bells are cheerful music to my ears.

Cerita M. Hewett
August 20, 2010
____________________________

Campanas de iglesia en Guayaquil

Me gusta las campanas!
Todo el mundo no les gustan,
Pero a mi me gustan las campanas.

No, no tocan una melodía discernible,
En su mayoría solo ‘cling’ y ‘clang’,
Sonando temprano y durante todo el día.

Sin embargo contra el fondo de las quejas de las
alarmas de las coches,
El clamor de los pito de taxi,
Y el gutural rechinar de engranajes del bus,

Las campanas son una música alegre para mis oídos.

Cerita M. Hewett
20 de agosto de 2010

Unopened

RoseThe two long stemmed,
White rose buds,
I was given in the temple,
Stood in my catsup bottle vase,
For several days,
Improving our apartment with
Their delicate beauty.

One of them unfolded,
Little by little and let forth
A lovely delicate perfume,
Then dropped her head,
Her yellow center seeds and
Soft petals gradually fell upon the table.

The other stayed as a bud,
She never opened so I tried,
To inspire her with fresh water,
And a new clean cut along her stem,
But she refused to open,
Gradually growing brown,
First around the edges and then her center,
Until I gave her up to the waste basket.

Remembering both the fully opened all giving ose,
And the brown holding back unfulfilled bud,
Who both expired,
I wonder at our opened
Or unopened hearts, gifts, powers,
That bless or never fully develop
To gladden our lives and others.

Cerita M. Hewett
Sept. 28, 2009

Spackling

spacklingI spackled in the boys’ room today,
Years after our boys ceased to lounge there,
Putting soft white plaster over tiny holes,
And smoothing it off with a small metal spatula,
Filling in all the cavities and mars in the pale blue walls,
Preparation, long over due, for painting the room.

Nail holes, pin holes, tack holes, clustered low,
Just about three feet up from the worn carpet,
Then a batch higher and denser at about four and a half feet,
And last of all holes grouped more sparsely at the six-foot level.

I don’t recall what they hung on those walls but,
I do remember the sweet smell of their freshly bathed bodies,
And the beguiling melody of
“Good night Mama.”

Cerita M. Hewett
Revised June 6, 2007

Woman of 1776

Wlliamsburg, VirginiaO 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)

Night Has Fled

sleeping inGet up! Get up!
You sleepy head,
Hop up, bound up,
Jump out of bed.

The day has come,
The night has fled,
So spring up, leap up
And show your head.

Cerita M. Hewett
April 14, 2015

Transplants

F

F

Transplants are tender.
Need nourishment,
Wilt in the heat of the day,
Perk up in the cool of the evening.
Crave life giving water.

The older they are the greater the risk,
Some may not make the transition
From the familiar,
To the new surprising garden.

Many with extra care
Put down new roots and flourish.
They once again bear fruit.

Cerita M. Hewett
June 3, 2015
Revised July 6, 2015