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

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

Knowing

girl-scriptures-flowers-1257297-gallery

There is a difference between
Knowing with the mind
And knowing with the heart.

For the Lord has told us
He will teach us in our hearts
And in our minds.

Our thoughts and feelings become
So intertwined it is often hard to tell
Which is thought and which is feeling.

Together they act as a duet,
For they are welded to each other
By the Savior’s love.

Cerita M. Hewett
September 21, 2015

Art Festival – for LeeAnn

art fest

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

Reminders

Field of daisy flowers

The daisy with its golden sun center
And white radiating petals,
His light and eternal knowledge.

The daffodils first blooms,
Of the first spring for all mankind,
When He arose and came forth.

The rose with the sweet fragrance of
Life, not of the tomb,
His glorious resurrection.

Well then, all things remind me,
Trucks pulling heavy loads
His cross.

Bucket loaders
Lifting dirt and rocks to higher places,
His lifting of our sins.

Cars speeding down the straight away,
The eternal path, narrow, but well-marked
By His treading feet.

Graders moving rocks aside,
Smoothing the way,
His gentle voice calming hearts.

Airplanes soaring up and over mountains,
His lifting, climbing,
Carrying all who come to him upward.

Yes, all things can remind us of Him,
When we look through the lens of spiritual lives
At mortality.

Cerita M. Hewett
September 20, 2015

Hope

jesus-christ-blessing-children-nephite-158467-gallery

When I think of the Savior
Teaching the common people,
With the Widow of Nain,
Healing the sick,
In the garden of Gethsemane,
With the woman at the tomb,
Appearing to the Nephites after his resurrection,
Letting each one of the multitude
Touch the marks in His hands, feet, and side,
Holding and blessing each child,
I feel sure hope that He knows me.

I know He loves me,
When I let Him come into my life,
He reaches out to me,
Though there is turmoil in the world around,
Through Him I smile each day,
And with this hope I pray and work,
I try to be a little kinder,
Then follow Him.

Cerita M. Hewett
Revised 2015

I Love…

loveI 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

Polished Sandhill Crane

sand hill craneA polished sandhill crane
Stands on the table of my room,
White Tail-feathers nearly brush the ground,
Slender feet sustain it carefully,
As though ‘twould walk quite soon,
Beneath the long and gracious neck,
Shines out an oval spot of brown.

Her beak,
Like an ivory needle gently drawn high,
Attracts my eyelids upward from the earth,
Stretching gladly toward the pale blue sky.
My spirit seems to soar with a new birth.

The one who carved you
From that discarded horn,
Made you to match his lofty thought,
Through his delightful toil,
Your life was born,
By his sincerity
A thing of beauty wrought.

You stand there doing nothing,
Bending not a knee,
Still in your shaping
A heart gave,
Now looking
Uplifts me.

Cerita Marie Moore
January 4, 1966

Box of Happiness

Valentine ChocolatesYou 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