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

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

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

Mountains to Climb

ecuador mountain

We can see clearly
Massive mountains to be climbed,
Not so clearly the preparation.
The time, the effort,
The knowledge, the skill,
They will require.

We usually need some smaller,
Practice hills before we
Take on a mammoth mountain.

May we conquer many mounds,
And feel happy,
Then, when we start our mountain climb,
We will find that this towering alp is mostly,
One rise after another.

May we feel our strength growing,
As we climb and stand on knolls,
Stamina built on ridges,
Will be there to sustain us
All the way to the top.
And then after many months, sense the joy of a
View from the summit of a towering mountain.

Cerita M. Hewett
October 29, 2015

Entertaining


pork loin dinner

(for Joann & David)

I made pork loin for our family
And thought of Joanne and David,
We went to their home
For occasional church potluck suppers.

They made pork loin supreme,
The group brought the sides,
All was served on china with glass,
Set on tables with clothes.

No plastic containers in sight,
Everything in its special dish or bowl,
But more than this
I’ll always remember…

The open door, the welcome,
The kindness, the laughter,
The gentle touch,
The conversation so that…

No one ever wanted to leave,
The reluctant good byes,
The friendship extended to each one,
The mastered art of entertaining.

                                                               Cerita M. Hewett
                                                               August 10, 2015

Sleep (by Elena, 11yrs)

Sleepy Little Girl Having

Joy, peace, calming air fills my lungs
In the light and beauty surrounding me.
Listening to my heart thumping out a rhythm,
Slow and sleepy
Like a bear in hibernation.
The lids of my eyes hang low
Cutting out the brilliant light.
Slowly, like turtles crawling up onto a log,
Sleep overcomes my inner will.
Sleeping, rocking slowly.
Sleep.

Elena Hewett
Oct 2015

Thanksgiving Symphony

geese

The goose orchestra is playing today on the lake,

A cacophony of sound

Tossed into the air by a brisk north wind,

Softened by the muffled wing flapping of late concert goers.

 

The gray sky and brown grass welcome the joyous music,

On an otherwise silent winter day,

As a thousand geese perform a symphony of gratitude,

For their safe arrival to our little lake of the south,

And we, with God, are listening.

                                                                                                                                                                                                Cerita M. Hewett
                                                                                                                                                   November 2005
                                                                                                                                               Revised November 2014

Air Conditioned Pants

Air Conditioned Jeans

A beautiful girl with
Faded blue,
Air conditioned jeans,
Sat next to me on the flight.

She talked on her phone,
Wrote text messages,
Read from an autobiography of Gandhi,
And drank a coke without ice.

That is all I know about her
Because,
We didn’t talk.  

                                                      Cerita M. Hewett
                                                      June 5,2015
                                                      Revised July 6, 2015

Painting With Leaves

painting

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunday evening the grand children and I
Went for a walk in our woods,
The forest was quiet,
The pine needles deep and soft beneath our feet,
Some of the deciduous leaves had begun to
Turn colors and fall to the forest floor,
The girls kept giggling and dancing about
Like children having been let out of church,
I kept feeling Elena and then Isabel
Touch the back of my sweater,
I couldn’t see what was happening but
I knew they were putting something,
On my fuzzy sweater vest,

Finally at the house after a photo,
I was able to see their work,
My back was a beautiful leaf painting!

                                                                                 Cerita M. Hewett
                                                                                    Nov. 7, 2011