If you would like to read more of my poems, my latest poetry book is called TOUCHPOINTS, written under the pen name Sally Shirley. You can find TOUCHPOINTS on iTunes. http://goo.gl/Lt5lqa.  On the back of the book you will find one of my poems that tells About The Author – that is, me.  Unfortunately, a draft version got published before I had a chance to correct it, and I recreate it here as I meant it to be.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

She can write a phrase that will turn your stomach

or your head.

She can talk to a priest in church,

or talk to you in bed.

She reveals your secrets to others

As she smiles into your eyes.

She tells your deadly truths

As she exposes your deepest lies.

Poet, Wife, Mother, Daughter –

She never has done what she ought to.

Teacher, Lover, Writer, Friend –

She shares the lessons that Life sends.

Read her words and have a care,

You might just find yourself in here!

So, pick up Touchpoints, take a look –

Are you and your friends in this book?

One of the things I like to do in writing poetry is to play with the words. I especially like words that have double meanings or sound-alike pronunciations. But what I really do best is to get inside the person I am writing about and draw a word picture using first person tense so that it sounds as if that person is doing the talking.  I like getting inside the head of someone who interests me…Of course, some times my poems are straightforward and are just expressing feelings or experiences that I have had.

These next two poems will appear in my next book of poetry. They are more or less “hot off the press.” As with so much of my writing, the poem below began writing itself while I was still asleep, in the early morning hours.  I remember groggily getting up and saying, “Oh, no! Wait for me! Just let me get to a pen and some paper…!” Here is the result.

THE MIGHTY WIDOW’S MITE

She made a home for her husband and sons,

But her husband died and left her alone.

He left her with more memories than friends.

Their two boys grew into fine men.

Raising children is expensive, you know.

Her “mite” did not cover all she owed.

Every time she saved, they needed.

Every time they asked, she heeded.

Always with love, without a fight,

She gave her boys her “widow’s mite.”

The boys grew strong and then they left.

She grew bent over and felt bereft.

They were her sons, her only life!

On whom she spent her “widow’s mite.”

And at last when her life was done,

The Lord Jesus called her home.

He took her to a house of light.

She was amazed! It was so bright!

“Look at the house that you built, my dear!

The house that reflects your soul so clear.

Every time you gave on Earth,

Every time you cried, I heard.

Every time you hurt, I felt.

Every time you prayed, I knelt.

On Earth, you suffered many pains.

God turned your tears into life-giving rain!

Jesus said, “You and I are much alike.

We believe our God will make things right.

Come, sister, see what our Lord has for you

There’s so much healing here to do!

Your children on Earth will honor you still

Just because you did God’s will!

And look at your house! Just LOOK! Just see!

Here’s where you will spend Eternity!

Your husband, his love still pure and true,

Will live on in this house with you”

Jesus cupped her face with his rough warm hands.

“You walked the path of God’s commands.

I paid for your sins with my Earthly life,

But you paid for this house with your “widow’s mite.”

The Mighty Widow’s Mite…!”

And now, for a change of pace…

THE WOMAN WHO WALKS BEHIND

You know me – I’m the one who

Validates your guesses,

Cleans up your messes,

Reads your mind.

I’m the one who

Runs a tight ship,

Stays cool and hip

Goes out of her mind…

Inside, where I live now…

Here is another poem from TOUCHPOINTS. There are more poems from TOUCHPOINTS at this blog site in the Archives section. Scroll back through and enjoy!

THE CAR

In my car

A light comes on

When I need gas

Or oil or water…

Or it flashes red for

“Maintenance Required.”

“You let me know

If that red light comes on,” you say,

“Because I’ll need to

Take care of that right away.”

I wish I had that kind of setup

So that you would know

When I feel LOW or HOT or

NEED TAKING CARE OF.

Lucky car…

It seems that I have been writing poems all my life. I kept them in various places – notebooks, boxes, purses, books – until someone told me that I could actually have my poems published and share them with other people who might like poetry as much as I did.  Below is my first poem that I submitted to the magazine insert to the Sunday Commercial Appeal (Memphis TN). I think I was about 9.  Somewhere I have my (sort of) rejection letter, stating that they couldn’t publish it because they didn’t publish poetry. Here is New Orleans Lady.

New Orleans Lady

O, the lace! The frothy, frilly lace,

On the gown, and on the veil

that hides your lovely face.

O’er the satin and the silk

and the skin of rosy milk.

The raven blackness of your hair

that falls in tangled glory past your hips,

and the fullness and the redness

of your boldly curved lips.

The delicate arch of eyebrows

above slanting eyes of green;

The jewels resting on the breast

of one so like a queen.

I learned from that rejection letter that there were markets for poetry, and if I wanted to see my poems published, I would have to find an appropriate market. Unfortunately, my next poem was of an activist nature and I had no idea where to send it. I was 11 when I wrote this poem, entitled The Next War.

The Next War

So you hope there’s not another War?

Well, good! So do we.

But, man, you’d better kneel and pray,

For this is how it will be.

No other wars with shot and shell.

The next will be a living hell!

A scorching, searing, burning flame

that flicks its tongue at all to maim.

No bullet-quick death to still the pain,

But, far more deadly, radioactive rain

That torrents down from red-rimmed skies

And bloats and sears until all die.

Until all die? No! It can’t be!

Think not, foolish Man?

Just you wait and see.

God made Man and loved him

Though his actions proved him sin-

ful. But God intended for Man to be

The image of Him, and so you see

It hurts God to see our heads so swelled

With pride at making this Bomb so well,

While our feeble minds don’t or won’t understand

That this may well be the End of Man.

And what happens after that, O Man?

When you’ve laid waste God’s own dear Land?

Why, with the death of all men,

Then wars will cease!

And God will be satisfied,

For there will be Peace.

Life is a study in contrasts for me.  My husband and I recently went down to the Gulf Coast and tried to find Vrazel’s, one of the best seafood restaurants in the area. When we couldn’t identify it among the new eating places, we pulled into one of the parking lots to turn around and go back to our motel. We then decided to just eat at whatever restaurant we were at, because we heard so many good comments from people coming out of the restaurant. When we relayed our situation to our waiter, he told us that this was, in fact, the “old” Vrazel’s – what a coincidence! Of course, it didn’t look anything like the restaurant we were looking for, but it was new and beautiful and over looked the Coast with the waves coming in at dusk and the lights coming on towards dark.  So romantic! Ambiance was in abundance! And then I saw these two…One More Night.

One More Night

She’s on her second drink,

He’s on his second iced tea.

She stares at him,

He stares at his cell.

The only thing they do together

Is eat the house rolls.

She has a bowl of gumbo,

He has a bowl of salad.

Then their orders come…

A thick steak for him

A pile of fried shrimp for her.

Their server is tall and tan and lean and lovely…

Her customer is tall and tan and lean and hungry…

The wife eats the fried shrimp, one by one,

as she stares at him.

He cuts the steak in tiny pieces and deflects her stares

by looking around.

She keeps her eyes glued to his face,

seeing no one else.

His neck swivels back and forth,

looking at everyone else

but her.

She pays the bill.

He pays the price.

One more night without a fight…

Fast-forward to yesterday when I went to one of my favorite places to write, our local Cracker Barrel.  There was a sweet couple who had come in to eat lunch. They laughed and talked as they ate, and when they were finished with their meal, he got up to get her walker. There were many little “comforts” that he had apparently made and attached to the walker – soft foam to cushion her hands, a little basket to put her things in, and a place to fold and secure her sweater. Here is what I observed and wrote about in The Right One:

The Right One

He helps her into her walker

(Still her protector),

She pokes his chest with her finger

(Still the joker!).

He gives her the sweetest look,

She gives him her biggest smile!

Briefly they hug as if getting ready to dance.

As he straightens her blouse,

She puts her hands on his shoulders.

“You two look as if you’re getting ready to dance,”

their server says.

“No, our dancin’ days are done,”

she smiles.

“But we can still prance and joke and have fun!”

he laughs.

Getting old is great, when you chose 

The Right One!

The truth is, I HAVE to write! No writer’s block for me!  I write at all hours of the day and night, when the spirit moves me. I never remember what I composed if I don’t write it down, so I try to be ready! People, pets, and poetry are my passions in life…and what a grand life it is!