A Mother's Lullaby

Feel the warmth of mother's arms
Beneath your fuzzy head
Feel the rocking of the chair
And the warmth of mother's breath.

Hear the soft notes floating by
Drift away on them
Wrap yourself in lullaby
A blanket for within.

Do not fret and stir or cry
Let worries slip away
Tomorrow will come on its own
Chasing this day away.

Allow yourself to leave the shore
And drift to sleep once more.

Ode to My Cell Phone

Sleek, smooth gadget
Fitting in my palm like a deck of cards
Invention of futuristic proportions,
Now in kid-friendly varieties.

Before you I wasted so much time
Searching up and down endless aisles
To meet up with parents and siblings
Who kept moving just out of sight.

My world is so much brighter
With you cheerily ringing in my pocket--
All of my family and friends
With no more long distance.

Wonder of technological advances
My phone, calculator, calendar, alarm--
My ever faithful timepiece
And impromptu photo shoot.

How did I ever survive
When you were but a dream?
Once an indulgent luxury,
You now seem a constant necessity.
-Shawnee

Home

Through aluminum windows rays of sun
Fill the humble living room with light;
A little girl in footed pajamas starts
To rub her eyes and climb out of a warm
Toddler bed, happy to be at home
Where things are familiar and welcome.

Daddy picks her up in a welcome
Embrace. He loves her as much as he would a son;
He is ready for work and must leave at home
His wife and daughter to carefully light
A new fire in the old stove to warm
The house for the day's start.

The little girl helps her mommy start
A batch of oatmeal whose aroma is welcome
Mixed with the crackling warm
Scent of pine logs burning orange as a sunset.
Mommy picks up her little child who feels light
After the wood she brought into her home.

It is a modest three room home
Purchased to celebrate the start
Of their family; he was the light
In her life and she in his; then they welcomed
A baby girl into their family, a bundle of sunshine
To fill their lives with joy and warmth.

Many sleepless nights they fed warm
Milk to a hungry baby, safe at home,
Rocking sleepily in the pale glow of the midnight sun,
Carefully laying the baby in the cradle so she wouldn't start
To cry. Then climbing back into a bed soft and welcoming,
Only to be awakened too soon by morning's first light.

Each day they watch their baby grow and see the light
Of innocence shine in her eyes as she starts
To explore the world around her and welcome
New experiences, feeling confident at home,
Spared the bite of cold by the woodstove's warmth,
While chasing dust floating through rays of sunshine.

Even when the sun sets there is light
In the warm little home bought at the start
Of a new family, looking for a welcome place to call home.
-Shawnee

Baby Girl

Warmth
Against my cheek
New skin, sprouting hair
I feel your heartbeat
Through your soft spot.

Sweet
Scent of lotion
I kiss your forehead,
Tender rose petal
Against chapped lips.

Bright
Summer sky eyes
Sparkle, dance and smile
Radiant with love,
Curly lashes.

Squeals
Grunts and giggles
Tiny melodies
Your cries tug my heart,
I come running.

Sour
Milky kisses,
Butterfly fingers
Tickle my cheeks,
Forever love.

-Shawnee

The Measure of Greatness

What is the measure of greatness?
What is the measure of success?
Is it fame and recognition?
Is it fine and expensive dress?
No. It is having a place to call home
At the end of a long day,
Where family come to visit,
And children love to play.
It is cultivating a garden
That blooms by love alone,
Surrounding the humble place
Simply known as “Home.”

What is the measure of greatness?
It is not wealth of jewels and gold.
It is having people to love you
Even as you grow old.
It’s every flower you’ve ever planted
And watered with tender care.
It’s the times you’ve held a child’s hand,
Or patted a child’s hair.

Greatness is measured by kindness,
By deeds small and great,
Quiet services rendered
For someone else’s sake.
It’s taking children on walks
To get the mail at the General Store,
And sending love in letters
With poems, doodles, and more.

Greatness is measured by goodness
And quiet actions of faith.
It’s attending church on the Sabbath
And never ceasing to pray.
Greatness is not of the world.
Greatness is not fame.
It is being a mother and grandmother,
The most beautiful of names.
-Shawnee

(In loving memory of Grandma Carol Helm)

A Light on a Hill

The world leads through deception to ways
Dark and hopeless, promising false fame and height
And many are deceived and lose sight
Of that which they've learned since their youth of Grace
And hope, of repentance, of everyday's
Choices that can allow one to cast as candle-light
On a hill an example leading to a path of right,
Of honesty, love, kindness; not self praise
Seeking for gain by finding others to use,
But by living each day through humble faith.
In this world I will not lose
My way or hope. With each breath
I will carefully choose
To live my life so I may not fear death.
-Shawnee

Dirty Dishes

Dirty Dishes--Shawnee
Warm water running over
The red chapped knuckles on the back of my hand.
Squeezing frothy bubbles from the porous blue sponge,
I smell artificial green apples.

Where to start?
Glaring weakness, shortcomings, failings,
Bared for all to see
Spotlighted by the natural light in my window;
My imperfections displayed to all--
My perceived failings as a mother and wife,
My sink full of dirty dishes.

Each meal it seems more hopeless,
A mountain that increases until
I can't face it anymore.
I hide.
I serve bananas for breakfast,
A picnic on the grass for lunch--
Paper plates, chips, peanut butter sandwiches, and apple slices.
I can't quite face my nemesis, not yet...

When the smell of rotting food and sour milk
Finds me even in my most deliberate avoidance,
I must face it.

I start with a cup, a spoon,
I think about each of my children,
The cross words I've snapped at them,
The time I've spent criticizing instead of complimenting.
I delve a bit deeper, each dish a bit dirtier.
I think of complaining to my husband
For working late or being grumpy,
Using a sharp tongue instead of kindness.

I scour at the caked on bits of burnt eggs,
I run steaming water over grease,
I rinse, feel for missed bits of rough old food,
I scour and rinse again.

Layer after layer I tackle
Until, FINALLY, even the sludge
At the very bottom is scooped out,
Ground in the disposal, or rinsed away.
I inhale deeply, I feel so free,
I can finally breath again.
I no longer have to hide...
I can do better,
I will do better,
I'll try to do better.
Yet I know
The next meal
Will begin a new battle.