Poem: It's Hard to be Me

Painting by Annie Early Stephens © 2013

IT’S HARD TO BE ME 

Sometimes it’s hard to be me,

With a neck as tall as a tree,

Yet, I think you can see,

And surely agree,

I’m the very best me I can be.

Poem: The Distance Between the Moon and Me

The Distance Between the Moon and Me

The distance between the moon and me,

I think I can see,

Yet I’m told it’s really quite far,

We can measure most things,

Like three feet in a yard,

That’s not very hard,

Or the size of a football field,

We know what that yields,

Yet it’s not that easy for a girl

Who never played the game,

All the same,

We can measure most things,

Like we know what we bring

Home at the end of each week,

But how far it will go,

We really can’t know,

Unless we are good at math,

And I don’t want to think about that,

I’d rather fly off to the moon

Where the dish ran away with the spoon,

And the distance between the earth and me

Well, I think I can see,

Yet I’m told it’s really quite far,

Whether miles or yards

We can’t always know where we are,

There are things that are real

And others we feel

And those we can’t measure at all.

Poem: Immigrant Dreams

Immigrant Dreams

They came in waves

From distant shores,

Leaving all they knew

To start anew

In a land they’d never seen,

Boarding ships,

They waved goodbye

To those they loved,

Not knowing

When they’d meet again,

Tearful partings,

Yet starting toward a life

That sparkled brighter

Than the noonday sun,

Our country,

A beautiful tapestry

Of immigrant dreams,

Americans all are we,

Our country ‘tis of thee,

Sweet land of liberty,

Of thee we sing!

Poem: Shades of Green

Photo by Rita Bourland © 2013 Brown County

Shades of Green 

Shades of green,

Our Maker’s blend,

Lie upon the trees

And grass,

A palate of colors

That shift and change

Like a kaleidoscope

Casting doubt on what we see,

An early dawn patrol

Of soldiers standing tall

Frozen at full attention

Guns held still at their sides,

 
Or just a field of trees
In careful, measured rows,

Where birds can nest

And folks can rest

Beneath their gentle branches,

Our Maker mixes shades of green

And grows the trees from seeds,

Away from all the sounds of war,

He leaves us

Only peaceful

Scenes of summer.