Some of our Mother’s poetry and prose with photos:

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I’ll never be famous

Don't care to be

I’d hate all that fuss

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Just want to be me

THE BREEZE

The breeze nips neatly on my nose

and sends its soothing balm.

It sends God’s kiss of fresh relief

to cool, refresh and calm.

My doubts and frantic tries

seem now to float away.

The breeze has touched myself inside.

I feel secure and self assured.

I know that breeze was sent astray

To send a promise

To show to me

That beauty abounds which eye can't see.

Note: The following was written by my mother about a conversation between my parents when they were living in CA…

EASTER MORNING

Our new home overlooks a cross (the cross on Battle Mountain). This home will be our last home, and the setting and view epitomize the end of our struggle. The lighted cross at night is an inspiration even if we don’t verbalize it. We have never been overtly religious, but we both have been, let’s say, followers of the Christian faith and believers. We have been members of the church, and brought our children up with the normal routine of Sunday School, baptism, and all. We both even once taught in the church school and have read the Bible since childhood.

We were together this Easter Sunday and planned to go to the sunrise service. Our first church attendance here, as newcomers. We always rise early. This morning Mickey was up before me. He wakened me and said “Dorothy, the cross is gone.”

“What do you mean, the cross is gone?”

“Well, look—“.

I got out of bed and looked. Sure enough. The cross was gone.

“Mickey, I don’t understand. Today of all days, the cross should be there. Do you suppose there is some kind of Easter celebration the community has that we don’t know about, and they remove the cross and then put it back on the mountain?”

“Dorothy, that doesn’t make sense. The cross is going to be there for Easter, isn’t it?”

“Mickey, are you sure it isn’t there? I’ll go get the binoculars.”

I had an indescribable sense of loss and an uncanny feeling as though someone or something had died as I ran downstairs for the binocs. The cross couldn’t be gone. It had to be there.

We both looked again. This time through the binoculars. The cross simply was not there. We looked at each other. We looked again at the mountain. I felt totally empty and helpless. That cross had become a symbol to me of the new life and new home and new structure I had visioned as we shaped our retirement years here in the lovely community.

Usually when we waken, the sun bursts into our bay-window of our bedroom which faces east. This particular morning was hazy. We started dressing and kept looking out to the mountain. I was puzzling about the strange absence and wondering what kind of ceremony was planned for the sunrise service to put the cross back on the mountain. I knew the cross would be put back on the mountain. I just didn’t know how. I even envisioned a pageant whereby the citizens would carry the cross back up the mountain on Easter Sunday and implant it once again as a reminder to us that Jesus died, but lived for us. I just knew I had to have that cross back on my mountain.

Then Mickey called. “Dorothy, it is there — See!!!” The haze had lifted. The sun shone through. The cross really was there all the time. We just couldn’t see it, even through the binoculars.

To see my Lord’s Prayer on piano use https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8612XJcCs2o

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It funny how I think in rhythm

My head's a spinning a-spinning all the time

My self’s so full of things to say

It discombobulates my day

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THE TURTLE AND THE CAT…..

Turtle: “Nonsense! Utter nonsense

Said the turtle to the cat

THIS PICNIC’S STRICTLY CASUAL

You shouldn't wear a hat"

Cat: “But if there should be thunder –

And we should have some wet

I have no shell like you have

Under which to get!"

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ON RAIN

I love to sit in the step of the rain

Let it cover me over

And splash on my face.

Let it trickle

And sing its refrain.

Let the pitter,

Let the patter

Let the splatter

SING ME ITS SONG

Somehow, Rain —

you cleanse all that’s wrong.

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ON SOLITUDE

A state of being alone

Solitude is

Selfish, unselfishness

Solitude is knowledge of oneself

And recognition

of one small piece of life

Solitude is working, stretching, growing.

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ON BALANCE

So long as You are there

To hold my hand as needed

So long as faith and prayer

Are known to be heeded

There are no problems

That can't be solved.

It’s a simple

Up and Down

A scale

A balance

A weighing of each day.

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ON BIRDS

They sing! Tweet –

They sing - Tweet -

They sing!

 Still they sing!

For how long

 Will we hear their bird song?

How long will they sing

These birds on the wing?

For how long will we enjoy their song?

If mankind continues to go all wrong –

Destroy their nests

And give themselves no rest –

How long?

How long

Will we hear that bird song?

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ON INCREDIBLE

I watched that spider

All night long.

He put little circles on each warp

And threaded all his woof.

Another little spider

Came to visit

He quit his weaving, as though to say

Hey! - - this is mine

Go away.

He finally finished

I suppose he went to bed

Tomorrow when he wakens

He will be well fed.

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ON LIZARDS

He seems to scramble

all the time

And climbs up on the screens

and stops

There isn’t anything to eat

When stranded at the top

So I go out to talk to him

But he's not one to listen -

Soon as I arrive

He is very much alive

He goes away

I wonder where?

I bet he has his family

stashed 'round here -

His lair.

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ON SNAILS

I’m so glad I’m not a snail

I watch that bugger move!

And ask myself –

How in the hail -

Can he all those plants remove!

He’s sudden death to delphies

And splotches spots on epies -

He climbs upon the window screens

And leaves his tell-tale path.

Poor creature struggling just to stay alive

But my garden, with him, just won't survive.

Wish I could give him a leg or two

So he could WALK away

But sorry (escargot – yuk!)

I cannot let you stay

CRUNCH -

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ON RELAXATION

What? Relax?

What is Relax?

Once it was a loosening of muscles,

Then it was a lessening of drive.

Or, a letting go of problems.

Then it was a relief from work and effort –

Relax was recreation, fun, and amusement.

Once upon a time –

Relax was prayer and thanks –

Called Sunday.

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ON TOUCH

I always seem to be so busily

engaged in household chores and such

I never seem to find the time

(or take it)
to give that added touch.

It is not that I’m complaining –

 the things I do are fine.
 but surely there must be a way
 for me to spend a day

Just goofing off – just thinking

 or planning what to do

Help me, God, to get to You.

Help me play some Fu Man Shu

 some gidget, some gadget
 some thing-a-ma-ree.

To guide my steps toward life for You

To help me onward – help me see

What trust and faith has meant to me.

Alone, You see I am nothing.

Your spirit leads my way.

 Your goal must be accomplished

So, I plod on everyday.

Sometimes I get discouraged.

Sometimes I have lost the way.

BUT always You have been with me

You tell me that I simply - have
to live my sure-determined way

of no display and no pretense –

a constant praise of grace received –

life unrelieved

You keep on telling me that

there is another touch -

Is it the 8th tense?

A new tense - a new touch?

Some future tense?

My God, please touch me again – today.

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THE COCKTAIL HOUR

Some men of reason

Cannot face

The challenge of

The Big Rat Race.

They figure, argue, analyze

Conclusions then

They think are wise

Their faith is strictly in themselves –

No trust in prayer,

Their God they shelve.

Tensions mount, the tempers flare

They turn to drink.

It helps them think!

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Sons

So, go to sleep – you idiots

So, stop the stupid drive

So, let the deeds speak for themselves

and let yourselves relax.

So, let yourselves sleep soundly

and know that you have done

As much as any one can do.

It’s really pretty hard to fathom –

the kind of life we live

But, oh my sons, it’s really not that hard –

you simply have to stick it out and pray

That maybe – no, not maybe, I know

the heart aches you'll soon discard.

Yes, your mother is a dreamer –

she wants so much for you
and so does dad

He’ll be so glad if ever you fulfill for him

his lifelong dream of happiness.

What is this dream? — It’s not for him –

it's a dream for you - yet still
a little bit for him - and me -

You both are us —

Please, God, save our family.

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SOMERSAULT

I am going to turn a somersault

and turn my life around

I am going to turn a somersault

then face to face

With me

I will have found

the place where I will be!

(The above poems were all written by my mother Dorothy J Dover)

Below were my mother’s parents, followed by my mother waving goodbye! Thanks for visiting.