Williams - Homespun Verses By Grandma Pearl

Homespun Verses
by Grandma Pearl Pearl Williams iUniverse, Inc. Bloomington Homespun Verses by Grandma Pearl Copyright 1999, 2012 by Pearl Williams. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting: iUniverse 1663 Liberty Drive Bloomington, IN 47403 www.iuniverse.com 1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677) Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only. Certain stock imagery Thinkstock. ISBN: 978-1-4697-3152-0 (sc) ISBN: 978-1-4697-3154-4 (hc) ISBN: 978-1-4697-3155-1 (ebk) Printed in the United States of America iUniverse rev. date: 01/04/2012 Contents Saturday Night
at the Lewis Theater How Do I Know
It Is Sunday You Dont Have
To Walk Alone To My grandchildren my greatest cheering squad. Can I be called a poet? Yea, a poet I wish I were Although I do not always follow Form, meter or measure Can I be called a poet? Like Angelou, Millet or L. Hughes In my own shoes I must walk And of my own experiences muse Can I be called a poet? Mostly I write little stories in rhyme To touch a heart, evoke a smile Or awake a memory of another time An acting poet am I On that lets all agree So please accept my verses With love, to you from me.

Prettier than the young girl she was But she does not know it. Softer than a floating cloud But she does not show it. Has a huge capacity to love But pretends not to know it. Hides her hurts deep within And tries not to show it. Her friends, too have demons to fight But she does not know it. They struggle, silently as she has done Trying not to show it.

The faith she has is big enough But she does not know it. God has the power to help and heal If she will only let him show it. Mine eyes have seen the beauty of a newborn child My arms have held her close My heart is filled with overwhelming love My ears have heard the strength her cries boast My soul cries out, Oh thank you God. That my eyes have seen my first Great-grandchild. She had the ebony beauty of a stately African queen The most beautiful healing hands, that were ever seen Mama was a special lady less than five feet tall But to me she was a giant. Her heart was biggest of all Mama, I skinned my knee.

Mama, I stubbed my toe. She always made it better. Whatever I needed she would know. In a house full of kids, each thinking Im her pet Every hug or kiss sent a message, youre the most precious yet. No seers wisdom was greater. What must I do? I would ask her.

No matter the size of the problem, she would help me find the answer. She had a thousand adages. Remembering them brings back a smile. Think before you speak., beauty is as beauty does. and such saw me through many a mile. The glue that held the family together, in sunshine or rain Mama, you are my champion responsible for whom I became I wake each day with anticipation Learning something new daily is my need My thirst for knowledge was sprouted Sally sowed the seed She taught me how to read.

My world is abundantly full For no greater wealth have I strove With caring family and friends around me Sally sowed the seed She showed me how to love Lifes journey is a rollercoaster There are ups and downs along the way. My connection to a higher power keeps me grounded Sally sowed the seed. She taught me how to pray. I remember how we danced When jitterbugging was the style You had your own crazy posture Your antics always made me smile I remember standing in the fog Letting the cable cars go on So wed have a little more time Before you escorted me home I remember pooling our funds In order for us to know Was it only lunch in a greasy spoon Or also enough for a picture show I remember the super big bands With both the jazz and the mellow sound And how we could listen for hours In the neighborhood cocktail lounge I remember the grin on your face When I would try to repeat a joke And how you would laugh and laugh Watching me trying to smoke I remember how we spoke without words When our eyes, across a room met And how with a single touch You gave passions I cant forget I remember all the little things Those memories will never end But the memory that is dearest to my heart Is that you were my very best friend. Take me back to my homeland to the freedom of unhampered childhood, where I walked barefoot through the grass, sometimes stepping on burrs and taking my bruised foot, burr still embedded, to loving hands to extract. Take me back to my homeland.

Back to the unhurried manners in a southern town, to the swing in the willow tree where I spent hours swinging up and back, up and back trying on different dreams for size. Take me back to my homeland, to the Good mornings to neighbors, sitting on front porches, in the coolness of early mornings, to the how yawls in the evening, and the sirs and maams and the Mind your manners, child. Take me back to my homeland, to the little church on the hill, to listen to the honest prayers of mothers praying for wayward sons; to the fiery sermons and the Amens, to the beautiful vocal music; to the white clad mission sisters fanning away the summer heat. Take me back to my homeland, to sink in the soft arms of a loving parent, rocking away my tears. Take me back to my homeland. Take me back to my homeland and for just a moment let me feel completely safe again.

Listening to a lovely aria Sung by a diva fair Watching a beautiful sunset A light breeze brushes my hair What a wonderful, wonderful feeling Knowing that you are there Standing in an expansive garden Among flowers of every hue and scent Hearing the laughter of children Filling the air with merriment To my hand a light touch I feel Sensing you at the same event This is the wonder of life What a pity some cant see it I see you in the eyes of your descendants In the words you spoke or the deeds you committed You are ever present in things we shared In the form of your endearing spirit. Saturday Night
at the Lewis Theater The jukebox is blaring The musics got me humming The bright lights are glaring Yeah man, Im coming The workday is over In this sawmill town The smokestacks are clear The machines have shut down. Theres no Mr. Straw-Boss Standing over me tall and big I have finished my work-week Tonight Im dancing a jig I keep thinking about them pretty girls Oh yeah, they will be there With full ruby lips And shining black hair. And my best girl Suzy With hips big and round When we get to cutting the rug Youll see the best dancers in town. Theres the Duke and the Count And the lovely Lady Day And the mellow, mellow music Lionel Hampton does play Theres Mr.

Fats on the ivories And Satchmo plays the trumpet The Dorseys and Harry James Any music we can stump it So push back the movie seats For a big dance floor make way Get everything ready Mr. Lewis Tonight is my night to play. No more stockings hung No more popcorn strung Alone I sit by the fire Remembering Christmases gone by. No more watching shining eyes Of a childs first look at Santas surprise Alone I sit gazing at the cotton snow Remembering Christmases of long ago. No more happy smiles of pleasure As little ones give me homemade treasures I sit and rock by my flocked tree Remembering the Santa I used to be. I remember, I remember How carefree she was but yet She cared for her young siblings From sunup, to sunset.