The Artist sprinkled diamonds

                           Generously in our woods last night.

                           Each pine needle on the one foot trees,

                           And every bristle on the one hundred foot trees.

                           Amazingly He didn’t miss a single one,

                           As He tipped them individually with a silver sparkler,

                           Until the whole forest gleamed

                           Green and silver and

                           Radiated His light.

 

                           He did this all while

                           We slept warm and quiet,

                           Beneath a blue quilt,

                           And in the morning woke to a

                           World transfigured,

                           By His hand.

 

                           So shall it be one day,

                           When we shall rise

                           Triumphantly.

                                                                                       Cerita M. Hewett

                                                                                         February 2014

                           I have been known to stray from the text a bit,

                           When reading aloud to a wakeful young child,

                           Leaving out a word here and there,

                           Well, sometimes a whole sentence

                           In the interest of finishing the book,

                           Before I drift off to sleep.

 

                           Occasionally I have even changed the text,

                           To make it sleepier or in rare moments

                           Of tedium, more exciting.

                           But you, Sydney, knew your books so well,

                           That even the smallest slip up,

                           Was noticed and corrected.

 

                           You did however laugh and like it

                           When my recitation of

                           ‘This little piggie went to market’,

                           Was altered so the third piggie

                           Had Pizza instead of roast beef,

                           Showing me emphatically that at three

                           You have discriminating literary taste!

                                                                                                            Cerita M. Hewett

                                                                                                            March 29, 2011

                                    After church,

                                    On our way into the house,

                                    I stopped to pick up a handful

                                    Of dark brown pecans,

                                    Just fallen, nestled in the grass you’d

                                    Trimmed short on Saturday.

 

                                    Before changing my Sunday clothes,

                                    I filled three blue plastic bowls with

                                    Chopped lettuce,

                                    Sliced cucumbers, carrot stubs,

                                    Shredded cheddar cheese, croutons, and

                                    Tossed them lightly.

 

                                    You stood there in the kitchen

                                    Cracking pecans,

                                    Pealing off the shells,

                                    Extracting the plump meats,

                                    Offering them half by half,’

                                    Beside me.

                                                                                                            Cerita M. Hewett

                                                                                                            November 2000

                                                             

      I wanted to eat the book                                             

              In one sitting,                                    

                     Swallow it whole like                     

                           Freshmen gulping goldfish,                  

                                     Huge bites largely unmasticated.                     

                But here I am mincing it,                                            

                       A little here, a little there,                                       

                                 Moment by moment.                                   

                                          Stealing an instant away from life,                                

                                                    Grasping delicate bits of time                                        

                                                               To chomp and chew small bites.                       

              Grinding out the bulk                                       

                       Until the juices flow,                                                    

                               Savoring the taste!                                                                           

                                                                                          Cerita M. Hewett                                                                                   

                                                                                          2001

                                    We walk through crystal darkness,

                                    Stars shine out but bring no warmth,

                                    Our heels click sharply

                                    Against the icy hardness.

 

                                    One slips a little causing a

                                    Catch in conversation,

                                    Left hand to right we draw closer,

                                    Warming each other,

                                    Still we move along the way,

                                    Rhythmically,

                                    Almost as one.

 

                                    Quiet street,

                                    Low talk,

                                    Hearts beat,

                                    January night walk.

                                                                                                Cerita M. Moore

                                                                                                January 17, 1966

 

                           Walking in the woods,

                           With a full moon,

                           Yet the woods all about

                           Were filled with darkness,

                           Scarcely a tiny shaft of light sifted through.

 

                           Only in the clearing,

                           Where dead trees had fallen,

                           Was it light,

                           The clearing was gleaming.

 

                           And looking up

                           I could see stars,

                           And the open heavens.

                                                                                                Cerita M. Hewett

                                                                                                February 14, 2014

Standing in Snow

The snow

Drifts down

On my boots,

It clings there,

Sparkling!  

Sometimes,

I am glad.

         Cerita M. Moore

         About 1960     revised 2002

 

Frosting

I like the snow to fall and fall,

It covers grass and trees and all.

It makes the bushes feather white,

Hiding brown earth from my sight.

Sometimes in snow I run and slide,

Or build a fort where I can hide.

But best is the early morning sight,

Of all my world turned frosting white!

Cerita M. Hewett

August 15, 1981

                                              We can start again

                                              Any moment,

                                              We don’t have to wait 

                                             Until Monday.

 

                                            We can start again

                                            Any hour,

                                           We don’t have to wait 

                                           Until morning.

                                           We can start again!

                                                                                   Cerita M. Hewett

                                                                                   November 19, 2002

 

                                       Poetry is the royalty of written language,

                                       So it must be purple,

                                       Purple circles strung together,

                                       Like a tangled silver slinky

                                       Stretched unintentionally by a young child,

                                       Revealing itself over time

                                       With repeated vocal readings,

                                       Untangling line by line,

                                       Giving a fresh display of insight,

                                       Still depending on the eye that is searching,

                                      The different ears seeking the pleasure of sound

                                      Over time, over time, over time,

                                      Unmasking views and truths,

                                     May you find it every day,

                                     Wherever you go!

                                                                                            Cerita M. Hewett

                                                                                            Revised Oct. 2014