Solo S’mores

I made s’mores in the
Microwave today,
By myself,
Graham crackers—chocolate—marshmallows,
Leftovers from a family picnic,
Though I admit to buying more chocolate.

It took only milliseconds
For the marshmallows to swell and soften,
The chocolate to wobble and spread,
All the ingredients were present
For the anticipated sweetness.

Yet there was not much satisfaction,
Without red coals burning,
Marshmallow flame outs,
Children laughing,
Grown-ups talking,
Cool evening air,
And each of you there!

Cerita M. Hewett
October 2008

Lullaby

Sleep, sleep for the sun has gone,
Sleep, sleep now our play is done,
Sleep, sleep after we pray,
Sleep, sleep at the end of day.

Rest, rest little arms and legs,
Rest, rest each strong muscle begs,
Rest, rest tiny ears, sparkling eyes,
Rest, rest as the night time flies.

Peace, peace from the day’s fast whirl,
Peace, peace for your tiny world,
Peace, peace in your heart of mirth,
Peace, peace in your home on earth.

Cerita M. Hewett
March 28, 2009

Spackling

I spackled in the boys’ room today,
Years after our boys ceased to lounge there,
Putting soft white plaster over tiny holes,
And smoothing it off with a small metal spatula,
Filling in all the cavities and mars in the pale blue walls,
Preparation, long over due, for painting the room.

Nail holes, pin holes, tack holes, clustered low,
Just about three feet up from the worn carpet,
Then a batch higher and denser at about four and a half feet,
And last of all holes grouped more sparsely at the six-foot level.

I don’t recall what they hung on those walls but,
I do remember the sweet smell of their freshly bathed bodies,
And the beguiling melody of
“Good night Mama.”

Cerita M. Hewett
Revised June 6, 2007

Digging Hole (for Holland & Jarom)

What is better than a
Digging hole for brothers?

Trucks, cars, graders,
Plastic army men, cowboys, Indians,
Spoons escaped from
A kitchen drawer.

Access to water!

Boys playing side by side
In the shade of a tree,
Constructing,
Deconstructing,
In the sand,
In the dirt,
In the muddy water.

Nothing!

Cerita M. Hewett
October 21, 2015

Lessons From Leslie

I don’t know how many hours you sat
Beside our children at our old upright,
The one with missing key tops,
Listening to them struggle through
Their pieces for the week,
Pieces they sometimes practiced,
Still you taught the what they
Were ready to learn,
Making it fun,
No matter their talent or preparation,
Helping them to love music,
Affirming them
Not condemning their feeble attempts,
Coming to our house week after week,
Letting us work off the lessons
Or pay as we could,
Giving our children music when it was needed,
Not when we could afford it,
Music to last a lifetime,
Music for the good times and the bad,
Music written on their souls because
It was taught with love,

Cerita M. Hewett
December 2002

Through Jarom’s Eyes

My mama let me

Play at dish washing,

Dig dirt and sand,

Mix water with dirt,

Stir cookies,

Roll down a grassy hill,

Splash in puddles,

Run in the rain,

Blow bubbles in my milk,

Pick dandelions,

Bang a pot drum,

Taste salt and sugar,

Smell cinnamon and mint leaves,

And pat the cat.

Mama read books to me,

Washed my clothes,

Helped me pray,

Sang lullabies.

I love my mama!

Cerita M. Hewett
October 30, 2015

Indoor Recess

Our school playground
Empty, lonely, deserted,
Raining, blowing, dripping,
Water running by the swings.
We stand at the window
And
Watch puddles forming.
The trees, bushes, and grass are drenched,
Too moist to slide down the slide,
Little streams are beginning to run down the hill,
There is a lake forming at the bottom,
Furthermore it is too soggy for soccer,
Likewise it is too wet for tag,
Too much rain for playing outside today,
Indoor recess for all!
Ahh
h
h
h
h
h
h!

Cerita M. Hewett
September 2, 1992

Art Festival – for LeeAnn

A river of people flowed in and out
Along the art fest stalls displaying
Sculpture, painting, pottery, glass works,
With people floating in and out,
Seeking the medium that pleased them most,
Slipping by the booths that didn’t interest them.

We melted in among the swirl,
Swimming smoothly stopping and starting,
Soaking up the art, yet keeping Roger’s head in sight,
As he moved effortlessly, gliding quickly through the flood,
We paused longer at displays,
Talked briefly with some artists.

It seemed a thoughtful overflow of young and old,
Couples, singles, babies in strollers, teens,
Somehow calmed and gentled in the stream,
Amazed that in three hours of drifting,
We were jostled or bumped only once or twice,
And then received profuse apologies!

The sun, the breeze, the early Spring,
The coming back to life,
The art and its creators,
Came together for one delightful day,
Which flowed and ebbed into
A lovely memory.

Cerita M. Hewett
April 12, 2015
Revised May 18, 2015

Hope

When I think of the Savior
Teaching the common people,
With the Widow of Nain,
Healing the sick,
In the garden of Gethsemane,
With the woman at the tomb,
Appearing to the Nephites after his resurrection,
Letting each one of the multitude
Touch the marks in His hands, feet, and side,
Holding and blessing each child,
I feel sure hope that He knows me.

I know He loves me,
When I let Him come into my life,
He reaches out to me,
Though there is turmoil in the world around,
Through Him I smile each day,
And with this hope I pray and work,
I try to be a little kinder,
Then follow Him.

Cerita M. Hewett
Revised 2015

I Love…

I love my mother.
         Her sparkling, laughing, blue eyes often read,
         She easily made the most wonderful bread,
         She knew how to listen to what I said.

I love my gray sweater.
         Soft, warm, and worn,
         Pulled over my head looking old and forlorn,
         I’ll keep on wearing it though it is torn.

I love the color blue.
On white Florida sand, the azure gulf rises,
Blue skies, blueberry pie, Roger’s blue eyes,
And blue butterflies.

I love to go to the mountains to roam.
         In summer away from our hot Texas home,
         Wading in cold streams won’t cause me to moan,
         Though building rock dams can chill one to the bone.

I love children.
         Tall, short, skinny, fat,
         Those who giggle, cry, and pout,
         The runners, the jumpers, and the sitters about.

I love reading and writing.
         Learning from poems, stories, and books,
         I like to see how my ideas look,
         Written on a page of my very own book.

I love baked potatoes.
         Covered with butter, chives, and sour cream,
         Topped with cheese, chili, olives, it will seem,
         Like something that came from your very best dream.

I love Roger sweet and true.
         Sailing on the lake so blue
         Working with an untried crew,
         Always, always, making do.

Cerita M. Hewett
About 1994 revised 2002

PineyWoodsPoet

a winding walk in the woods

children