On this bright October Saturday,
Horns flashed,
Drums rap-a-tap tapped,
The light breeze carried music.
As if alive,
It rolled like a crimson sunset wave
Turned back upon itself,
Weaved in and out,
Stretched forward and backward.
Forward, backward, diagonal,
Playing and marching,
Spreading wings then folding them,
Swelling and ebbing as an ocean,
Unfurling flags in unison,
A stirring tapestry upon a green field.
Cerita M. Hewett
October 18, 2015
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
The goose orchestra is playing today on the lake,
A cacophony of sound
Tossed into the air by a brisk north wind,
Softened by the muffled wing flapping of late concert goers.
The gray sky and brown grass welcome the joyous music,
On an otherwise silent winter day,
As a thousand geese perform a symphony of gratitude,
For their safe arrival to our little lake of the south,
And we, with God, are listening.
Cerita M. Hewett
November 2005
Revised November 2014
The percussionists from the band
Did not get a lot of sleep last night,
And neither did I.
They started entertaining
About one in the morning and
Continued until six.
The opening movement
Consisted of low timpani slowly
Building to the staccato booms
Of the bass drum.
The second movement
Spotlighted large cymbals crashing,
While snares put together
Their relentless rhythms
On the roof, trees, and ground.
And the final movement
Featured the gradual
Retiring of the snares,
One clang of the small cymbals,
A silver tinkling of the bells,
Then three slow booms on the big bass drum,
And a gentle pom, pom, pom, by the timpani.
The early morning sun
Revealed a sparking world,
Gleaming in rain soaked trees,
And silvery grass.
But, as I said to begin with,
The percussionists from the band
Did not get a lot of sleep last night,
And neither did I.
Cerita M. Hewett
April 2014