Poetry ~ Songs Of The Heart

Recently, I had a fabulous idea. On my Facebook author page, I invited friends, family, and fans to send in their poetry works. As you can see, the idea was well received and quite a few poems came in. The submissions speak for themselves!

Take a look.


Alex McGilveryHow to Write a Book
by Alex McGilvery

Write some more
Write until you get to the end of the story.
Do a little happy dance.
Tell people that you wrote a book.
Read your book.
Crawl under your desk and weep and bang your head against the wall until the sound makes the neighbours crazy.
Re-write the book adding some annoying neighbours.
Get pulled into the story again.
Rant and rave at your characters.
“Behave,” you say, “or I’ll kill you off.”
They laugh and run off to dance in the moonlight.
Bang your head some more.
Apologize to the neighbours, again.
Tell them you’re writing a book.
Start to wonder how any one person could have made so many mistakes in one book.
Fix mistakes, make new ones.
The book takes on a life of its own.
No longer just words on a page, this is your baby and you want it to grow up healthy and strong and maybe be a bestseller someday.
Allow the neighbours to read your precious child.
Gnash your teeth when they point out that the scene with the talking donkey really just doesn’t work.
You love that scene; you wept tears of happy abandon writing that scene.
Can’t they recognize brilliant writing?
Cut the scene.
Start to hate the book, again
It’s horrible, mindless drivel, but it isn’t the book’s fault.
So you keep working,
Cut more scenes that you love,
Let a few stay in,
One day think:
This whole thing may actually work out.
It isn’t going to change the world.
No one may even read it.
But it’s time.
The story has to stand on its own now.
There are still things you can do, but you don’t.
Instead, you hold your breathe and send it off with a backpack filled with sandwiches and a change of underwear.
Look, there it goes.
Isn’t it cute?


Chris MartinWhen A Soldier Cries
by Chris Martin

A tattered picture, nearly faded to white
Faces of the ones for whom a soldier fights
In the empty silence of a world so far away
On the rocky ground, the only place to lay
A father dreams of home, family, and friends
In war, there is no guarantee he will see them again
Thunder roars with fury, lightning burns the darkened skies
The mighty angels shed a tear, when a soldier criesShe walks across the street, a young child stands alone
Memories haunt her dreams of the daughters she left at home
She tries to smile, show happiness through the tears
Although she wants to help, the child retreats in fearAt night she dreams of home, bedtime hugs and kisses
She prays to one day have again, everything she misses
She can still see their faces as they spoke their last goodbyes
Nothing can soothe a heart, when a soldier criesIn the pouring rain he stands guard, rifle in hand
Just two years out of high school, his parents don’t understand
He wanted something greater than just video games and fun
He dedicated his life to become more than just an ordinary sonA young man dreams of home and wishes upon a distant star
The letters are few and far between, only time can heal a wounded heart
In the gathering shadows, just beyond where the unseen lies
Those who have gone before, bow their heads when a soldier criesThe growl of crunching metal, searing heat and flames surround
Voices of the wounded, silent screams that have no sound
She left college early and signed up to answer the call
Now lying in the wreckage, she wonders if it’s time to give it all

The young woman dreams of home, but she doesn’t surrender to the fear
She knows if they’re alive, they will come back and find her here
Chaos and confusion, in a place where hope and fate collide
She fights for every breath, there’s no shame when a soldier cries

They stand in single file, one hand raised to touch their brow
Men and women, young and old, bound together by a sacred vow
Silently they watch as each car drives slowly past
A beautiful flag covers every casket, heroes returning home at last

Mothers and daughters, fathers and sons, bravery at its best
Defined by the unselfish act of sacrifice, courage passed the ultimate test
With a will stronger than iron, nerves of steel and no compromise
There’s nothing to give but respect and honor…when a soldier cries


Cherrita Lawson


Sandy LarsenMe & Ginny Lee
by Sandy Larsen

We were the best of friends way back when. Although your name was Ginny, I called you Jen.
We were together both night and day. We didn’t care what people might say.
We always seemed to get in trouble. Whatever one did, the other did double.
“I can do anything better than you can!” That usually got us in one heck of a jam.
Like the time you got your butt stuck in the bucket. My dad brought the blowtorch, and said, “We’ll have to cut it”.
Your mother got angry and started to shout. She didn’t know you couldn’t get out.
I’m not sorry that I laughed so hard, cause I’ll never forget that day in your backyard!
Remember the attic and our secret jars? Remember the time we took my dad’s car?
Remember the times that we slept outside? Remember the boys that we tried to hide?
Remember sailing down the creek in an old washtub, or giving me those fabulous back rubs?
Remember smoking corn silks and thinking we were cool? Remember the next day…those sick little fools??
Remember when we put the hole in daddy’s garage door? Or when you broke all the tomatoes on mom’s basement floor?
Remember drag racing in front of the school? How many times were we grounded for breaking the rules?
Remember Roy Ogden? I’m sure that you do! That trip to Mayetta got me grounded too!
I truly remember your wedding day. I cried and I cried cause you moved far away.
My fella tried to console me by holding me tight but there was nothing that brought me comfort that night.
I could go on because I remember lots more. But I gotta stop now. It’s a quarter till four.
Besides, all I really wanted to say is “I love you girl. Have a Happy Birthday!”


Valerie Andrews


Kate Golden Zei LlamasTime Tapestry
by Kate Golden
Artwork by Zei Llamas

As I recline in starlit air,
The night weaves moonbeams in my hair.

In morning’s light I’m made aware,
I see them gleam and sparkle there.

Some shimmer like quicksilver,
Others white as winter snow,
others tangle, turn to grey, a
sign of hardship known.

Each eve brings it’s art to bear;
discontent with just my hair,
Time paints lines upon my skin,
up and down and back again.

Each (new) day grows my tapestry,
an ode to air and gravity.


Rachel McLayThe Hidden Pain Behind The Broken Heart
by Rachel McLay

Everyone judges on what they first see
It’s a protective instinct.
But behind every person’s eyes.
Is a story
And each story has a secret to hide.

People hurt people.
The pain changes the for the good and worst.
Our past is the one thing that will haunt us the worst.
Maybe that’s why everyone tries running away from it?
Because some things you don’t ever forget.

Especially after getting abused by another.
Whether it was physically, emotionally or mentally.
No matter what the story was.
You start as a painter’s blank canvas.
And each mark that is painted, has been uniquely marked on you to be perceived most beautifully.

And it’s sad that most people don’t think that way.
If you just think when you are born, your as sinless and as pure.
As when God handed you to the most beautiful woman in your world.

And each time you are hurt and abused.
When you get your final reward.
Your one love
sees you as your mother did when she first got to hold you.
An unconditional, endless love


Judith WellsA Letter Game
by Judith Wells

Letters that tumble and jumble
become words to place precisely in line
From the mind called the heart
begins the start
of poetry, online.