I am complimented by my own brain to realize I have stumbled
over writer’s block for the past two months. Surely this must mean that I am a
“writer”? Well the truth is, most writers probably don’t take that as a
sign that they get a vacation but instead find motivational literary tools to inspire
a new thought. At my age, “new” thoughts don’t jump out of my head as often as
they used to, but I find myself looking back too often. In doing so today, I
decided to look back as far as I had ever copied off any of my poems into
Braille, find a few midway to now, and then find a few of the latest ones
written. Will it jump start my writer’s block or make it worse, I don’t know. Let’s see what happens.
THANK YOU DEAR GOD, 1957
Today I saw a brand
new flower, it’s petals not yet showing.
Round it grew
protective leaves with heaven-kissed dew drops glowing.
Today I saw a
butterfly with wings of sparkling gold;
I thought of all
God’s miracles as I watched them unfold.
Today I heard a
lovely song with lyrics that made me pause
And realize that in
God’s ways Of life there are no flaws.
Today I held my
boyfriend’s hand; and walked though in a trance;
We watched the moon
rise over the hill, cause God gave us romance.
God gives us beauty,
hope and love as through our lives we trod;
And yet we do not
stop each day
To say “Thank you,
dear God.”
DREAMS, 1963
When old folks speak
of youthful days with memories in their eyes,
What makes their
voices light and gay;
What makes their
counsel wise?
Is it not dreams they
knew when young,
Dreams that lived on
and on?
Dreams much brighter than the days
That grew with every
dawn?
Dreams that must have
brought with them
Much time, much
stress, much work;
The path seemed long
but hope went on
And did not let them
shirk.
They say in voice
unanimous to build and hold young dreams,
For life is like a
storybook, And shorter than it seems.
Is this not proof
that youthfulness,
So happy, rich and
pure
Possesses in its
treasure house, the key to life secure.
This key can open
doors of steel,
Or strongest medal
lest,
Composed of
substances that are weak and cannot pass the test.
Pick up this key of
youth today
And make its presence
lasting.
Don’t blindly wander through a life of pain
And hopeless grasping.
Let your key be made of love to open up the doors
And live a life your dreams has built that can be only
yours.
A PSALM FROM TODAY, April 1978
Nothing touches my
thoughts like the presence of your name!
The butterfly
whispers your praises with its wings!
The dolphin stands in
the footprints you left on the water!
Boulders roll like
marbles at the touch of your finger!
I pray to imitate the
stars
Whose wills are but
to go as you direct.
Life’s galaxies nudge
me and my orbit slips;
Yet you lift up
fallen stars.
If your miracles
shone from the heavens
We would see the
diseases you healed,
The people you fed,
And forgiveness… The
light of the sun!
FIRST IN LINE
Dedicated to Linda
Goodson,
My sweet spiritual
School Friend
Written in 1980
Her voice still
speaks in my head.
I enjoyed wearing
emerald green so she called me Scarlet O.
I called her
“Friend.”
“Multiple sclerosis,”
she said;
“Please let me tell
you.”
“No,” I said …
because I knew she was going to die.
She wrote a poem
called “Last in line.”
“You remind me of
Elizabeth Barrett,” I told her.
“Then where’s my
Robert Browning,” she said.
Surely she knew that
boy she was dating was too young and immature for her.
He must know …
she’s going to die.
“You won’t let
anybody love you,” she said to me …”
But listen to me,
there really is God!”
By the time I found
him I wanted her to know,
But she was already there.
HARMONY
By
MYRA
DEBRUHL
2001
Early
Childhood
Music—A
heavenward ladder for me;
I knew
Jesus loved me before I was three.
Hank Williams
sang about seeing the light;
Mammaw said that was totally right.
School days
My voice
teacher said country people can’t sing;
They bellow
and slide and make twangs with their strings.
That I
should experience Handle’s Messiah;
My soul did
grow wings and flew higher and higher!
Adulthood
Sometimes
minor chords played in my spirit;
I turned up
the volume so Jesus could hear it.
Transparent
overheads now are the rages
And
genderized hymns on hers or his pages.
Nearing
Sixty
I drop from
the ladder and fall to my knees;
I sing with
a choir ages one, two and three.
Innocent
voices, surely the sweetest;
Like Handle
and Hank writing music for Jesus.
LOOKING BACK, 2014
Sometimes you think
you know the song by heart;
Then you stop and
listen to someone besides yourself singing.
It’s like hearing the
words for the first time.
No need to enunciate
clearly or breathe at the right spaces; it’s already there,
Like the sound of a
forgotten memory.
Sometimes you think
the memory is just a re-run from older times.
Then you realize it’s
the same song, just different meaning.
You no longer have to
try to remember the moments; they are already there,
Like the heart’s
metronome timing out the heartbeats.
The last time your
heart breaks is not the same as the first.
It’s more like a
dream you forgot to open.
The memories are
silent words that live there
Singing through the
melody of your life.
WHERE DO YOU GO, 2014
When your mind
wanders through paths and finds no flowers, where do you go?
When one baby step
feels like climbing a tower, where do you go?
How can you pick up
the words that you said,
The unkind things
that live in your head,
That keep you from
peaceful sleep in your bed;
Where do you go.
When every hour is
just seconds counting, where do you go?
When the little
things to do in one day seem like mountains, where do you go?
And all the words you
can’t replace
Are only thoughts to
take up space
That cannot find a
hiding place,
Where do you go?
Go to a place like a
little child where everything was real.
Ask God to come and
meet you there, and then believe He will.
Even if your place
was sad, He doesn’t mind the rain,
He will stay through
all the time until you smile again.
When your mind dances
through woods of raindrops, where do you go?
When you reach the
summit of towers of rocks, where do
you go?
When people don’t
understand who you are,
How did you ever come
so far,
You look like an ant
but you shine like a star,
Where do you go?
When the colors of
flowers light up your life, where do you go?
When the simplest of
words play the song in the night, where
do you go?
When people tell you
that you are naive,
Just because you do
believe
That every day should
be Christmas eve,
Where do you go?
Go to that place like
a little child where Jesus shines His light,
Sing a simple song of
praise that burns throughout the night.
Be a troubadour of
life that all will want to know
How can they be just
like you; show them where to go.
Goodness, no funny poems here? I think I just broke through
the writer’s block.
