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The Poetry Scroll of Beverly J Raffaele


I step into a world of serenity sublime.
A quiet fern lined path of clover like flowers.
Rhododendrons, wild, tall, pale lilac in May
contrasting the dark brown shadows where the Sequoia thrive.

Colors of reds and greens rich and dark as a coffee bean.
The forest quiet and still as shallow roots cling,
Embracing each other, lending support.
The smells pungent.

The sky above seen through a canopy
of branches spreading, reaching, stretching up and up.
Sun rays stream their ghostly slides between
Lighting the forest floor.
The banana slug slinks from it cringing.

Majestic soldiers protecting a wind blown craggy coast.
Ancient, imposing, superior, magnificent.
A gust of wind makes another attempt
To sway the mighty Sequoia,
Yet he is unmovable,
Crying out a crack and a groan.

Your world oh Sequoia with rivers so clear
Where trout and steelhead jump.
The Smith River, un dammed, wild, rushing.
Salmon fighting against the current of life and death.

The Klamath, the Pomo, the Miwok, and the Hoopa
Cry from their native souls at what man has wrought.
Littering their vile trash. Blaspheming sanctity itself.
The Sequoia shouts no and lives on as the revilers die.
Those that love them rejoice.

Invincible to fire, the sea has tried, the mills
and the worm have tried to destroy them but to no avail.
A fallen Sequoia only births more,
Its sienna, nutritious, fertile soft wood rich and moist.

From the spring of infancy to the fall of now.
You have watched over me with your 3000 years of might.
Oh how I love you and what you know of me.
Creation smiles, I smile in glorious awe and wonder.

" Regeneration"

"Let's go to the beach," I tell him.
The day is blustery, rain sideways.
The sky, pavement, and buildings In shades of gray.
City center sign, traffic heavy,
Road grime sprays the windshield.
Four-lane freeway goes on,
Passing cities and then towns.
It narrows to a curvy high way.

Wintry northwest valleys,
White Cascade mountains loom,
Their crevices in blue.
The forest pungent and musky,
Lavished with fir, cedar, hemlock, fern,
They lend a rich, deep green, verdure.
The woodsy floor thickly carpeted.
Moss bed cushion white tailed deer.
The black bear hovers in hollow logs,
Awaiting Aries wake up call.

A white clapboard farmhouse
Stands tall on a grassy knoll.
Bare willows, linear poplars, surround it.
A spacious porch wraps around, friendly, inviting.
I envision summer wicker stored safely away.
The bench swing moves slightly in the breeze.
A white picket fence cordons off the yard,
Separating it from barren pastures.
Pershing workhorse stands statuesque.
The maple tree above his head is barren
Soaked mossy limbs drip moisture on his shiny back.
His expression morose, nostrils shooting steam.

We drive into a small berg.
A gift shop selling chain saw sculptures,
Redwood burrells, Indian baskets, salt water taffy.
The store, it’s architecture lodge-pole,
bird faced totems flank the entrance
And a lone gas pump, old, rounded at the top.
We freshen up at the Dairy Queen.
We are close to the ocean now.
I can smell it, feel it, I breathe deep then stretch.
Back on the curvy road a sign,
Seaside Oregon, 20 miles.
Our radio stations rasp static.
I switch it off, grinning, anticipating.
My husband knows I am excited.
He glances at me, brown eyes smiling.

The ocean swells are spectacular,
White caps spray, my lips taste salty.
The windy chill invigorating,
Icy rain quenches my upturned face.
My hat blows down the beach.
Sea lions bark from their black craggy rock.
Gulls squawk gliding on the wind, wings spread.
Whale pods pass working their way south.
Shiny gun- metal gray sand,
Each wave scribbling a foamy design.
Sand dollars show off their etchings.
I turn into the wind arms outstretched.
My husband with my hat in hand,
Takes my picture.

The harbor is full, tethered fishing boats rock back and forth.
Advisory flag up, whipping vigorously.
Nets and crab pots clutter the sides of the dock.
A Bearded skipper, heavily clad in rain gear and wool stocking cap,
Yell instructions to his crew on board the deck of the Gracie Anne.
Their weathered faces an epic.
I remember these brave men,
Growing up in a coastal town,
Lumber, crab, shrimp, oysters the only industry.
I played and fished off the docks.
I know their vernacular well.
I return to regenerate my soul.
I am tempted to stop a certain captain
And beg from him a seafaring story.
But I knew he would give me a growl.
We play on the beach, go to the aquarium,
Then later, go dancing.

We watch the sea from our room,
Hotel lights turn the ocean black and white.
The lighthouse perched on the horizon
Is turning its massive globe.
I know that we must leave and that is okay.
We live in where the evergreen grow.
I am most thankful for them in winter.
Spring is nearing.
We will return.
I have to.
There is no choice.
I would die.
We hold each other tight as a goodbye to the sea,
Then we sigh and reluctantly pack our bags.

Down the road, toward home,
The horse looks as if he hasn’t moved.
His expression the same.
This time we drive straight through.
I nap most of the way.
I hear the radio, seventies rock.
Late Sunday afternoon, traffic light,
Cumulus clouds tower,
Sun streaming into a perfect fan.
The sky cornflower blue.

We are in the driveway now,
I get out stiff in the knees.
That night we both slept hard
And awoke to a blaring alarm.
Ignore it I whispered,
His breath in my hair,
I feel him relax,

"On Daddy's Shoe Tops"

I first learned to dance On Daddy’s shoe tops,
Little fingers in his belt loops
As he danced the two step.
"Hang on," he would say "Here we go."
The radio played a fifties tune.
I was his shadow.
He was my hero.

Monday’s he went to the mill,
I went to school,
Ushering my younger brothers
Three little squirrels.
My little shoulders worried.
Daddy’s wide shoulders worked,
Persisted, endured.

Mama has gone.
Her greener pasture,
Was but a dry lot of broken glass.

Saturday morning…
Back on Daddy’s shoe tops.
The radio played a country tune.
"Hang on," he said All rights reserved.

"A Drop Splashed On A Mountaintop"

The drop splashed on a mountaintop.
There it lay frozen, waiting.
As the air became warmer it began to move,
And so it traveled until it reached the flow.
The river rushed and fellow droplets played.

Some only went as far as the farm.
Nourishing the crop of wheat.
Happy that it brought life.
Knowing it was needed for existence.

Then some went screaming through a dam
Pushing hard to bring light and warmth.
Joining to create great clusters of power.
Feeling proud that it made the world glow.
Then more pushed on into conduits
Then diving into the reservoir of sustenance.
Into narrow pipes and then a clear glass
To quench the thirst, knowing its importance.

Some were driven to wells to bring life
They new they were desired.
The Sun blistering the land.
The droplets creating miraculous feats.
A drop splashed on the mountaintop.
It lay frozen, smiling, anticipating.

"My Tree Top"

I swayed from the tip of a Douglas fir.
Sticky pitch in my hair, my hands blackened.
I surveyed the canyon from my perch.
The creek wide then narrow as it wound away.
A crow landed near me, then squawked loudly,
He eyed me and then flew to the next treetop.
He looked disgruntled.
I laughed out loud.

Then a man came into view,
Walking the wooded trail nearby.
I stayed still.
A golden retriever trotted along side him.
The dog stopped, sniffed the air,
Then he wet on my tree and ran off.
I giggled with my sticky hand cupped over my mouth.

I looked over toward the house.
Mom was telling Daddy something, hands on her hips.
He moseyed along in the yard, a toothpick in his mouth.
She stomped in the house, the screen door slapped shut.
I saw Daddy grinning, I grinned too.
I looked toward the wood shed.
My brother was chopping kindling.
He looked mad.
Daddy moseyed over there
Mumbled something his direction,
then moseyed back.
My brother looked angrier and chopped harder,
Throwing a piece or two.
"I am staying up here," I said.
So I sat in my treetop and wondered when I would be missed.
I sat and swayed and swayed some more.
The man with the dog returned.
My Dad and brother went in the house.
A light came on in the living room.
A breeze came up and made me shiver.
The sun was sinking below the hill,
The canyon was shaded and still.
I climbed down ripping my pant leg and skinning my shin.
I jumped from a branch too high up and fell.
It knocked the wind out of me.

I ran in the house and announced, here I am!
My matted hair sticking straight up And black pitch smudging my face.
I got a spanking and was sent to the tub.
Mom took the scissors to my hair.
That night I laid in my bed and looked at the moon.
“I wish I could go there to live,” I whispered.
“But I like my treetop better.”
I yawned and then snuggled in,
The crickets sang.

"Denim And Sweat-An American Man"

We drove through a tunnel,
High upon a craggy cliff.
The day was sunny and breezy;
The Pacific Ocean glistened,
bouncing diamonds off her surface.
Tall firs, cedars and alders clung to the eastern side of my view.

I looked at my husband,
His Italian American face sculptured.
Beautiful and strong,
I thought.
Then half way inside the tunnel,
Hewn out of solid rock I saw them.
Ruddy, tanned, black, brown, sweating.
Flannel shirts, sleeves rolled up,
Denim jeans, leather work boots;
I felt a surge of pride and threw up a thank you to them.

I smiled at every railroad track,
I noticed every pole and bridge,
and the curvy highway we traveled.
Some ancient, created from muscle.

Then I thought of the softness.
How the rough fingers of a lumber grader,
pinched my fat cheeks.
How he laughed when I whined, Daddy!
When he held his first grandson,
Walking him with a proud strut.

I thought of our soldiers,
I turned away and looked out my window.
My husband driving along, oblivious of my thoughts.
A tear was rolling down my face.
He would be alarmed.
American Man, I honor you... ...

"Omniscient Artist Of Love"

Creator God my artist of love,
Casting glittering blue on the sea.
Throwing light into the dawn of day,
Ablaze with lemon and tangerine.
How can we match it with brush or pen.
You sprinkled amethyst and emeralds
In majestic mountains and crystal lakes,
Can man think to equal it?
You smiled and tenderly brushed
Smooth brown skin and twinkling eyes,
and sunlight dancing on auburn hair.
You shaded in dimples and wrinkled face,
A wondrous motif,
Omniscient Artist of love!

"Me And Daisies In The Rain"

I awoke to the sun streaming through white sheers.
A breeze made them gently flag their hello.
It made me smile and stretch and arise.
I looked out the window.
The sky was black to the west.
The sun was shining in front.
In between me and the horizon
A neon rainbow arched.
God blew a breeze that gently kissed my sleepy face.
I looked out at the field and there they were,
Whimsical white daisies that say country to me.
Yellow centers looking up.

The rain came gently at first and then the droplets enlarged.
The rainbow ran to the opposite side of dark ominous clouds.
The daisies stretched up thirstily drinking, smiling and slurping.
I ran out in my white linen gown and plopped into the center of them.
The rain fell in my face and my back was covered with mud.
The daisies and I just lay there getting soaked and invigorated.
The rain stopped and I turned my head looking into the face of a daisy
larger than the others.
It stretched its white petals, glistening, wet with diamond like drops.
I went back in singing, “Me and Daisies in the rain.”
I pulled my muddy nightgown over my head and showered.
I sang on, “Just me and Daisies in the Rain,

"Back To Summer Days"

The date was 1958,
I go back to summer days,
When I was a skinny precocious kid,
I ran and swam and liked to play.
Our old house was weathered and worn
from a wet and wind blown coast.
My brothers and I just loved the storms,
in our galoshes and yellow rain coats.
If I close my eyes and really think back,
I can taste the salt on my lips.
I see a wave hitting the rocks and
I can feel the cool soft mist.
I breathe a deep sigh as
I turn to embrace the breeze.
I feel like I may cry,
Overcome by sweet memories.


A wisp of memory drifted by.
The man wore your fragrance, But he wasn't you.
Baby powder wafted its soft joy.
Oh how I miss my babies.
They are grown now.
Cigarettes in a Honky Tonk bar smoke curling, a squinted eye,
I am sorry you died.
The aroma of coffee drifting Filling my bedroom,
Time to start my day.
Lilacs and Hyacinths in purple and rosy pink,
The perfume of God.
Pungent cedar chest Grandmothers quilt,
I miss you Gram.
Turkey roasting And sage dressing,
Pumpkin pie with allspice.
My family gathers.
The smells of Love embracing one another.
Thank you Lord.

"Oh How I Hope You Would "

If I was looking out of your eyes,
Would the vision be of love?
What would I see that you don’t?
Would it be a sneer from an ignorant adolescent?
Would it be a look of desire?
What would I see?

If I was looking out of your eyes,
Would I see you looking at color and finding only gray?
Would you see acceptance
Or subtle rejection that hits too hard?
Oh How I hope you would not.

If I was looking out of your eyes and into mine,
Would you see a look of purity.
One that loves you so much,
that it reflects from my eyes to yours?
Would you feel reassured by a glance
Or tickled by a flirtatious wink?
Would you have confidence in us?
Would you feel sustained and secure?

Oh how I hope that you would.

"The Vision"

I was taking a walk, deep in thought,
When like a jolt I heard her cry,
An angelic voice said to me,
Take comfort, don't ask why.
God I plead, "who is it that sobs,
And why can't I question or wonder?"
He said, "it is not yours to fret about.
Give it to me and walk away,
Do not turn back or stop to ponder."
I took a deep breath in my confusion,
And ask myself was I in vision?
I continued my walk shrouded in pain,
Why do I feel empty and strange?
Then once again I heard her weep,
I was feeling faint and a little weak.
An Angel whispered,
"don't fret and worry,
This burden is not for you to carry.
The weeping is from words left unsaid,
Your faith will heal you from her death.
I know that you wanted to shake her awake,
and ask her the path that you should take."
I felt a finger lift my chin,
I gazed into a glorious light.
Then the Angel spoke to me again,
"She is free from her burdensome plight.
Take heart, for you will recover In the arms of your mother
So assuredly, gracefully, Walk on with hope,
Through the blackness of this long cold night."

Written about Ella Jean Hales-Mercer May 7,1934-November 26,2001
Beverly's Mother

"Like A Snail"

Like a snail antennae touched,
you cower away into the twists and turns of your burdensome home.
Come out said the crow,
I am proverbially hungry.
You question.
No! You shout and shrink even smaller;
crawling to the tiny white washed room in the center of the curl,
pretending it is your sanctuary.
You peek out antennae circling like a periscope.
You move on slowly down the shady forest trail.
What if I am stepped on, you whisper.
You crawl away under a thorny bramble bush
then shrink back into that tiny white washed room
in the center of the curl,
and smaller still.

"An Exercise in Thought"

The class late teens.
Happily substituting,
I love to teach!
Youth Pastor ill.
My guitar and songs, a duet among twenty.
I quit playing.
Make them think,
Toss the lesson,
Stop the yawns.
“What are these,”
“Um, your keys?”
“What are they for?”
Eyes rolled,
“Unlocking things.”
“Why so many?”
“You have a lot to unlock?”
She snickered. “Yes, I do.”
"Two car keys, a house key, a shed key…
" They started to straighten,
becoming alert.
Looking at each other,
Then at me. Wondering.
“New subject,
Tell me about doors.”
“ Now a hand was raised.
“To keep out the weather.”
“She doesn’t mean for that!”
“Okay, for what then?”
“Now you are thinking.
What else comes to mind?”
“Rock Walls,”
“Car Alarms,”
“House Alarms.”
A shout from the back,
Another shout,
“guard dogs,”
Then another,
“The Military,”
And another, “Bars!”
"Thank you class,
You are dismissed." “That’s it?” One said.
"Yes, That's it."
I reached for my purse.
They shuffled out,
some throwing glances
Others mumbling.
Some gave a knowing grin.
I sat in the pew.
The organ played,
We stood, hymn book in hand.
Three hundred voices,
"Tell me the Story of Jesus,
Write on my Heart every word."


From the cradle to the grave,
Life is all about,
Where the ocean meets the shore.
Consistent pounding that never quits,
Is either loved or abhorred.
How is it that life goes on,
Unencumbered by the rains.
To live or die has no meaning,
If we can't escape the pain.
So the ocean pounds relentless,
With persistent unchanging waves,
With a power that is endless,
From the cradle to the grave.

"Blessed with Spring"

We strode through life living each day,
With a story untold of hurt and pain.
We hope for promises carried by dawn
and the strength and will to carry on.
Can peace ever prevail?
Will we live and love without all the hell?
Our hope lies in a vision where:
Children can laugh and play as before,
Mama will sing and smile all the more.
Daddy will walk with respect and honor,
Spending his time helping his brothers.
The old will be set up above all the rest,
Young ones will give them praise and respect.
They will never speak of a story untold,
For to tell it would mean unveiling the woes.
So they tell us walk on and remember to sing,
For following a cold winter,
We are blessed with the spring.


She pushed back her soft dark hair,
and removed an earring from her ear.
She answered, “How may I help you?”
In a voice always pleasant and clear.
Her husband said, “Hi Honey,
I am sorry to bother you at work;
but something told me to call you
and tell you I wish that you were here.”
She smiled and said, “Why thank you,
but I have a pile on my desk and if I don’t get it done today,
I won’t have time for you and Tess.”
He said, “I am sure you do but I just had to say,
that Tessie and I miss you and I need you and love you Beth.”
“I love you too and I’ll be home around”
and then the phone went dead. “Beth... Beth are you there Honey?
That’s strange,” he said.
He shrugged then sat down to relax then he turned the TV on.
In stark horror he watched the plane, as it hit high on Tower One.
Beth would say to her husband,
“My death, my Love is a lesson, that apathy, hate and complacence;
allows evil to spawn its deadly poison.
We cannot forget that September day so that it will never happen again.
We must fight and pray for our Nation,
And a just means to an end. o without knowing I would,
I said goodbye to you and our baby girl,
Leaving you in grief and shock at the change in our comfortable world.
And Honey I pray that someday,
you’ll be freed from your lonely pain.
With knowledge that my faith was strong and I plead,
Allow yours to remain."

"Between Death And Destruction"

When you are near death and destruction, get up in its ugly face.
Shout and scream at corruption, your heart is a sick disgrace!
The power I have to fight you,
is so much bigger than me.
So go on to another, and plant your rotten seed.
I will smite you with Kindness,
then kill you with Faith and Love.
My armor will be infallible on loan from the Spirit above.
So evil slink away from me,
there's no way that you can win,
your destiny lies in ashes,
where you are muted from spewing sin.
I know that you'll keep trying,
to tear down every wall,
but a two edged sword of power
will cause your warranted fall.

"Black Labs and Freckles"

I stepped out on my porch,
a soft breeze on my skin.
I saw you playing and singing again,
you had a hole in your jeans,
And a black pup at your feet.
Your little nose with its freckles,
had burned from the heat.
You scampered around,
that puppy and you,
you were so funny, and mischievous too.
Little boots all untied,
shirt buttoned all wrong,
you had thought up your own little song.
I sat down in my rocker wearing a smile,
I took off my apron, and just watched for awhile.
For black Labs and freckles,
makes this world go round,
and marks sweet memories,
of my small home town.

"Closing Your Eyes"

You walk along life’s stony path,
in fear of the truth in memories past.
How many times did you fall on the sword,
turning from the wisdom of an honest word?
God sees the state that you’re in your life is like a perpetual spin.
Truth is gained by an implausible cost.
You choose to hide at a plummeting loss.
Pride and selfishness steals your soul,
an honest discourse will make you whole.
Why do you cringe at the very thought,
of admitting the grief that you have brought.
There is no lesson without searing pain.
So what is it that you hope to gain?
Is it silence or joy and faithfulness?
Or is it cleansing from the selfishness?
So you trip over stones along your way,
when you know that in time you will have to pay.
No one escapes eternity by lies, so you go on and on,
Closing your eyes.

"Please God"

I felt someone was present to force my eyes open,
Moving me toward a horror unspoken.
I watched frozen, unable to run.
Where is our safe complacent world?
Where we yawned through life with impatience unfurled.
Where dignity was spurned,
and vanity reigned,
and we recoiled from those,
Who were truly in pain?
Prostate on my face,
I cried out for wisdom.
With eye salve to see clearly,
seeking justice and freedom.
Please God

"My Spirit Called Me"

My spirit called me.
Her beauty reaching out for me to grasp.
I tried to reach her finger tips but was refused.
Held by an inescapable dangling sword,

Close above my head,
supported by a thin silk string.
Fragile, the Holy Bible ever near.
I was weighed in the balance,
I was not found wanting, but yearning.
It would fall should I step toward her.
Splitting my head with great loss.
The void greater than life,
Its name? "Compliance or Desertion.”

So the imposing sword dangled on.
Following me from age to age.
Occasionally my spirit took my hand
And we secretly danced.
But we dare not sway too long.
Her features a joyous simile of my own.
For twenty years, I pined for her.
Twenty long stolen years.

One day I grabbed her hand,
Gripping it with all my strength.
Just as the silken thread broke
She pulled me in as I clung,
Never to let go again.
As one, we wept and laughed.
We flew on the air of freedom.
Her countenance lighting my face.
The sword now in my hand,
Gleaming steel in the sunlight.
Daring oppression to move closer.
Knowing it would try

"My Great Big Little World"

The gulls squawked overhead
I lay on my stomach exploring as children do.
I brought my face close to the surface of the tide pool
A wave came to shore and its remnant soaked me underneath.
My braids floated in the water, I loved the feel.

I watched the tide pool as if it was my only world.
The anemone and the muscle were still, feeding off the stone.
I licked my salty lips and breathed deep the fishy air.
A gust of wind rippled the water's surface.
A Japanese crab walked sideways passed my peripheral view.
I reached out to touch its tiny maroon shell.
It took its warrior stance, claws raised.
I let it pinch me.
I giggled and stuck my stinging finger in the pool.

An agate glowed in the bottom between gray rocks,
I wanted it but I left it be.
I did not want my little world rearranged,
not even for treasure.
I knew the ocean would anyway, but not yet.
A tiny orange starfish moved a tentacle.

A gull squawked overhead,
a gust of wind made my wet skin cold,
My tummy growled, I wanted hot tomato soup,
"I will dip my grilled cheese sandwich in it."
Grinning I made a slurp sound.
I stood up and stretched. Sand caking my overalls.

I love my great big little world.

In My Dream I Walked on Water

In my dream I walked on water
Skipping on top of the waves.
To my left I saw the lighthouse
Painted in red and white stripes.
To my right was the pier.
White fishing boats rocked back and forth.

I walked as a weightless,
Smiling and reaching.
I passed a buoy
which blew its booming horn.
I open my mouth
and boomed right back.
Then I laughed and laughed.

A pelican sat down beside me
As I tripped toward the “Marlin Blue”
My ship that I had invented,
A secret place to play and hide.
I did a spin on the crest of a speeding wave,
Yelled goodbye at the pelican.
Then said hello to a seal.
It had surfed the wave with me.
I laughed at it’s flippers for arms.
It barked and then I barked right back.
It kissed my lips and I spit.

When I woke up, I was mad.
I wanted to go back and walk on water.
Not get up and go to my dumb school.
I grumbled and went to the kitchen.
And there was Mom at the stove.
Her apron on backwards
She gave me marbles and screws for cereal.
Her black hair was now red,
I had a red haired brother, yuk!
I thought I was awake.
Sheesh! I am going back to bed.

"Ellie’s Sweet Life"

Ellie looked at him as he drove.
The dusty road grooved
His old truck bumped slowly along.
Leather gloves lay between them on the seat.
Musty smells from wood and oil wafted her senses.
What stunk to some was a familiar comfort to her.
Her heart smiled.

He looked the same every morning
She could count on it.
Clean flannel shirt, jeans, work boots, denim jacket.
Coffee, bacon and eggs, toast.
A wink from his crinkled eyes.
His black lunch box loaded.
Bologna sandwiches with mustard and mayonnaise.
A couple banana’s, chips and thermos.

The screen door slapped shut as he left.
Heavy footsteps across the wooden floor.
His parting words, “be good.”
She got a slap on the fanny.
Unpretentious, steady, solid, stern, loving.
His rugged face and handsome to her.
Weathered hands calloused, his grip like a vice.

Pop culture, nudity, violence, war and terror
Rendered him with a tiring opinion,
So much garbage and crap.
The radio plays a country tune.
He sweeps her up for a dance.
Her apron dangling around her neck.
He steps on a bare toe
She laughs and cries at the same time.
Nine o’clock they dance to the bedroom.
White sheets fresh from the clothesline.
Her hair in Bobby Pins
His white T shirt glows in the dark.

The alarm crashes into the silence.
Dawn an hour away.
Her slippers shuffle toward the coffee pot.
She hears the shower,
Coffee, Bacon, eggs, toast.
Black lunch box packed,
A wink and a slap on the fanny.
“Be Good.”
The back screen door slaps shut.
Ellie’s Heart Smiles.

"Me And Daisies In The Rain"

I awoke to the sun streaming through white sheers.
A breeze made them gently flag their hello.
It made me smile and stretch and arise.
I looked out the window.

The sky was black to the west.
The sun was shining in front.
In between me and the horizon
A neon rainbow arched.
God blew a breeze that gently kissed my sleepy face.

I looked out at the field and there they were,
Whimsical white daisies that say country to me.
Yellow centers looking up.
The rain came gently at first and then the droplets enlarged.
The rainbow ran to the opposite side of dark ominous clouds.
The daisies stretched up thirstily drinking, smiling and slurping.

I ran out in my white linen gown and plopped into the center of them.
The rain fell in my face and my back was covered with mud.
The daisies and I just lay there getting soaked and invigorated.
The rain stopped and I turned my head looking into the face of a daisy
larger than the others.
It stretched its white petals, glistening, wet with diamond like drops.

I went back in singing, "Me and Daisies in the rain."
I pulled my muddy nightgown over my head and showered.
I sang on, "Just me and Daisies in the Rain,

I Bring Power

I gently lap the shore
Like a million sloppy kisses.
I love to leave little pools of life,
As I ebb and surge.
Whether my surface sinks deeper
Or rises to spectacular heights,
Whether in turquoise or gray,
Trimmed in the purest white,
I bring power.
In the gentleness of a still day,
or in the raging storm.
Like a song that never ends,
I voice my relentless roar.
Have much respect for me,
There lies danger in my majesty.

"If you have the chance to sit it out or dance, I just say Dance." writen by Mark Sanders recorded by LeeAnn Womack

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The following comments are for "The Poetry Of Beverly J Raffaele"
by BevRaffaele

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