Since April is National Poetry Month, I thought I would share a few original poems with you. I hope you like them. Feel free to comment.

Human Perspective

Juniper trees
Weeping Willows
Pine cone dropping
Hawks soaring
Below floating clouds
A tiny black ant
On a daffodil bud
Reflections of life
Perspectives we see
But still don’t know.

Tribute to Marcus Allen

“Lord, I keep so busy serving my Master,
Keep so busy serving my Master,
Keep so busy serving my Master,
Ain’t got time to die!” *

Of course, we ain’t got time to die,
Singing these songs in the junior high chorus 1
Ain’t nobody thinking about dying.
We got too much living to do – graduation,
High school, college, romance, make some money,
New clothes, new shoes, a car – No time to die!
We got to show our parents and our teachers
We got a future that’s better than theirs, so we
Gonna keep so busy working for ourselves
Until Marcus gets killed on his paper route.
Stabbed multiple times for the money he collected.
Never to sing “Sweet Little Jesus Boy” ** again. His
Beautiful soprano subtracted from our harmonies
Now filled with tears and disbelief. The songs
We sing take on new meaning.

“Couldn’t hear nobody pray,
Couldn’t hear nobody pray,
O Way down yonder by myself
And I couldn’t hear nobody pray!” ***

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*Negro Spiritual by Francis Hall Johnson
**Christmas Song by Robert MacGimsey, 1934
***Negro Spiritual by J. W. Work, 1940

Adoption Party

He ran right up to me
Bright eyes, crooked little teeth.
Tapped me on the leg and said,
“Come and see!”
Before I could answer,
Off he ran, leaving my heart
To wonder, “Is this my son?”
So many children running all around.
All ages, all sizes, filled with energy.
Yet, I could still hear him
Above every sound.
Balloons popping, children screaming,
Workers trying to get everyone to
Settle down.

“We have to find him!” is all that I said
We wandered in search
Of this four-year-old’s head
He had stolen my heart
To my husband’s surprise
We had found the one child
One face, one smile,
Amid so many, he walked right up to us,
A toy truck in hand, pulling my husband’s pant leg.
“What’s your name?” I managed to say
He simply replied, “Can you please play?”
He sat right down at our feet, spinning the wheels
And we joined him there. This is where a new life
With our son began.

More poems by Patricia Boyd-Wilson