Poetry is not for me! By Ben Schamel
It certainly is not for me.
To write the rhyme,
Takes too much time!
How to make it flow,
I cannot know.
I can not seem to make the rhythm,
To show it's colors like a prism.
Just like I have said
I would rather play instead!
I cannot stand this poetry,
It will drive me up a tree!
If you put this all together,
I absolutely cannot weather,
All of the time
That I have tried to rhyme.
My Mighty Warrior! By Jannice Schamel
Across the field a band he led.
These soldiers followed with heads held high,
Against the clear, blue cloudless sky.
Where are they headed? To where doth he lead?
Down to the garden, to plant the seed.
In the garden row by row,
I watch them plant, I watch them grow.
My little soldiers in the Army of God
Sow their seeds among the sod.
Though it may look like child's play
They are growing in wisdom day by day.
A little stronger, a little taller
Did they grown while in the holler?
Aye, the pride must show in my face,
As I watch my little ones grow in grace.
Gabriel Isaac By Jannice Schamel
Like fresh fallen snow
Peer out above flushed
Cheeks below.
Four teeth with and straight
Between plump pink lips clearly state
He's happy to be here
Glad to see you dear!
Would you like to play?
Peek-a-boo is the game of the day.
Ittsy Bitty Betsy Grace By Jannice Schamel
Splattered across her nose,
Stand out beneath her
Red Curls bouncing as she goes.
A smile brightening the darkest of places
And pretty little dresses of laces,
Little girls are such a delight.
No wonder children are a parent's might!
Missing Father
Out the window wave goodbye,
Just as Father prepares to fly,
Little Job begins to cry,
Already missing Father.
We round the dinner table gather,
Missing our courageous Father,
Mother, brother as well as daughter,
Pray we’ll soon safely be together.
Waiting for the phone to ding,
When it does the children sing,
For there is no more precious thing,
As when Father’s voice doth ring.
How much longer must we wait,
Before we hear our Father’s gait,
Upon the floor of our blessed home,
And each our work he will condone?
~Amber Schamel
From Father when he read the poem
Sitting here all alone
read your poem, to late to phone,
wipe a tear, my heart goes out,
the best daughter in the world, no doubt!
can't wait to see her eyes so green
sparkling like the New Zealand sea's
feel the hug I know will come
we will laugh & giggle some
talk about how the trip, it went?
miss the Mom who is heaven sent
only thing would make more ache
is longing for the pearly gates!
~Dale Schamel