The girl in the bandana,
Mysterious hidden face
Writes poetry as a master
While laying words with lace.
The stories that she writes of,
Historical lessons on life.
Of choosing to take the high road,
When choosing between wrong and right.
How many poems she's written,
Grow in number every week.
Her stories of the lonely
And those spiritually weak.
She offers hope to anyone,
Who reads her lessons in ink.
Faith for those who need to know,
Or feel they've reached their brink.
Lessons taught and lessons learned,
On subjects which broadly vary,
Another professor of the written word,
Professor Mandy Berry.
I call you the professor,
Of words of poem and rhyme.
Each poem a new class lesson,
That doesn't cost a dime.
Amazing how your words flow,
As you write of things in life.
How sirens take you back to,
When you met your wife.
I met you a few days ago,
Was impressed with your poetic mind,
And like Santa is to Christmas,
I think of you to rhyme.
Each time I read, the words you write
My heart is filled with song.
Doesn't matter what you write of,
Or if it's short or long.
Each tells me a story,
Of something revealed, by your heart,
With each, I am amazed
And have been from the start.
So as I read each poem of yours, and
Wonder what's on your back burner...
I look forward to the poems prepared by,
The Professor of poem, Roger Turner.
All of the above have attained my respect and have my admiration. Please visit each, you will learn of great talent from each. Others who are sure looking like professors:
If you like, any poem you read,
Become a fan to a poet in need.
They'll fan you back with thanks galore,
You'll make a friend, and find some more.
Write a comment - short and sweet,
Tell them their writing, is emotions meat.
They'll comment back, you'll gain a friend,
Just a few short words, then do it again.
You'll help someone, who needs to know,
They have a place, in Hello Poetry to go.
Where each is allowed to state their mood,
Each poet knows, that is good.
You never know, how much you'll mean,
To new or old poets, who've joined this scene.
Most read poems, then leave the page,
Without leaving a word - A Poet's Wage.
Or to gain a fan, from a poet - our peer.
Reading poems in the early morn
I notice emotions lived and worn
Some wrote of, their love newborn
And of hearts beaten and torn
One wrote of children yet unborn
Another of a love's fresh scorn
And of love, newly sworn
While others just blew their horn
One wrote of his wife's adorn
Then spoke of the ex's shorn
Of tempers like a flower's thorn
Thoughts of life and love reborn
I read of life lost and mourn
I saw where a king was found forlorn
Then found celebrating his firstborn
How happiness is not inborn
And of a farmer's crop of corn
How not all are found freeborn
Or of royalty's highborn
Another poets emotions borne
Of a nurse they called the O' R.N
I hope you've enjoyed this exercise of O.R.N.
Could you "C" the O.R.N.-Y fun. :-)
I would love to write a story,
Of life that never dies.
Of love that's never ending,
That soars above the skies.
Oh to be the one,
Who wrote the happiest song.
Of love that's never ending.
Of love that's never wrong.
Men can write a poem or rhyme,
But none could ever tell;
How life goes on forever;
In Heaven or in Hell
But God gave us the Bible,
To learn of His great plan,
Of a love that's never ending,
When He sent the Son of Man
The poems in the Bible,
Are there for all to read.
The lessons taught and learned;
The Best Poet we must heed.
So while I'll never write the words;
I'll carry them within my heart
Then tell of He who wrote the words,
And The Word He did impart
Decisions, Decisions, Decisions,
We make them everyday,
In how we choose to live,
In every single way.
You may not believe, He's the Greatest Poet,
But in the end you will agree,
For every knee will bow and tongue confess
As we face: Eternity.
DRIED of TEARS
The years of his youth were long ago. His memories fade each year.
Then something brings back a thought, and he remembers another tear.
The home of his memories and the home of his dreams.
Never came together. I’ll tell you what that means.
A little boy of long ago, who longed to feel a love
From either his Mom or Dad: And from God above.
Errors of his yester years, came back in their every word.
Each time he has his memories, nothing good is ever heard.
He didn’t have a choice in birth, of who, or where he would be.
Nobody asked how he felt, cause he would not have chosen: to be me.
Until the days, of my life pass, I’ll have memories - which tore apart…
The home of my dreams, and a little boy with a broken heart.
The ridicule to that little boy, which came from those he loved
And no matter how hard he tried, would never receive their love.
I certainly don’t think I’m perfect. Misdeeds: I’ve done my share.
I remember the things I was punished for, and the many, which were unfair.
That little boy inside me still feels the pain
Of beatings which were unjustified, and years of hope, in vain.
Survival became my motto. Anger became my shield.
Somehow the boy became a man, with wounds, which never healed.
That little boy is now a man, but the boy of yesteryears remains.
And though he no longer seeks their love, he is reminded of past pains.
The little boy of years gone by, has put aside his yesterdays,
In order to raise his own little boys with love and hopefully better ways.
He managed to get beyond those days. He’s no longer wet behind the ears.
And though the little boy visits me some, my eyes have dried of tears.
Bobby Gardner 07 19 2004
GOOD NIGHT, HALEY
Where are you, my little sister?
I can’t find you anywhere.
Seems you were just with us,
but now your room is bare.
I have been waiting for you to get here,
so I wouldn’t be alone.
Mom and Daddy said you died,
and that you can’t come home.
They took me to some place,
where you were sleeping in a bed.
They said, "She’s your little sister."
And we kissed you on your head.
Then they said, "We’d have to go."
And we left you laying there.
I was trying hard to understand,
but I didn’t think that, was fair.
We left you in that great big room,
with all those pretty flowers.
Daddy took some pictures,
and left you some of ours.
It’s only been a few days now, since we said good-bye.
I asked Mom, when you were coming home, and she began to cry.
I think I understand now, and I know I’ll remember daily.
To thank God for Mama and Daddy,
And you, my little sister, Haley.
Good night Haley, I love you and miss you.
Bobby Gardner 03-12-94
Needless to say, that scene ripped my heart and I thought how sweet it is to have the innocence of a small child. I decided I would try to write a poem from his view of things. I kissed him good night, then went to the kitchen table and began writing this poem.
Today we’ll lay our child to rest.
A parent’s sorrow, one cannot express.
We bow to pray and ask God, "Why?"
"Did our child have to die?"
Dear God, You know I’m just a man.
Please tell me so I might understand.
I need to know to ease the pain,
for what is life, if death not gain?
Dear Lord, we know You love us.
That our child’s dying was not Your will.
Yet she is no longer with us,
but in that mansion on that hill.
You said that You’d prepare a place,
for all those blameless before You.
And when You saw her face to face,
her innocence must have moved You.
Thank You Lord for hearing us.
Your love’s beyond compare.
And thank You for the little time,
with her we had to share.
We’ll gladly give to You our pain,
knowing in our loss; she gained.
Then as the years and life goes by;
we will share with others who wonder: "Why?"
Bobby Gardner 03-08-94
TEARS OF SOLACE “When a Child Dies”
Life is made of memories, some good and some are sad.
I remember many things about the child we had.
The day your child is born is a memory so sweet,
Counting little fingers and the toes upon their feet.
To hold your child in your arms is a joy I can’t explain.
One wonders how such a blessing is bestowed in a Mother’s pain.
The miracles of birth could not have come by chance.
It is God’s design, not evolution, on which I’ll take my stance.
All our days are numbered; we know not when we’ll die.
We only have today, to love, to laugh, or cry.
Today I’ll choose to smile, as I tell someone,
About our little child with which we had such fun.
Though thoughts can make me laugh, still others make me cry.
Each thought will not forget, the day we said, "Good-bye".
We have tried to find a reason for our child’s life ending.
We prayed to God for comfort, then found peaceful understanding…
Peace to know the destiny, of our little one.
Eternity in heaven; When all is said and done.
So, Lord, we’ll daily thank you for the tears that fill our eyes.
You’ve made them “tears of solace”, for when a child dies.
Bobby Gardner 08-27-91