"sherri" poems
Written by: David & Sherri Phelps
She was like the roses in the garden,
a timeless work of art in crimson shade.
But like each bud that opens up to wither,
her perfume ebbs away, her scarlet color fades.
He was like wildflowers in the springtime.
He never cared too much about where he grew,
his time was brief, but filled with vibrant passion.
Then he rode a breeze away,
as wild flowers often do.
And I remember,
I remember,
I remember, cause I still have days
their fragrance drifts to me on Jordan's tide.
So I won't forget,
I won't forget their never gone their just
blooming on the other side.
She was like a daisy in the meadow,
a welcome smile that's shared between two friends.
Kisses hugs and laughter were her petals,
and she have them all away,
until her seasons end.
And I remember,
I remember,
I remember, cause I still have days
their fragrance drifts to me on Jordan's tide.
So I won't forget,
I won't forget their never gone their just
blooming on the other side.
One day I will see, in that garden fair,
those who wait for me over there.
I remember,
I remember,
I remember, cause I still have days
their fragrance drifts to me on Jordan's tide.
So I won't forget,
I won't forget their never gone their just
blooming on the other side.
Blooming on the other side.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 1:49 AM UTC
Thanksgiving is a time we are thankful
for what we've got.
For the food on the table and what
harvest hath brought.
Thanksgiving to some is a cold,
autumn day.
Yet to be thankful quietly they
say.
Thanksgiving is remembered usually
with gourds, leaves, and turkey dinners.
Praising God even as sinners.
The wine is poured and some drink up.
Just remember who fills your cup.
Thanksgiving is time to be happy
and a time to celebrate.
Memories of mother saying.." come for dinner-
don't be late."
The table set and people feast and dine.
As one says.." pour me another glass of wine."
"Cheers to all and another year of shelter, clothes,
and food to eat." Yells one.
Harvest time hath been good, but still isn't
quite done.
Thanksgiving is more than that to me.
I'm thankful for God's blessings everyday-
I see.
Its more than food and a pumpkin pie,
latte, or cake.
Its about the love that Jesus brings for
what is real and not fake.
He died and rose again for our sins,
and another year is almost through.
Thanksgiving is a way of reflecting the past
and be thankful for what's new.
I took a walk one thanksgiving afternoon and
saw a poor man begging for at least a dime.
His clothes were worn out, and I gave him
a dollar and a rhyme.
He smiled at me and said..."Bless your soul,
I wish more cared like you." he cries.
As I walk away I notice a teardrop in his
eyes.
Thanksgiving is a time when we should be more
than thankful than one day, but to have a loving heart.
Be thankful for what each day brings and not just one day
in the year that taketh part.
Sherri Harder
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 4:45 PM UTC
Jax,Lily,Flawless,Marta,Dr.Shweta,Shiv,Neeraj,Dg.
Emeka,Miss,Jules,Bridgett,Salim, Joceyn,memoona.
Sampreeta,daud,Stephanie,Grace,No name,Eloisa.
Hijenduanao,Kauthar,Damien,Joye,Marta,Narendra.
Jolene, Perry, Freebird,Surbhi,Godawan,Ikimi,tm,
Xaela,try,S Nirmal,Astrea,Erin,Mindless,Lace,HB.
AP,Timur,Kasidee,Caterra,the untold,Melancholy.
Melanie,mckenzie, clark,beebz,sherri,bryan,bakunawa.
khaliyah,brianna,Ay2brutus,Angel-like,Maxx,Lure ***
Mike, me zeal, Kim,Kim,Maeiby,Shanath,Marshall,xallan.
Weeping Willow,Mike Hauser,Serena,AnnMarie,DavidLewis.
JenniferJohnson, itgonnamakesense,Mike Essiq,Nancy.
Olivia,Paul,Mark,Phil,PoetressBhumi and Wilyam Pax.
Here some more love you all, I pray that you are blessed.
Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 5:44 PM UTC
A young girl sways back and forth ecstatically
in a rustic, creaking chair,
with the peaceful country setting and
summer, scented air.
The evening sky turned dark with the sound
of alarming fear.
The clouds briskly rolled through with a
tremble to the ear.
Running through patio doors wide open
as she saw light dance across the lake.
Flashes of lightening caught the eye,
while she watched the heavens
awake.
Written by Sherri G Harder
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 8:34 PM UTC
Sherri can you hear me?
I'm sitting in my bathroom,
I've got a bunch of pills
And I'm ready to meet my doom.
Sherri can you hear me?
I'm almost ready to die.
I called you for one reason,
I wanted to say goodbye.
Sherri can you hear me?
Please don't call nine-one-one
Nothing can help anymore.
It's all done; I'm done.
Sherri can you hear me?
One, two, three, four.
Counting pills, ready for death
Oh no, they're at the door.
Sherri I gotta go,
The ambulance is here.
My wrists are sliced real bad
And my death is getting near.
Sherri I'm so scared.
Lights and sirens are on high.
They're sticking stickers on my body,
My death will soon be nigh.
Grace can you hear me?
My heart's beating too fast.
I'm seizing, once, twice, three times,
This day will soon be my last.
Grace, stop, stop!
I'm pulling out my needle
Barely aware of what's happening
My body's turning feeble.
Grace, why did you do it?
I'm now being interrogated.
Summit Ridge or Peachford?
To the hospital I am fated.
Mom can you hear me?
It's finally visitor's day.
I'm so anxious, I love you lots
Please mom, will you stay?
Grace did you hear me?
You're going no matter what.
Skyland Trail's the next step,
No ifs, ands, or buts.
Mom can you hear me?
I miss you too much.
Please. come pick me up,
I really miss your touch.
Friends can you hear me?
You're help was invaluable.
A Thank You goes to everyone
My recovery is beyond admirable.
Jun 26, 2019
Jun 26, 2019 at 8:35 AM UTC
two bodies
and they are filled with lies
two bodies
that don't love each other anymore
music never plays again
I imagine seeing you
Sherri in my bedroom
right now
you see me drinking
hard at one pm
I know you would be
sad and yelling at me
What the **** is wrong with you!
and the best of all
I would be taking it all from you
I feel too bad to yell back at you
your eyes shine in the room
while yelling
and I'm in love again.
my pain is numb
what is your pain like?
I seem to always have dreams
of Sherri and old friends and
old classmates who never think
of me
but I think of them.
Is that what a nightmare is?
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
I think there's something wrong
with being called to from down the stairs
casually called and
instantly annoyed at the sound of her voice
this time however
she says:
Brandon
...yeah
Aunt Sherri has died
speechless
so far away
13 steps too far
rusted gears, eroded stone
even with legs like these
the message could've been delivered
now the distance has affected gravity
why am i always alone?
Dec 28, 2011
Dec 28, 2011 at 7:09 PM UTC
Silver ripples
Crinkle on the lake
Grip the paddles
Echo in the waves
Seattle rains
Fall hard today
But sunlight always
Slips beside the grey
Shine down
Through the clouds and funeral shrouds
Comfort us
Mortal beings on the ground
From the highest peaks
Come crashing through
Silver marble
Dive deep into the blue
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 12:48 AM UTC
We poets write what's on our mind
and in our heart.
To us it comes naturally, never questioning
it. To us its art.
To every curve we feel the pen stroking
on the paper wall,
like a dancer swaying in rhythm and to
dare not fall.
From one poet to another, we have a common
courtesy for most.
We either love it or we don't or can share it
playing host.
We appreciate each others differences and
poetic style.
Even when we disagree, we never argue,
as we smile.
From one poet to another, we can feel ones
pain and joy.
Though we never knock each other down
or do no harm employ.
From one poet to another, its a way of
sharing what's in our soul.
Whether it be good or bad, we respect each other
for simply sharing and letting go.
We can write about most anything like nature, love,
pain, art, or rock.
The worst thing from one poet to another, is a thing
called "writer's block."
So when we take the time to very publically; to
from our depths do share.
Its a way of sharing a piece of our minds like a
a window to our soul declare.
Even though we may hide away from
time to time.
It's because we're always thinking and
reflect on past experiences to rhyme.
Most of us are pretty social and can
be artistic in other ways.
Like music, dancing, singing or
acting and directing plays.
We choreograph our feelings out
and lay them out as words of art.
Sharing to others to enjoy a piece
of our life that taketh part.
We don't always say things out loud
properly and publically.
We are sometimes better writing in what we
do best- in written poetry.
From one poet to another, we know some get it
or they don't.
Most poets will because they can disect it
or they won't.
From one poet to another, we know we
don't always have to rhyme our word.
I prefer to write in rhyme, but when I don't-
other poets don't think its absurd.
From one poet to another, we write our
feelings, thoughts and beliefs with ease.
From one poet to another, for some its
a masterpiece.
Sherri Harder
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 9:43 PM UTC
To those that dwell on sadness
and think of hurt and pain.
What really makes you sad?
Are you sure its not all in vain?
To the one whose partner left them,
is he or she worth the agony and strife,
If they could not appreciate you and
accept you in their life?
To the teens rebelling and behaving
like a brat.
Do you really know why your like this?
Your game is getting old, to you no one wants to chat.
To the ones drowning in their sorrows and beer
down at the local bar.
Please be careful after and don't you dare
get behind the wheel in your car.
To the young ones dabbling in and getting high off illegal drugs.
Better smarten up and kick the habit so you don't
wind up like street thugs.
To the ones crying suicide and "watch me cut my wrist."
Maybe think of what your doing.
Is it really worth the risk?
To the stranger in the club that thinks
talking ***** will get me with him in bed.
You are obviously delusional, I'd rather kiss
a frog instead.
To the woman that gets abused
better leave before its too late.
Some are not as lucky as I've been.
Some don't get to choose their fate.
To the lonely souls out their crying all the time
why they think their life should end.
Just remember you have options.
You can allow Jesus in your heart that leads
to a path that will mend.
So to everyone that's listening, to this I say...
there's more to life than heartache,
"just don't give up so easily", I pray.
We always have a choice and one
is always grim.
Don't you think that you deserve
one that isn't dim?
There aretwo roads to follow.
Which one will you choose?
One way leads to happiness and the other
you will lose.
To those that are depressed and homesick
and do miss.
My heart goes out to those that have a heart.
I hope you soon find true comfort, joy and bliss.
So to those that are suffering, you see
you don't have to raise your voice.
To those suffering, you have a choice.
Sherri Harder
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 7:13 PM UTC
My life is an autobiography.
I hate monsters and biology.
I like dance and song.
rhythm keeps me strong.
My heart is like a non-stop battery
going up and down
and re-charging steadily.
Eyes are like a hawk piercing through time
coordination is an instrument tuned to rhyme.
Memory sharp and so eidetic.
Focusing on the beauty, calling me to be poetic.
Visiting the past.
Some things never last.
The day in the life of I.
Sometimes I had to do my best or try.
Still here
not there.
Vacation time is done
The battle I have won.
Learning to overcome
from the things that bring me down I run.
Overall my life was blessed.
I don't dwell on the negative yet in God I rest.
Sherri Harder
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 5:14 AM UTC
The scent of lake water or fresh
ocean breeze,
nearby forests of moss, pine, juniper and
summer green leaves.
the birds chirping, singing in trees.
The summer sun sparkles its spotlight
across the lake.
Live, explore, hike, swim....
the day is yours to take!
This land, in awe, so captivating with
mountains majestic; "oh can't you see?
Awake, and adventure in beautiful, summer of
captivating... BC.
@ Sherri G Harder
Aug 7, 2022
Aug 7, 2022 at 7:25 PM UTC
Real world, real war
in the spirit realm, breathing
leaven disemboweled,
yes yes yes
gaseous we beasties,
mobs
and congregating misinfirmed
conforming to the mould,
black and green
up up up morpheme ob
serve
some body from the edge in
piercing ever-with points of
everish means to ends,
tat-too too you, Dr. Joyce Brothers,
my boy's
real TV Glenda,
good witch of the west, who goaded us
past understanding
Thalidomide,
when we cried, for Miss Sherri's baby,
as in my future then, my daughter
Natalie, would cry, for baby
Jessica, who really did
fall into a well…
--- same size well head as we had at 120 Oak
--- I just noticed, meandering past
wondering if I cried, when my baby sister,
Peggy, died, in late '49? -- no, '50.
Cancer, of the sort fallout causes, we later learned.
Obtuse, to use the oft idle word
to mean to-ward or
a-gain-st
t'use the expression for compression, squeezing
water from a stone,
breaking marrow from the bone, listen
to the fire,
feel the story keep us warm,
long nights,
with only little dancing candle flames,
to emphasize the phases -- moons,
and moons, mensal mental clockish
I will if you will go go go rhythms
of the falling rain,
swishing wishes to know…
will you still love me,
tomorrow?
Dec 17, 2020
Dec 17, 2020 at 1:45 PM UTC
Castle walls I've built
within my heart.
Castle walls lay ground to
tear the enemy apart.
Knights in armor;
guarding me well.
No ocean currants or armies
can near me dwell.
The armor I wear,
many do not see.
Its my protective shield...
in faith, I'm free.
Castle walls built higher
over the years.
Some guards let down,
yet no more tears.
Castle walls of armies,
not of brick.
In my mind, through walls....
can't trick.
My knights fight at command
with high, majestic sword.
The battle won with mighty truth...
of God's word.
@ Sherri G Harder
Aug 7, 2022
Aug 7, 2022 at 6:08 PM UTC
I use your urn
I use the heart shaped velvet box I keep your urn in
to prop my phone up during therapy.
A choice I may choose to examine.
I keep it in my “workspace”,
a workspace I neglect
until it is time for therapy.
telehealth with Ms. Steele,
a professional
It’s a place so hard for me to be,
to think, to straighten up.
Sealed letters, dried flowers, undeveloped film.
then I walk away when it’s over.
There’s a secret
I do not disclose
to Sherri
or myself
In lucid moments I can see
the shade you colored my life when you left.
Out of focus, still on my mind
a crushed, pale blue.
Jan 4, 2024
Jan 4, 2024 at 2:59 PM UTC
There once was a girl named Sherri.
She was writing a poem, not scary.
She had auburn hair.
Her skin pale and fair.
She is definitely not ordinary.
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 5:52 PM UTC