Tag Archives: poetry

Dad 100 WCGU #59

This week we received a picture prompt. It reminded me immediately of my Dad (though he would never sit at the edge of a precipice like that). He loved the mountains and spent numerous summers living in lookout towers. He love to hike and instilled that love in his family. This post is dedicated to him.

To read other pieces or to participate, click on the logo. 🙂


The wind runs it’s tendril fingers through my hair

and presses it’s chilled lips upon my cheeks.

I close my eyes and pretend it’s him,

squeezing me tight and whispering

it’s going to be all right,

that I can make it through another day.

A single tear traces a

cool track down my face

and lands with a soft splotch.

The mountains are synonymous with him.

There was never one without the other.

I stand, dusting grainy dirt from

my jeans.

“Give her a hug for me,” I whisper

and know the words are carried to heaven

on the breeze.


Filed under Child loss, Memory, Miscellaneous, Nature, Poetry, Writing

To a Special Dot, Love Lizy

Lizy loved to write. She’d often write little poems about all sorts of things.

One day, a couple months after Lizy passed away, we were cleaning up the basement and found a folded up piece of paper. “To a Special Dot” was written on the outside.

Dot had been a having a rough day. Missing Lizy and difficulties with siblings, and she was feeling rather down.

A funny look came over her face and she opened up the note.

“To Dot
Even though the sadness rings
It is all so fun to sing
with a loving sister
even with the blisters
The sun will always cheer
the sadness. Can you hear?
Singing through the rafters
is the trio singing sisters.

Cheer up! I will always love you!

I will always love you
In rain or shine
With old or new
with lemon or lime
with love no one is gone
with love you’re happy
I love you, Dorothy. ”

It was like a little message from Lizy sent from Heaven. Dot doesn’t remember ever seeing it before and we thought it must have gotten lost in the couch before she got to read it.

Receiving it when she did, was a miracle. The words carried more impact than Lizy could have ever imagined when she wrote them. Dorothy cried as she read it and marveled that she found it when she most needed a Lizy hug.

And I was so grateful that Heavenly Father blessed her with finding that note when she needed it most. And that Lizy was thoughtful and loving enough to write it in the first place.


Filed under Child loss, Children, Dot, Lizy, Miracles, Writing

Fall (the season, silly – what were you thinking?)


Trees don their burnt orange frocks
Before midnight winter   stealthily   steels   in.
Leaves dance
A crisp crinkly crunch                 my feet.

Apples polished to a shiny rosy red.
Enameled teeth
into white flesh
With an audible cool crunch and juice,
my chin.

pencils scrape paper;
Inhale the scent of wooded lead
And the dusky pulpy
Pages of books barely opened.

The wind, now bold and brisk,
Bites my cheeks and teases my hair
Into a frenzied flurry of chaos, chasing clouds across the sky.

-J.H. Schmidt

I love fall. I love the smell of freshly sharpened pencils and wet earth as the rain sets in. I love the grins on kids faces as they return to school, and the feeling of slightly more time to get things done.

Back to School-001

Back to School-002

I love the sound of laughter as leaves are raked and piles jumped into. I love pumpkins bright and orange and bouncing behind the tractor on a hay ride. I love the cheering and flushed faces as the kids kick the soccer ball down the field.





This time of year is SO much fun! I can’t wait to go to the pumpkin patch with the kids and rake the leaves. I feel positively giddy! 😀


Filed under Children, Dot, Em, Jacob, Lizy, Nature, Poetry, Sports, Writing

Thoughts of a Mom

A Collection of Poems

Toddler Treasures

my hand
he places
One Plastic Glow
In The Dark lizard,
Three Snail shells, a piece of
String on a stick – I think he
went fishing today – nine pebbles,
a bent paper clip, and a shriveled
white daisy. “Because I love you,” he says.



A Mother’s Moment

Rock back, rock forward, forward and back,
Our eyes droop together, my
Child’s and mine. His sweet baby’s breath
Keeps tickling my cheek.
Into dreams we sail. Just us,
No one and nothing else but the
Gentle lilting creak as we move, back and forward, forward and back.

Calling to me are piles of dishes and
Heaps of laundry, but with my wee one
Asleep in my arms, all I can think of
Is how little time I have before he is grown and gone. So I keep
Rocking, back and forward, forward and back.



A delicate arch glowing
Red in the evening sun
Lovingly chiseled and shaped by
The hands of God.
Graceful, yet strong enough
To withstand the tests of time
And the storms of nature;
An example of steadfastness
Courage, and faith.
A witness to time, ages,
Laughter, tears, a monument
To which we aspire.
Beauty internal and eternal;
A masterpiece in the making.


A Mother’s Prayer

I feel the rhythmic creaking of my rocking chair
And press my cheek, so soft, against your downy hair.
I drop a kiss upon each peaceful slumbering eye
And utter in my heart a silent hopeful prayer.

I want to nurture you and teach you to reach high,
I want you to understand that it’s okay to cry.
I’ll teach you to catch snowflakes on your tiny tongue
And marvel at the rainbows in the glistening sky.

I’ll show you nature’s miracles, after spring has sprung
And show you all the little creatures hiding among
The rocks and crevices. I want to teach you
How to sing the song that’s left unsung.

I want to show you lions, roaring at the zoo,
And be your secret confidant when you’re feeling blue.
You are my precious child. None can compare.
Remember always who you are, my darling, I love you.


Happy Mother’s Day!!!


Filed under Parenting, Poetry, Writing

Dorothy is 8!

Dedicated to Dorothy, my own little starry comet:

Cast upon the midnight sky
They dance a fiery dance of fury
And tease us with their sparkling
Giggles to join them in their revelry.
Among the millions, is one unique.
Brilliant and courageous, it blazes
A flaming trail across the sky,
A comet soaring into eternity
Leaving its witnesses forever changed.

Dorothy 200

Dorothy 2001

Dorothy 2002

Dorothy 2003

Dorothy 2004

Dorothy 2005

Dorothy 2006

Dorothy 2007

It is amazing, though attitudes change, and those tight little curls on her head straightened, there are two things that has always remain the same: That gorgeous captivating smile, and those beautiful big brown eyes. oh, and that undeniable spunk and cleverness – you can see sparkle behind her eyes, even as a sweet little babe.


Filed under Children, Dot, Poetry, Writing

A Case of Snuggles

I think the thing I miss most about babies at this stage, and the thing I love the most about babies at this stage is the snuggles.  I love how they cuddle up on you and and snuggle into you. How they are content to lie on your chest and just be held.  Jacob barely stops long enough for me to give him a quick hug, let alone sit and cuddle with him for any period of time.  Yup, I love the baby snuggle stage. 🙂

As requested: Mama and James

Mama and James

A Mother’s Prayer
(a rubaiyat)

I feel the rhythmic creaking of my rocking chair
And press my cheek, so soft, against your downy hair.
I drop a kiss upon each peaceful slumbering eye
And utter in my heart a silent hopeful prayer.

I want to nurture you and teach you to reach high,
I want you to understand that it’s okay to cry.
I’ll teach you to catch snowflakes on your tiny tongue
And marvel at the rainbows in the glistening sky.

I’ll show you nature’s miracles, after spring has sprung
And show you all the little creatures hiding among
The rocks and crevices. I want to teach you
How to sing the song that’s left unsung.

I want to show you lions, roaring at the zoo,
And be your secret confidant when you’re feeling blue.
You are my precious child. None can compare.
Remember always who you are, my darling, I love you.

-J.H. Schmidt

Hanging out

Half Smile

Sleepy Boy

Hello world!

And a couple of Papa and James too:

Daddy and James

Dad and James at birth center

Daddy and James at Birth Center


Filed under Children, James, Parenting, Photography, Poetry, Writing

T is for Ten Tiny Toes and other Things

Encyclopedia of Me Meme

T is for Ten Tiny Toes

Piggy Wiggles
by J.H. Schmidt
(A Pleiadic Poem)

They peek above the bubbles, the ten pink
Piggy toes, and salute me with a wink.

They peek above to see me creeping near
And quickly duck below in yearning fear,

Enshrouded by the bubbles. The bright eyes
Full of giggles, beckon me to devise

A crafty plan to capture those ten pink
Piglets. Stealthy, I creep up to the brink

And wait. A spy rises from the foam, then
Piggy toes and foot, a setting hen.

My fingers fly and the toesies wiggle,
Sparkling eyes salute me with giggles.

Away from my tickles they do not shrink,
But relish imprisonment with a wink.


T is for Talent

Of course as a parent I say, “My kids are loaded with it,” and they really are. They have also sorts of talents. One talent that appears very prominently among all the children is music.  Maybe it’s that Paul and I are so wrapped up in music with our family jam sessions, etc. Or maybe they were just born with it.  All three girls are learning to play piano and doing wonderfully.  Each has chosen a second instrument that they want to play someday.  Each instrument matches their personalities too, which cracks me up.  Elizabeth has declared that she would like to learn to play Flute, Dorothy the Trumpet, and Emily the French Horn.  Jacob? Well, Jacob might end up being a percussionist.

The other day I walked  into the living room to find that he had taken all of our rhythm instruments – drums, chimes, the works, and had line them up in a row on the couch. With a mallet in each hand he was fiercely playing away across all the different instruments.  He looked like a miniature percussionist in a symphony. 🙂 

One other funny thing:  We were driving to a neighboring town and, as usual, I had the radio on.  It was just me, Emily and Jacob in the car.  Things were rather quiet (aside from the music) and Jacob fell asleep. At one point I turned in my seat sneak a quick look at him while I was driving. His eyes were closed, his head slumped in slumber, and yet his little foot was ticking away with the beat. 

Dorothy is our little singer – she takes singing very seriously and has developed a bit of vibrato even.  I wish I knew more about singing so I could help her better her voice.

Elizabeth is a little composer of songs.  At any given moment we can find her singing at the top of her lungs, some nutty song she has made up about whatever it is she is doing (hmmmm…I don’t know where she would have got that one from).

And Emily, liking anything and everything about music, just does it all. 🙂

Yes, I am proud of my kids and there many talents. 🙂


T is for Toddlers in Trouble

Which is what my son is right now, as I have just heard him playing in the bathroom – hopefully he is not drinking out of the toilet again…

 He jumped and ran as soon as I got back there – little squirt.

As Jacob’s middle name is Paul I also like to modify the “Music Man Song” (it can apply for my hubby Paul at times too) – “We’ve got trouble, right here in River City. Trouble with a capitol T that rhymes with P that stands for PAUL!”  Hee hee. 🙂


T is for Tender Hugs and Kisses

Everyone needs them and my kids give them freely – I love my kids sloppy kisses and tackling hugs.


T is for Time

Which there is never enough of and always passes too quickly.  How fast the little ones grow and how long it takes us to learn to stop what we are doing and enjoy them.


T is for Trip and Travel

Did you know that ever since I was a little tyke I have been a world traveler? Every time I would trip and fall my Dad would announce, “And there she goes for another trip around the world!”  heh – I loved it. 🙂


T is for Tempted

I am tempted to keep this post going as long as possible to avoid cleaning the house – wouldn’t you be? 😉


T is for Terminated

Which means that this post has come to an end – and it’s off to work I go. 🙂


Filed under Children, Dot, Em, Family, Humor, Jacob, Lizy, Meme, Poetry, Writing

Thoughts on a Rainy Thursday

It is not a favorite of mine, but as it is raining today (again) it seemd to fit my mood:

Counting Raindrops

Pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, tap-tap-tap
Rain raps upon my window.
Golashes topped by shiny yellow slickers
Beckon to me from gray shadow.

Pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, tap-tap-tap
I trace the raindrops with my finger
As they slip
                                        down the pane
etching patterns on the glass;
Now and then it squeaks.

Pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, tap-tap-tap
I rest my chin upon the couch
And watch the drizzle descend.
I count the drops as they glide;
Pooling at the bottom.

Pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, tap-tap-tap
Somewhere . . .
In the back of the house,
Bach is playing.
My eyelids grow heavy
And I slumber to the gentleness of the rain

-J.H. Schmidt



Filed under Poetry, Writing

Of Bikes and Bullies


                   I creep, a snail
                             carrying his house
                                          upon his back,
                                              up the steep incline.

With sheer determination I pump
forward, relentless,
finally cresting


I soar with the birds,
wheels spinning wildly,
peddles pumping franticly,
adrenaline rushing through my metal frame.
The wind roars past, drowning
out the sheer squeal of delight from my rider,
bringing on its tail
a cacophony of all the scents of spring.

-J.H. Schmidt 

Ever since I first learned how to remain semi balanced I have loved riding my bike.  My brothers and I would ride for hours in the Pennsylvania country.  I had really short hair then, shorter than I do now, and was often mistaken for a boy, but that never bothered me.  There were so bmx trails near town that we enjoyed biking on and seeing how much air we could get off the jumps on just a little ‘ole bike.

 I would bike into town frequently too, the 2 mile ride was nothing, and I usually had some pocket change in my pocket for some Bubbalicious Bubblgeum.  The ride was safe, and it didn’t seem like we had to worry as much about crazies then as we do now.  There was this one boy though – one of the biggest bullies I ever faced in my childhood…

“Hey! You can’t pass by here,” a fierce voice called as I watched a freckled arm shoot out and grabbed hold of my handle bar, jolting me to a halt.  It was all I could do not to crash completely. Filled with dread I staggered on my feet and eyed the boy trying to concentrate on one of the many freckles splayed across his nose.

“Leave me alone, I can go where I want,” my voice didn’t sound nearly as tough as I wanted it too and I despised how whiny it sounded in my ears.

The boy still hadn’t let go of my bike. He ran his free hand through his red hair, “You have to pay a toll.”

“No I don’t!” I squeaked.  I was angry, and scared.  I saw him eyeing my brand-new watch Mom had given me for my birthday.

“You can’t leave until you give me you watch,” he growled, lunging for my wrist and breaking the clasp free.  He hung it in the air exultantly out of my reach . “Thanks,” he laughed as he headed toward his home.

I fought back the white hot tears that threatened, there was no way I was going to let that jerk see me cry.   I couldn’t hold the flood for long as I turned back home, my trek for the coveted Bubbalicious Bubblegum forgotten. 

My brother (Paul – yeah I know, wiered, my huby’s name is Paul too) was the first one I came across, and before lone I found myself pouring out my broken heart to him about the nasty bully.  The boy wasn’t just a bully to me, but to most kids, and he was my brother’s age too – 2 1/2 years older than me.  To say my brother was angry was an understatement.

“I’ve got a plan,” he whispered in my ear. “I want you to get back on your bike and ride down there….”

I was more shaky on the second trip as I pedalled along, half hoping the bully would emerged, and half dreading it.  I rounded the corner and sure enough the was the boy, standing with his arms crossed.  Once again he reached his hand out and jerked my bike to a halt.  He didn’t get to far though, for flying around the bend hot on my trail was my big brother.  I don’t know that I have ever seen anyone execute such a spectacular bike to ground while in motion jump as he did.  I watched his bike continue past me before it fell to the ground. 

Paul hauled the boy into the nearby bushes, and I didn’t witness the exchange.  But I heard words, and knew that Paul punched him.  A minute or two later my brother came out triumphantly carrying my brand new watch, as the boy slunk back to his house.

I never had a run-in with that boy again – and I never forgot the day one of my big brothers became my hero.


Filed under Farm Stories, Poetry, Writing

My New Year Post (a little late)

Often I have sat down with the hoardes at the beginning of the New Year and have jotted down resolutions that I knew would never be completed. This year I just let the year slip in quietly. I didn’t write resolutions, and tell myself that this year I was going to do such and such every day. Goal setting is not a bad thing, it is a very good thing, but sometimes my goals are unrealistic, call for perfection and throw me into guilt when I fail to perform them without fault. I did however make one resolution: a concious decision to improve and make this year better than the last. Shake out the rugs of routine, and through open the windows to let the sunshine in and freshen up my spirits, maybe even dust off a few forgotten dreams. A fresh new start on a fresh new year….

(written in sapphic stanza; a poem for the new year and many other things)

Sunshine come and romp with me, chase the storm clouds
from my face that shroud me in shadow. Wake my
heart and spur my dreams from among the grave of
negligence. Silent

too long, I have wandered in circles waiting
for your warmth to enter my shuttered soul and
stoke the fires of passion and aspiration.
Why have I wandered,

silent, waiting? Can I not open windows
to my soul and chase away gloom that festers
there? Awake my soul and renew the dreams that
once were dead. Awake!

-J.H. Schmidt

(I’ve been playing with creating headers to fit the mood I am in, or my blog is in. Thus the reason for a bit of change today…) 🙂


Filed under Every Day Life, Philosophy, Poetry, Writing