I am a native New Mexican, and I belong to a poetry reading guild in Carlsbad, New Mexico. The group meets once a month, and it has helped me gain confidence getting up in front of people, sometimes too much confidence. I also am a member of the South West Writers that is home based in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
I was a bookkeeper at Brewer Oil Company for seventeen years. My husband, Pat, and I have two sons, Keith and Kipp. We have one grandchild, Tanner Clayton, who is the joy of our life. Pat was a school principal in Artesia, and after 38 years of public education, he and I retired, on November 16, 2001.
I have three honorable mentions at Bylines Magazine for short stories, one for a poem, and a special honorable mention for another poem. I feel like the honorable mention kid since I also own an honorable mention at Hodgepodge.
I have publications in: Kenya Blue, (featured poet); DDDD Publications, Poemagazine, Storyzine, The Rag, Herland's Flaming Tongues, Hodgepodge, Space Chapbook Volume I, The Artesia Daily Press, The Roswell Daily Record, Albuquerque Journal, The Sunburst, The Custer Chronicle, Inspirational Verses, Promise, and RB’s Poets’ Viewpoint, and Potpourri.
Retirement allows me to write and spend time with my family.
He sits in a big comfy chair In a large mansion in the sky Overlaid with stars and angels in prayer, in His realm, as He watches from on high.
He smiles down on His creation
Desiring only good for all mankind, With prophets spreading His word of foundation, So all men on earth can be refined.
His compassion cries out To those who’ll heed And admit and know His salvation is what they need.
His judgment comes to those who turn away
Too busy for Him now, just time for play. But they’ll bow their knees to Him someday And wish sin had not been the path of their way.
Our actions do determine our fate, To go or not go through His pearly gate. For He truly is the Master. We need to run to Him faster.
In its way, gloom was good, but to soothe those whose gladness had ceased was
all it understood.
Its traits were weeping with tender sympathy for those who wept, and its allure of light, spotted among the forest tree branches, came creeping at night.
Stuff happens;
Breeds worry, anguish, and gloom depression sets in, sorrow thrives
those needs, it heeds, for pleasure there's no room.
Now Euphoria was a beauty indeed couldn't comprehend sad ones in need.
The grass on the forest floor
became greener when Euphoria did sing,
the smell of roses grew stronger, raised their arms to The King.
Euphoria is all bliss, Pleasure and glee (is really quite shallow) transports great contentment like honey to a bee and candles burn wicks of tallow.
Euphoria is summer mornings,
laughter radiant beauty of a child. It walks as a ruler whose never tasted defeat in battle-grounds by air or those marched by the mile. Euphoria
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Then, something changed when they met by pure chance Euphoria couldn't grasp the sadness in glooms eyes; gloom saw only
darkness; didn't understand the sweet melodies Euphoria danced.
Salvation overwhelmed them they both sensed a new birth as the Master overshadowed them with new paths on this earth.
From there they walked
together hand in hand Euphoria became the bride gloom became her man.
You have to have joy to understand pain and sorrow and grow in His image; together you can face tomorrow.
Weary at night, we sure might be, If we feel we have failed Thee. A schedule so full with much ado Kept us away from devotions and you.
Forgiveness now we sure do ask.
Failure and dismay-please-don’t last. We close our eyes and fall asleep; Peace for us, He gives, we seek.
We promise tomorrow, we’ll find time In a quiet place, search The Divine. A job, two children, a party to go; Such an honor, these people, to know.
When at last, our head does rest Upon our pillow, we did our best To bring a bonus from those we work. We’ll try at morning with coffee’s perk.
Day after day we follow this routine. Hustle and bustle, a busy scene.
The Savior stands, oversees our strife. And we want our name in the Book of Life.
In my growing up years, the educator of language was
dull, boring, a prerequisite to high school graduation
and college entry.
So why marry an English instructor? The short stories, the poetry, the prose, the hardship of exclamations of such, over and above the understanding of high school students dating. The activities of fun and games; this social life.
So why marry an English instructor? Sparks flew as we wrote new poems. Simple poems
grew into prose and short stories we lived and loved
and shared, establishing word orders of our own.
Many new activities embarked. And rearranging
the love of words changed to motherhood, laundry,
becoming a noted pie baker. Excellence in cherry pie,
pecan pie, blueberry pie with flaky, scrumptious crust.
An English teacher I wed with ending years in sight. The flour and dough and rolling pen waxed heavy. Many more pies to bake, no longer concerned with a lingering taste of the mouth, but
words dancing onto the page with rhythm and meter.
Words that flow and swing with a tempo to ease the pulse of the reader, to soothe possible pain by the reader, and to raise and uplift the reader to everlasting peace or joy or knowledge
with crust of understanding, harmony, friendship,
and tranquillity.
Why did I marry an English instructor? WE stirred common grounds. We baked the same pies.
We kneaded the same dough, and we mixed the batter done. Then we licked the platter clean.
We wrote the same stories, poems, prose, odes. We shared life in the kitchen and in the world of dreams.
Carol D. Meeks
A Safari Legend’s History
Usually They tip the scale around 16 ounces, Give or take the arranger’s draft, To please the owner’s scheme In plush colors changed from brown to black. The sun opened and closed its eyes, And one hundred years capped the horizon, Since life for him was spared And compassion pierced the heart Of a hunter. The news traveled so fast. His fame showcased his past. A cartoonist started the plot In newspapers that were bought. This hunter’s memento grew in demand By a candy store maker sewed with her hand. The price was just fine Everywhere-ones standing in line TO OWN (“this fuzzy-eared,” “buttoned-eyed,” “elongated-arms”) Bundle of fuss That made crying young ones hush. He delighted their hearts of young Sister, daughter, brother, son Some wore buttons in one ear They grew in popularity every year. A toy company was erected Their reputation was quite broad All children’s lives were affected From this hunting trip with roots so odd
A chief executive spared his prey. His prey found life in children’s hearts at play. His spared prey-The Teddy Bear. The chief executive-Theodore Roosevelt.
1/25/2007