Poetry

Training Wheels

I don't remember it

but I must have been scared too,

the day the training wheels came off.

I don't remember it

but Mom must have said,

"Stick with it. It'll come."

And in spite of the fear,

in spite of the falls,

I was soon off flying--

the wind, my bike, and me.

No, he won't recollect it either,

but one day my son might be

blessed with the chance

to always remember like me.

by Carol Bundy

A Lesson for My Child

Schooling through your teenage years,

seeing a world of many fears.

'Tis said to be the best years of your life,

but more likely a time frame filled with strife.

Football games, parties, and dances,

living fast and taking chances.

The moral to this my child,

as you remain young and wild;

through your ventures follow a lead,

not forgetting to take heed

to those who stand amongst the crowd alone.

Do not pass them as if they are stone.

Lone victims sustain continued ridicule.

To those around, dilemmas seem minuscule.

Enduring more than most can bear,

searching for just one who does care.

They are not composed of an empty shell,

For their spirit is as deep as a well.

When you draw near a fellow human,

make an effort of communion.

And there may in your future come a day

they could touch your life in a special way.

by Julie Gondringer Devich

Wise Waiting-Watching the Garden

Unmotivated and unmoved

to tackle a room cleaning,

I turn to the way I've always known:

my pen.

You were angry and confused, a child changed but probably always motivated by competition and love. Now at an almost independent age you strike out at shadows like a boxer without a sure target.

You sound hurt and I hurt for your confusion. Telling yourself that you're being excluded, you shut yourself up in a relationship called George.

Unprotected now, yet feeling very much the opposite, you have isolated your rebuttal to

your own damaging thinking.

"Destiny," Ray said, "I would only postpone it." It hurt.

I controlled your moods, your thinking,

I know I always have,

knowing you were controllable.

You're no different now, just switched.

My dream and I admit it, was for you to develop yourself

without a me, without a George, without.

But leave you as you are, I must,

for I've let you go, to see you through to your own consequences, one day I pray, to your own choices,

a mother's dream and a mother's curse.

by Sherri Devers