Archive for ‘Poetry’

September 7, 2012

Sticking To It

Painting by Darren Maurer

Painting by Darren Maurer

Sticking To It– The Ten Second Rule

by Angela and Ava Rockwood Sept. 2012– A poem to celebrate Ava’s spelling words, and little kids’ penchant for eating things off the ground.

Towering greatly

Tremendous collapse!

Suddenly gumballs

Trailing the maps!

Naive perspectives

Picking through dirt–

Chew it up quickly…

What could it hurt?

Believing thoroughly

Stubborn as mules–

Smacking and blowing

The ten-second rules!

June 13, 2012

Goo and Other Limerick Poems by Daylin


Limerick Poems

by Daylin Michael Rockwood

March 30, 2011

The Man With The Can

There once was a skinny old man

That had a rusty tin can

Inside were some beans

And all kinds of greens

And the bugs poured out as he ran.


There once was a boy with a snake

That slithered out by the old lake

It squished through the goo

That got in his shoe

And oh what a noise he did make!

Wormy Old Cow

There once was a wormy old cow

But dancing, she didn’t know how

She tried a short jig

Knocked over the pig

And ended up driving the plow!

June 12, 2012

Snowflakes on the Ice


Snowflakes on the Ice

by Lily Adeline Rockwood

June 1, 2012

As I got on the ice

My skates skittered like mice.

I land on my pants

The way that they dance!

I met this nice girl,

Who taught me to twirl

She has brown curly hair,

It floats through the air.

I try to comprehend

But not to slip or bend.

I imagine snowflakes

Floating above blue lakes–

As I learn to fly

On the ice.

May 28, 2012

America the Beautiful! Visiting Pike’s Peak

Pike’s Peak, CO

The idea of the trip came to us while we were sitting at Grandma Rockwood’s kitchen table.  We were brainstorming, trying to figure out what to do today, when Grandpa sugested we visit Pikes Peak.  Not very many of the kids wanted to go after they heard that it was a two hour trip, but they quickly changed their minds when Grandpa mentioned that there was snow on top.  We (my five siblings and our cousins) made plans about snow-ball fights, snowmen, and other fun activities.  We collected coats, hats, scarves and boots for the people who wanted them, and piled into my mom’s 15 passenger van.  It was very crowded, and we took almost every seat available, squishing and compacting until everyone was in a seat belt.

We made our way to the foot of the mountains, paid for entrance at a booth on the side of the road, and continued on.  After a little while, we could see specks of snow far up on the side of the mountain, and later, closer to us, blanketing the earth beneath the trees.  As we drove, we saw more and more snow on the sides of the road.  It made everyone feel excited.  The younger kids pushed to see out the windows at the glittering masses of clean, white, snow.

Soon we started up an extremely tricky road.  It was very steep with hairpin turns and sheer drops most of the time.  My uncle informed me that this road used to be only gravel, but they had paved it since he last went up.

It took a long time to get to the top, but we made it without any real trouble.  My mother was a little traumatized from driving up the mountain on that steep road, but she felt better after a short nap, although grandpa drove us down when the time came.

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At the top of the mountain is a large monument with the words to the song, “America the Beautiful” written on it.  When we got home, we looked up the history of that song.

In 1893, at the age of thirty-three, Katharine Lee Bates, an English professor at Wellesley College, had taken a train trip to Colorado Springs, Colorado, to teach a short summer school session at Colorado College. Several of the sights on her trip inspired her, and they found their way into her poem, including the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago, the “White City” with its promise of the future contained within its alabaster buildings; the wheat fields of America’s heartland Kansas, through which her train was riding on July 16; and the majestic view of the Great Plains from high atop Zebulon’s Pikes Peak.

On the pinnacle of that mountain, the words of the poem started to come to her, and she wrote them down upon returning to her hotel room at the original Antlers Hotel. The poem was initially published two years later in The Congregationalist, to commemorate the Fourth of July. It quickly caught the public’s fancy.


O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!
O beautiful for pilgrim feet
Whose stern impassion’d stress
A thoroughfare for freedom beat
Across the wilderness.
America! America!
God mend thine ev’ry flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law.
O beautiful for heroes prov’d
In liberating strife,
Who more than self their country lov’d,
And mercy more than life.
America! America!
May God thy gold refine
Till all success be nobleness,
And ev’ry gain divine.
O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears.
America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea.

It was neat to look at that gorgeous view, and read the words to Katherine Lee Bates’ poem.  We took a few pictures at the top.  It was pretty amazing.  Everyone played in the snow, throwing snowballs, exploring, and running around the top of the mountain.  We’d previously driven from Utah, where the mountains were covered with snow, and from here, we were so high up, we could see the mountains we’d driven through.

Pike’s Peak has a fantastic 360 degree view.  Nothing was taller than we were.

Ava and I explored a little farther than everyone else and found a particularly deep snow drift.  We jumped around in it for a while until it was time to go home.  As we drove down the mountain, I took a nap, exhausted by the high mountain air, jumping in the snow and everything else.  I was glad I’d decided to go on the snow trip to Pike’s Peak and got to play in the snow one last time before summer started.  We live in a beautiful country!

–Contributed by Anna Celinda Rockwood (age 15)

May 13, 2012

Sorrow– A Sonnet


Sonnet by Anna Celinda Rockwood

May 25, 2011

The man, he walked among the free and wild

His thoughts upon the bright and blooming spring

The blues, the reds, the beaming yellow tones

Of flowers at the peak of springtime smells

The man sat waist high in pink and purple

And thought about his long lost love of which

There was no more than dusty skin and bones

Under the hard packed flowering ground

Her death, a stroke, was hard to bear within

And he would always miss her more in spring

When flowers bloomed and birds began to sing

Her voice as soft as spider’s silken thread

Her eyes, ice blue, and brighter than the sun

Her hair, silken soft waves of browning gold

Her face was small and delicate heart shaped

With bloom of pink upon her rosy cheeks

The man, he wept for things long lost in time

And his hands, no fingers to hold, to press

Her hands so white and delicate within

His rough and sturdy, calloused from the plow

His chest with holes of sorrow burned clear through

His heart, so lost, so sad and riddled full

He wept for all the things not said or done,

The thank yous and the loving words to her

The man, his head a painful bleary mess

Got to his weary feet and headed for

Her grave, blue flowers in his trembling hand

The stone, so new and white, stood awaiting.

He gently set the bright blue flowers there

Atop her stern gray stone and turned his back

He walked away without a backward glance

His focus on his future without her.

He thought of plows and crops instead of girls

He dwelt upon his plans for future days

Instead of memories of her and him

He turned his back on love and walked away.

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November 8, 2011

I Wonder When He Comes Again– A Verse For Baby Elizabeth

My brother and his wife recently experienced the death of their precious daughter Elizabeth who was born premature.  My mother wrote and sang this modified version of  “I Wonder When He Comes Again” by Mirla Greenwood Thayne.  She writes:

“When we were preparing for Katie’s and Shaun’s graveside service for baby Elizabeth, I looked and looked for a hymn or primary song that talked about the resurrection of little children.  There are none, except for one hymn on page 299 that came close, but the tune and words were very unsatisfying to me.  So Aunt Janetta suggested that I write a verse to use… which I did.  Its an add-on to verse one of  “I WONDER WHEN HE COMES AGAIN“.

“It was suggested that I put it out there for others to use in similar circumstances.  Here are the words.  We sang them at Elizabeth’s graveside and it was very nice:

I Wonder When He Comes Again– For Baby Elizabeth
I wonder when He come again, will herald angels sing?
Will earth be white with drifted snow, or will the world know spring?
I wonder if one star will shine far brighter than the rest.
Will daylight stay the whole night through?  Will songbirds leave their nests?
I’m sure he’ll call his little ones together round his knee,
Because he said in days gone by, “Suffer them to come to me.”

Our Heav’nly Father knows and sees, the smallest sparrow fall.
His plan is for our happiness; He loves and cares for all.
I know when Jesus comes again, the righteous dead he’ll raise.
With joyful voice the glorious throng will shout and sing his praise.
And children sleeping in the grave will rise to live again,
As parents joyfully embrace their small ones once again.

—Last verse by Denisa Myrick (Elizabeth’s Grandmother)

June 21, 2011




By Angela  Rockwood (June 2011)


They say ‘As you sow, Shall ye reap’

But here in the middle, we’re faithfully

Praying for rain

Praying for rain

Stuck in the middle

We’re praying for rain.


The seeds are gone, the winter’s sure

The sprouts are grown and the summer’s cure

Is praying for rain

Praying for rain

We’re here in the middle

Praying for rain.


‘Cause first we sow, and then we reap

And pray these little ones to keep.

Hoping for rain

Watching for rain

Searching my soul as I’m

Waiting for rain.


Our faces glisten, as they run

Coursing heavy, wither the sun

Sighing for rain

Crying for rain

Our hearts in the middle

Dying for rain.


Scorching in the refiner’s flame

My soul will never be the same

But faithful ever, He’ll sustain

The droplets of gold nearly obtained!

And I know that Heaven knows my name—


For as I prayed


It rained.

June 17, 2011

Soon Treasure


Soon Treasure

by Angela  Rockwood (June  2011)


Amongst the Johnny Jump-ups lay,

‘Mid golden purple hue,

The curling heads of two so fair,

Sparkling with the dew.


The drops of sun were in their hair,

Two sisters, shining gold—

And shooting through the grass beyond,

Three brothers young and bold.


Of tawny shade and brawny bone,

Together off they fly,

And peeking in on sisters, stray

With mischief in supply.


First stepping in then racing out,


Then looking closely at a bug;

Then running scatter shot!


The sweaty faces, tumbled knees,

Speak treasures far and near—

Excited yells from lofty knells

Then laughing, reappear.


While girly curls they swirly furl

And with the breezes play,

Noses in books, the dreamy looks

Of sisters far away.


The last in a tree, how graceful she,

Her secret dreams concealed—

All lost in thought, some lofty plot

Above the lowly field.


The trees and boughs are full of plows

Fanciful whingdats too.

Dark brown hair, tucked behind one ear,

Bandana streaked blue-hue.


Far giggles float and drift aloud,

While tickling, fill the ear.

The youthful sun of fun begun,

Cherished– all are here.