Colors of the Sky

Written by: Kalen Lewis

Purple and blue,

Yellow and white,

Sometimes a pink,
I see in the sky.

Rare are the colors,

Of black and green.

Storms of anger,

Those colors bring.

Grey also comes,

To remind us of rain,

And the stars that cry,

Onto the terrain.

Orange and red,

Are the colors anew.

So do not fret,

Jesus still loves you.

Red Hair Heritage

I was wondering about where my red hair came from, so I emailed my grandma on my mothers side and she was telling me the story about how where I got my red hair from. (Written in her point of view.)

~

Your red hair must have come from your 3rd great-grandfather Henry Albert Robinson. He was born 12 Aug. 1864 near a town called Holland in Wood County Ohio. He was 6'6" tall. Aren't you glad that you didn't inherit THAT from him? Maybe Clayton did. Anyway his family never remember him wearing anything but black and he had flaming red hair and a long mustache. He always wore black boots that laced up to his knees. He was known for his great feats of strength. The boots play a part in one of the stories.
They tell of a time when the local men had gotten together to bring in hay for a neighbor. In those days they didn't bale it but piled it high on a wagon, then drove wagon to the barn and used a huge 'fork' to pull the hay into the top part of the barn. It was muddy and the wagon got stuck. The horses couldn't pull it forward or back it up. Great-grandpa Henry went in and lifted the wagon and pulled it and the horses out of the mud. He strained so hard that he burst the laces on his knee boots. Another story is told about him going into town to get some food for his family. They were very poor and the store owner knew it. He had a freshly butchered hog that weighed over 300 lb. He told Great-grandpa Henry that if he could carry it home he could have it. It seems that half the town turned out to follow him home. He did it. A mile or a mile and a half all the way to his house. So when you get to heaven and see a huge man with red hair and a red mustache, dressed all in black with lace up boots clear to his knees; don't be scared. It's just your great-great-great-grandfather wanting to pat you on the head.

His wife; your 3rd Great-grandmother was only 5' tall and he would carry her around on the palm of his hand. She would be yelling at him the whole time to put her DOWN!!
Her kids, my grandparents, would laugh so hard when they would tell about that. 

~

Exactly her words! It was pretty fun to learn about this part of my ancestry.

Grey Clouds

Written by: Kalen Lewis

Sometimes I watch the grey clouds pass,
With facinated wonder,
How do they manage? These big grey puffs,
See, clouds are made of water,
I guess when grey clouds get too big,
They cannot hold it in,
They have to blow and let it out,
Oh look! Here comes the rain.

The Lonely House

 Written By: Kalen Lewis

A lamp sits on a lonely table,

The dust collects on a lonely couch,

A lone chair longs to be sat in,

A beetle crawls in a lonely house.

* * * * *

As some of you may or may not know, we've been re-doing the inside of our house. A portion of it was empty for a time while we were painting and such. Now we're starting to put furniture back in, but it's still kind of empty.

And that's what inspired me to write this poem.

Hope you enjoyed it!

Kalen

From Grandma,

Written By: Vonadean Frederick

I will be working outside for many hours and come in

too tired do anything but sit. Before I know it I am

strolling across a meadow, tall and willowy with a

flower chain twined within my russet locks, then

suddenly I am in a beautiful room where I wear a

crown and the velvety sleeves of my gown almost

sweep the ground. I look down my finely chiseled

patrician nose and see........ that I am dumpy,

frumpy, and wearing a frazzled gray bun!     

NO FUN!

I Am

I am merely a piece of grass that my shepherds sheep munch on.

~

I am small and despised, Yet I do not forget Your precepts.
-Psalms 119:89

The Gardener

Written by: Kalen Lewis

Life –

Springing –

From the gardeners hands.

Dirt –

Moving –

From the seeds that he plants.

Sun –

Water –

Bearing down on the earth.

A process –

The gardener –

Love’s with all his heart.

Will there really be a "Morning"?

By: Emily Dickinson

Will there really be a “Morning”?

Is there such thing as “Day”?

Could I see it from the mountains

If I were as tall as they?

Has it feet like Water lilies?

Has it feathers like a bird?

Is it brought from famous countries

Of which I have never heard?

Oh some Scholar! Oh some Sailor!

Oh some Wise Man from the skies!

Please to tell a little Pilgrim

Where the place called “Morning” lies!

Beautiful

Written by: Kalen Lewis

Beautiful,
That's what you are,
Shining amongst the stars.
Furling out your wings so broad,
Weaving around the clouds.
Feathers dancing all around you,
As the night tries to close in.
Pushing all thoughts from your mind,
You pound against the wind.
The Son rises with a promise,
A promise always kept.
That He will be their always for you,
Even as you wept.

There is no Frigate like a Book

By: Emily Dickinson

There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry-
This Taverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of Toll-
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears the Human soul.

Imagine

Written By: Kalen Lewis

Imagine that you’re upside-down,

Floating through the air.

Imagine that you see the world,

Just as it is.

Imagine that the world you see,

Has its goods and bads.

Imagine that the world you see,

Is the only one you have.

For the goods you might see,

A lake with shallow waters,

A forest up high, high,

High in the mountains,

You might see a family,

Spending time together.

Some fish playing all around,

In the shallow waters.

For the bads you might see,

A man on the street,

Starving, scraping, for a coin,

To buy something to eat,

You might see a littered stretch,

Where plants cannot grow.

Where animals are abused,

Down in the dusty below.

Now imagine the gravity,

Not being as it’s told,

Lifting everything up to you,

From the dusty below,

From the shallow waters,

From the littered stretch,

From the high, high, mountains.

As it floats all around you,

You wonder how it all happened.

The sky as your floor,

The earth as your ceiling,

God didn’t make it that way,

It wasn’t supposed to happen.

There once was a princess who sat on the floor

Written By: Kalen Lewis

There once was a princess who sat on the floor,

One day she heard a knock at her door,

She cried shrilly at the knock, "Come in please!"

For she wanted some company,

A stranger walked in and said he was a thief,

The princess just sighed and offered her peace,

The thief said not a word as the princess stared,

He advanced slowly and she got scared.

She got up from her rest and slowly backed away,

The thief said slyly, "Please do stay."

With a large jump she lept out the door!

The thief stayed and said, "More!

"There is more treasure here than I can galore!"

Surely enough there was a diamond,

He picked up while saying, "You sly man."

The thief went home to his wife,

Showed it to her and said, "We can have a life."

In their crumbling house and their withering fields,

His wife said to him, "Now you sly man,

"Where did you get that diamond in your hand?"

He said not where but just these words,

"I love you Marie," and kissed her on the cheek,

She wiped off the wet and told him straight,

You’ll not be robbing you withering gait.