AMANDA by Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill

The soft breeze played across the brow of Amanda young and fair –

She dreamed a dream of her life to come and the joys of life she’d share.

The years went by and with marriage, came a family of her own –

To this world she gave three daughters and two sons,

Her heart has known the sadness of losing her first mate –

But she had the courage to carry on with her unfaltering faith.

Her family raised to grown-ups have all made homes of their own.

Her descendants now   are many – thirty is the sum.

Amanda, she is old now – the dark tendrils, they are grey.

But those playful Ozark breezes find her heart and smile still young and gay,

Her footsteps are not so springy as they were in yesteryear –

But her voice is still happily singing and to me her tone is so dear.

You see I love Amanda dearly – she’s my grandmother you know –

And I ponder oh, so deeply, when the soft breezes blow –

That breeze that just now brushed my cheek – I wonder – could it be –

That first it kissed my Grandma’s face and then came on to me.

 

Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill

April 23, 1963

Written for her Grandmother Amanda Elizabeth Morris

 

Copyright Roy Richard

BY THE SEA by Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

There’s a land where the sunshine is brightest,

                A land where the ocean is wide

A land where the salt air is purest,

                Wafted in on each murmuring tide.

Where the nights are a glory of moonlight.

                And the sunsets no artist can paint,

There’s a whisper of nearness to heaven,

                Like the soft spoken prayer of a saint.

 

Oh, I want to go back to its beauty,

                And live where the palms wave and sigh,

To lie where the ocean is bluest,

                And list to the sea bird’s lone cry,

Where flowers are bloomin in winter,

                And all the land is a ’thrill,

Where beauty makes it worth the living,

                Oh I want to be there, and I will.

 

Where the mocking bird sings to the sunrise,

                A sermon in songs of delight,

Where stars like millions of lanterns,

                Are hung in the temple of night,

In the Halifax land by the ocean,

                Where the air is all fragrant with dew,

Where the sun is a little more golden,

                And the sky a little more blue

 

Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

May 1932

 

Copyright Roy Richard

A MARINE! by Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill

I first looked upon the casket, silver gray and oh! So still –

Then I saw “OLD GLORY” and my eyes began to fill.

For above this silver casket in a frame of softest gold –

Was the smiling lad who lies here – who is now so quiet and cold.

Then my eyes moved on oh so slowly to the boy who gave his all.

I find him fair and handsome and I’m sure he stood quite tall,

Then his mother walked up to him and she gently stroked his hair –

And I’m sure the grief she’s feeling is so awfully hard to bear.

She must be living out a lifetime as she stands there looking on –

Her firstborn child – so young – so gay – her own marine. Her son.

She must see again a toddler – who can hardly walk as best –

She must think of all his illnesses and how she’d be upset.

She must be thinking of the last time he smiled and looked her way –

That would be when he left to serve – a sad and gloomy day.

For that day a question was within her heart and mind –

Oh God! Will he come home again – this precious Son of mine?

Then came the news so dreaded – heartbreaking was this day.

She hadn’t known how great this grief on the day he went away.

I do not know this boy before me – but my sadness is sincere –

And I tremble deep within myself and am haunted with great fear.

For all the young men fighting – wherever they may be –

Remembering that the cost is great – that they pay humanity.

I cannot help but have great feeling for the wounded and those who die –

Though I know them not – I’M SORRY – for the price they have paid is so high.

 

Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill

 

Copyright Roy Richard

BE STRONG by Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

 

Be strong, let nothing disturb you,

Talk health to each person you meet,

Let your friends know you love them and trust them,

Whenever, wherever you meet,

Look to the sunny side ever,

Knowing your dreams will come true,

See success for the ones all around you,

As well as success just for you.

 

Forget past mistakes, and push forward,

To greater achievements worthwhile,

Be cheerful, be strong and be kindly,

To all whom you meet give a smile,

Be too large to fret or worry,

To noble for anger or strife,

Think well of yourself and proclaim it,

In deeds that will brighten some life.

 

Never criticize, never be selfish,

Think thought that your inner eye see,

Think harmony, health, wealth and wisdom,

It is what He would have us to be,

Just live in the faith, the world needs you,

It’s on your side so long as you’re true,

Then you’ve lived to the nest that is in you,

When you’ve done the best you could do.

 

Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

May 1, 1932

 

Copyright Roy Richard

GRACE WHERE THE HELL ARE MY GLASSES by Roy Richard

Never got to “KNOW” this man,

                Mother’s father.

One time coal miner, blaster,

                Turned auto assembly line worker.

 

Union militant, enforcer,

                Quick to violence,

Beer swelling, whiskey consuming,

                Hunter, angler.

 

He left the coal mines in Pennsylvania,

                An explosive expert,

A mine accident left him unable to work,

So he brought his family to Michigan for work.

               

Now this is the story I’ve been told,

                But I remember no disfigurement; old photos show no trace of pain,

So I ask myself “Why did he leave that land?”

Was there scandal or shame? Guess I’ll never know.

 

He died just after I turned five.

                And only two memories of him survive,

Buried in the recesses of my mind,

No hugs or love or soft spoken words, only these two.

 

I was sitting by his chair playing,

                He was seated, reclining.

Hams beer on the table,

                Newspaper in hand.

 

His glasses shoved up on his forehead.

                When suddenly the silence was broken,

“Grace where the hell are my glasses?”

                I ran crying to find my mother.

 

I was told that he died, had gone away.

                Of course I didn’t understand, only a child of five,

So I pulled a chair to the coffin, to look down on him,

                Only these two memories survive.

 

I have heard stories and tales,

                His favorite pointer was bred by a mutt,

The puppies were placed into a sack,

                Tossed into a rain barrel to drown.

 

When a dog would “no longer hunt”,

                He shot them dead in the woods,

What good is a dog that won’t hunt?

                Not worth the food to keep them alive.

 

Enforcing his caucus in the union.

                Strong arming a vote,

Breaking the legs of a vocal dissident,

                Support his cause or else.

 

A son injured in a sledding accident,

                Almost scalping himself,

Can’t waste the money on a doctor or medical care,

                Held him down and sowed it back in place,

               

A son who wouldn’t leave the other boys “alone” at night,

                He would tie his hands behind back and make him sleep like that

Missed my parents wedding because of work,

                Trying and (failing) to outdrink my Dad,

 

Like I said I never “KNEW” him,

                These are the tales I was told,

Funny though how no one spoke good things,

                Of their father, grandfather, brother.

 

Suddenly after all these years,

                He begins to haunt me,

I wish he would go away,

                He still scares me.

 

Roy Richard

September 2022

 

Copyright Roy Richard

A CONFIRMATION NOTE TO A LITTLE GIRL I SPONSERED by Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill

May your life be rich in blessings –

Your heart be full of love –

Your acts always reflect beauty and honesty –

Your faith in God be endless –

And as your future unfolds –

Mold it in the likeness of a rose –

Remembering always –

                                Few roses are perfect –

                                But all are beautiful.

 

Gaylia Kenslow – Stogsdill

 

Copyright Roy Richard

BACK TO THE FARM by Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

You may talk about your city,

                With its hurry, strife and noise,

Its great white ways and theatres,

                Its social life and joys.

The place you dine, the temple grand,

                The club you proudly boast,

The hurry and confusion,

                And the things you like the most.

 

But I am here to tell you,

                If you want to taste real charm,

Just turn you back on cities,

                Make a visit to the farm,

Why you’re going to have the pleasure,

                Where ever it may be,

Of knowing real enjoyment,

                And hospitality.

 

You’re going to get a welcome,

                And a handclasp that is true,

Not weighted by clothes nor money,

                Nor the kind of work you do,

But a real old-fashioned greeting,

                Full of pleasure and food fare,

That will thrill you o’er and o’er,

                The while you visit there.

 

You’re going to know the gladness,

                Of a real old-fashioned rest,

And taste the old-time cooking,

                That you used to like the best,

The chicken fried in golden brown,

                With biscuits light and neat,

A swimming in the gravy,

                That no city chef can beat.

 

With golden corn, right on the ear,

                And early fresh green peas,

Potatoes in a snowy heap.

                And honey made from bees.

A welcome that renews your years,

                With its simple grace and charm,

If you want to taste these pleasures,

                Make a visit to the farm.

 

Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

 

Copyright Roy Richard