The Poetry of Betty Lou Hebert *ASSOCIATE  MEMBER* The Writing Forum’s Writer of the Month - January 2003 The Writing Forum’s Writer of the Month - April 2006 THE WRITING FORUM’S WRITER OF THE YEAR - 2008 Page 2 of 2 BACK - Page 1     Poet’s Bio and Email Link     Website Home Page   POETRY BY BETTY LOU HEBERT Click on the button in front of any title in the list below to be linked to that poem:   Through Flowered Fields   The Living Roots   Where Birches Grow   Ripe Wheat   Season of the Rose   First   Sun Dried Clothes   Familiar Fields   Dinner on the Farm   A Promise   The Force of Water   Wanting   Running With the Breeze   Chatham Island Albatross   Grandma Had Her Way   Wild Roses   Golden Glory   City By the Lake   When Leaves Appear   An Afternoon Away   Wind and Whispers   Through Flowered Fields Through flowered fields, I walked today, To where the land just fell away. There lies a canyon, deep and wide, That separatres the countryside. The drafts of air that slowly rise, Bear red-tailed hawks into the skies. I listened to their piercing cries. They looked at me with raptor's eyes. I stayed awhile to watch them soar, Then like a ship beyond the shore, I drifted down the rimrock so I could enjoy what lay below And all the blossoms, blooming bright. The canyon filled with somber light And as the day to nightime yields, I drifted home, through flowered fields!   The Living Roots I blossomed underneath the spell Of loving words, you spoke so well. Each day was sweeter than the last, But suddenly that time was past And you grew distant, even strange. Then everything began to change. So I know how the flowers feel, When cooling weather starts to steal The warmth that they so badly need. The drops of dew that start to bead Upon their petals, look like tears, But if they're crying, no one hears. Yet down below the withered mass, Protected by the matted grass, Their roots will live the winter through And flower in the springtime too. There is a lesson here I see That also could apply to me. Someday there'll be a fresh, new start. That creates hope within my heart!   Where Birches Grow I like to walk where birches grow That early in the autumn show Their yellow leaves and whispering, They say farewell until the spring. That's when long catkins will be seen In shades of yellow or pale green And then the leaves appear in May, A tender hue against the gray Of other trunks of trees not blessed With bark of white, as birch is dressed. And in the summer days, this spot, Seems so much cooler, when it's hot. I like the light that filters down From sunlight on the open crown. When Indians made their bark canoes, It was the birch they used to use. It seems so graceful and serene. Among the leaves, brown cones are seen, With two-winged nutlets, set to fly Whenever autumn winds blow by And in even in the winter's chill And somber scene,I come here still.   Ripe Wheat The wheat field stretches far and fair, With many bushels waiting there. The farmer strides within to hold One fruitful head of wheaten gold, And through the stalk, he feels the beat Of living earth beneath his feet. It satisfies an inner need To till the earth and plant each seed. In years like this when all goes well, He feels a great elation swell Inside his heart, to see such yield From every crop in every field. That makes the toiling all worthwhile. He lifts his head and with a smile, Surveys the ory of his wheat, That ripens in the summer heat And stretches off to meet the sky. The threshing crew will soon come by To reap the crop, the year departs, Another planting season starts!   Season of the Rose Within our woods, wild roses grow. You see the rosebuds start to show In June and when they fully bloom, The air smells of their sweet perfume. While walking there, I watch to see The banks of pink, where they will be Found twining up whatever stem Provides the best support for them. I don't know why they charm me so, For other flowers that I know, Are showier and fragrant too And yet somehow, they just won't do. For when I think of flowered springs, Wild roses are the thought that brings Delight, above all other things!   First If you had another love Before I came in view, I don't want to know her name Or what she meant to you. I would like to make believe, I'm first in every way And you waited just for me To find your heart and stay!   Sun Dried Clothes The clothes hung on the line to dry, Look as if they'd like to fly. All the sleeves on shirts are flapping And the dresses, crisply snapping. Sheets are billowing and float Like sails upon an anchored boat. As a child, I liked to play Beneath the lines on washing day. Every towel, held fast in place, Reached for me with wet embrace And I would run, with arms stretched wide, Touching clothes on either side. When it was time to bring them in, As I unclasped each wooden pin, Into the pile, I'd press my nose, To smell the scent of sun-dried clothes!   Familiar Fields These fields are all so known to me. There's no surprise or mystery. Each grove of trees, each dip and swell, I know them all so very well. I can at will call up to mind, Each spot where waters gleam and wind. Just how they look in spring or fall. Each season's picture, I recall And yet, there is no boredom here. Their very sameness, I hold dear. There's something comforting I'd say, In things unchanged from day to day!   Dinner on the Farm From the woods and from the fields The men are coming in. As soon as they are seated, The dinner will begin. Pile high the fried potatoes, The venison and spread Of yellow, homemade butter, To lavish on the bread. Now someone pour the coffee And pass the biscuits round. As soon as they are finished, And if room can be found, We'll carry in the pie, The chocolate cake and pudding, With cream jug standing by. The men sit at the table Until they are replete. Then after they are finished, The women get to eat!   A Promise Out in the east, a promise lies, Showing in the glowing skies, That herald the rising of the sun And tell us night is nearly done. The day that's dawning is pristine. There is no future to be seen Of what this span of time may hold. Will it be dross, will it be gold? But for this moment, I just care About the growing beauty there!   The Force of Water The waves that crash upon the shore, Have traveled many miles before, They spend themselves upon the land And leave foam trails upon the sand. They carry in the flotsam of The oceanic world I love! The shells and sea-glass, fishing floats That may have parted from some boats, Long years agoi and stayed at sea, In vagrant currents, endlessly, Until some quirk of time and tide, Selects one and begins to guide To where it will be left behind, For someone just like me to find. The force of water is profound. It changes all the cliffs around And over years, we come to see How powerful these waves can be. Relentlessly, not turning back Each day reveals a new attack And after watching fifty years, The beach I knew just disappears!   Wanting I want to sit where I can dream. Perhaps beside a lazy stream, That chuckles as it glides along And sings a throaty, water song. I want to walk where shadows play Across the path, then slip away. Where every whim of breeze and tree Commands the leaves to speak to me. I want to sleep beyond the dune, Where all night long, the ocean's tune Does whisper on the beach below And lulls me with its ebb and flow. I want to live where I can be A part of nature's symphony. Where I can savor every sound And wonder, of the world around!   Running With the Breeze Remember how we used to sail away And lose ourselves to sun and wind all day? Remember how the islands used to call, Inviting us to come explore them all? How many coves have felt our anchor chain, While we huddled in the cabin from the rain. We dreamed of far off places we could see Within our inner eyes periphery. Remember how becalmed, we'd drift along While you would court the wind with salty song? Sea chanties from the past, you'd sing with flair, To tempt Calypso's heart to stir the air And when the wind would finally come around, How we would laugh and scuttle down the sound. Those days were far too short and all too few. I wish that I were sailing now with you. The tide of life has carried us away From sea and ships, from binnacles and bay, But time cannot destroy the memories. In dreams, we still are running with the breeze!   Chatham Island Albatross East of New Zealand's rocky shore, The Chatham Islands, ever more, Have braved the restless, surging sea. On a stone pyramid there'll be Huge flocks of albatross that nest Upon this spot they think is best. Almost six hundred feet it stands. There is no beach, so each boat lands Right up against the sloping side, Raised and lowered on the tide. You must be quick to gain your feet, Surveying nests, about to meet A flock of chicks perched on their stack Who wait for parents to come back With fishy treats and there they'll stay Till big enough to fly away. They spend the next few years at sea, Just wandering quite aimlessly. With ten foot wing spans, they can soar, Learning much of ocean lore. Returning then to find a mate And generations propagate!   Grandma Had Her Way My grandma often talked to me About the world of poetry. Encouraged me to write, although My efforts were mundane and slow. I'd rather read, for books were all I cared about when I was small. At ten years old, I though that I Would surprise her so I'd pry From deep inside, a poem and she Would be delighted then, with me. Instead she criticized with scorn. I rued the day that I was born. So turned my back on thoughts of rhyme. Found other uses for my time. However, as the years went by, I often found that I would try Almost unconsciously to say Things in a poetic way. By then my grandmother was gone. Her influence must linger on. I don't know what she'd have to say, But I write poetry today!   Wild Roses Wild roses growing by the stream Are like a pink and fragrant dream. The banks are covered with their sprays And as the early sun's first rays Awake their beauty to the morn A multitude of blooms is born. The buds are darker hued and curled. Here and there, the dew has pearled The pinnate leaves and on the air, Their perfume's wafted everywhere.   Golden Glory In the quiet of the evening, When the moon is on the rise To spread her golden glory All across the eastern skies, I have to stand and watch her And admire every beam That illuminates the forest And casts silver on the stream. It is a special moment At the ending of the day, That soothes the soul completely And casts all doubts away!   City By the Lake From up above, our city looks Like something found in picture books. Beside the lake, church steeples rise. Tall fingers, pointed at the skies. In fall, a colored carpet grows From many trees and when the snows, Have stripped the leaves and left trees bare, There is a different beauty there, But always pleasing, springtime green And all the other seasons seen. Climbing to the highest ground, I love that first, wide look around!   When Leaves Appear I watch the leaves appear as they Spread to reap each warming ray Of sun, that causes them to grow Until their vivid colors show. The maple tree, once gray and bare, Now has green leaves everywhere. It's obvious the birds are pleased With hiding places such as these. There they can build their nests and know The little ones can thrive and grow And one day they will lift their wings To join the other flying things. It's such a happy sight to see When fledglings leave their nesting tree   An Afternoon Away I spent an afternoon away, Deep in the woods, behind our place. I lay on grass so soft and green. Watched nodding heads of Queen Anne's Lace Bow gently to a passing breeze And pressed sweet blossoms to my face. I listened to the songs of birds And followed them from tree to tree. I marveled at their feathered frames And songs that just enchanted me. Until I lost all track of time. Nor thought about where I should be And when the day grew dim and cool, Reluctantly, I turned to go. The shadowed pathway stretched ahead Back to the home I love and know. Back to the camaraderie, The firelight and candle glow!   Wind and Whispers I hear your name in winds that blow. In whispers from the falling snow. In songs of birds, in summer rain. They bring you back to me again. The memories come flooding through, So I re-live my life with you And in my dreams you're always there, All facets of my life to share. When I awake, I am bereft, With only wind and whispers left!   BACK - Page 1     Poet’s Bio and Email Link     Website Home Page