The Poetry of Joyce Johnson The Writing Forum’s Writer of the Month - March 2009   AUTHOR’S BIO: I’m a widow, living alone with my big dog after raising a family and burying two husbands. I live on my farm in the beautiful Skagit Valley of Washington State. My land is rented out to bulb growers and every spring I have sixty acres of beautiful tulips or daffodils greeting me at my back door to inspire me poetically. In May of 2008, I was named the most Valuable Member of the year in our District of Garden Clubs. In July of 2011, I celebrated my ninety-third birthday with many of my family and friends. I lost my only son in 1999. I started writing my poetry at that time to release my feelings and have been encouraged by the acceptance I have received on the internet as well as from my friends and family. I have two daughters and their families, who live near me and I have come to terms with my life, both the sorrows and the joys that have been mine. I have posted around 900 poems to the internet and have had many printings in the small press and have won a number of contests. I have also sold a few to magazines. My poems are usually inspired by my relationship with God, family and friends, nature, or memories of the past, and current events. I am active in my church and my community. I am a member of two garden clubs and also a board member of Washington State Garden Clubs, traveling around the state four times a year for meetings and other functions. In April of this year I was named Servant of the Month at my church. My picture and my poetry were posted on the wall and I was honored for the entire month in various ways. Besides being a wife and mother I was employed for thirty years at our local radio station as office manager and bookkeeper. I retired in 1983 and then spent another ten years as a tax preparer for H&R Block. To read my short story published here at The Writing Forum, please click here. Email: joyceijohnson@msn.com   Welcome! POETRY BY JOYCE JOHNSON Click on the button next to any poem title in the list below to be linked to that poem’s location on the page:   Appearances Deceive   Childhood Memories   My Hero   Our Strong Oak   Words (of advice to the neophyte)   As Time Goes By   Great- Great and Greater Grandma   Living Water   What Was I Thinking   Without Limit   Tragedy   The School-bus Driver’s Prayer   Not So Bad   The Untold Story   Dear Little Tear   Downsizing   Before Sin Arrived   Empty Nest   His Last Days   Thieving Time   The Pacific Northwest   Lost Astronauts   First-Born   Alone   The Facts of Life   Winter Rains   Great Grandbabies Doubled   Long Evenings   Ghostly Castle - Halloween poem   Becoming Aware   Miracle in the Mines   Father’s Day   My Sailor   This Memorial Day   Flown Time   Your Easy Chair   The Games   Appearances Deceive A used Monte Carlo was my first car. It couldn’t be driven so very far. Though it had been well used, It did not look abused. Less a ride than a fine objet d'art. Seven miles to the gallon, all it got. We stopped at the gas pump, more than a lot. Though gas prices were low, My wages were also. The car was pretty, its performance not. I have had a number of cars since then. None have made me as proud as I was when I drove that sporty car That could not go too far Before a stop for a fill-up again. © By: Joyce   Childhood Memories The little two-room schoolhouse On the North Dakota plains Was the source of education And of smaller joys and pains. In the North Dakota winters We spent recesses inside. And sometimes in the basement For a game of seek and hide. So much nicer in the springtime When we took our games outside. We would laugh as we were swinging On the playground Giant Stride.  The swings were made of steel or iron And if one swing wasn’t ridden. It could fly around and hit us. Giant Strides are now forbidden. In the days when we must stay in Because of too much rain or snow, At the noon hour after eating, To the basement we would go. One time when we were down there, I fell hard on the cement. I wouldn’t show my bruises But I’m sure there was a dent. That evening when my daddy asked, “How did it go at school?” I told him I had fallen As the tears began to pool. “Where did you get hurt little daughter?” I wondered at his merriment And why he thought it funny When I said, “In the basement.” © By: Joyce   My Hero I didn’t know there were bad folks In the world, when I was small, When my mama, dad and siblings Were my very all in all. My daddy was my hero and I’ve never changed my mind. A better man in the entire world I am sure you couldn’t find. He worked so hard for all of us And never did complain. A farmer all his working years, He labored, sun or rain. He would rest a bit on Sunday After church and Sunday school, For to keep the Sabbath holy Was a Ten Commandments’ rule. He put our needs far above Any wishes of his own. If he had desires besides our welfare, He had never made them known. He loved our mama dearly, Never said cross words to her. A rich man or my daddy, It’s my daddy she’d prefer. I never heard bad swear words Or dirty jokes when I was young. He warned each of the hired men That he better watch his tongue. He was not a truly big man, Only five feet nine inches tall, But when it came to manly virtues Was most heroic of them all. © By: Joyce   Our Strong Oak You were the oak in our family tree, With roots that were strong and true, Holding your weight so tenaciously No ill wind could topple you. We nestled under your  branches In the shelter of your girth, Until our own roots were established and We could survive by our own worth. Only then did you give into life’s pressures Only then did your roots release.  God seeing how very tired you were Took you to his home of peace. © By: Joyce Johnson   Words (of advice to the neophyte) If you are a poet, You already know it, To words you forever are bound. Your brain has them in there, You must make them more clear, They’re music without any sound. You didn’t pick them, You cannot evict them, They just keep rolling around. They’ll stay in your head, You can’t put them to bed, Until you have written them down. Not all unforgettable Nor even regrettable, Some are merely small puffs of steam To relieve the pressure In minuscule measure, Subtracting the milk from the cream. With checks of your spelling With good grammar dwelling Your talent will carry you through. So don’t throw it away On the fads of the day. Old is sometimes better than new. Shortcuts used in texting Are in poetry vexing Showing lack of respect for the art. Big words aren’t always better In your poem or letter. Familiar is best at the start. Some day you’ll collect them And learn to connect them Into poetry making you proud. Poems don’t come without working Nor with diligence shirking. You will know when you read them aloud. © By: Joyce Johnson   As Time Goes By I resented the days, the weeks, the months That were leaving you in the past. The ticking clock was my worst enemy. I wanted memories to last. All of those days have turned into long years, The years are now a decade gone. Fearing my beloved memories could fade, I have kept on just hanging on. Today a kind and wise lady approached With a cautionary word or two. She said I am thwarting the Good Lord’s plans,  I must start letting go of you. “Your son has a lovely home in Heaven, Another big assignment to fill. You are holding him back by holding on. Let him go to do his King’s will.” I’m sorry, dear Son, if I’ve interfered, God has work for you, I well know. For you to find contentment in Heaven, I promise I will let you go. © By: Joyce Johnson   Living  Water He holds the pitcher very high As liquid pours into the bowl. With the baby’s parents standing by The pastor has a starring role. Preparing to baptize their son, He tells of God’s abiding love. He picks the sweet child up when done And asks for blessings from above. The parents are gazing on with pride. Their happiness with us they share. Not once has their tiny infant cried As our pastor gives him back with care. Though it was not the child’s decision, This sprinkle of the Holy Bath, We parishioners pray that his baptism Will start him on a righteous path. © By Joyce Johnson September 2011   What Was I Thinking After working for most of forty years, I’d surely paid my dues. Retirement brought me time to play and I need give no excuse. I’d paid my taxes cheerfully and tithed for the good Lord. All my club dues were up to date. No one could say a word . If I should indulge myself a bit and live my life with ease. With children grown and on their own I had only self to please. One day a small cat came to call. I fell for his kittenish ways. He seemed be the perfect fit when I had some lonely days. What ever was I thinking? My head must be filled with rocks. I gave up my freedom, my just dues, for a cat and his litter box. © By: Joyce Johnson   Without Limit Most of my life I’ve fit into a small four-sided box. I had no thought I might escape this prison with no locks. Obedient daughter of my parents and the ever-loving wife striving to be the perfect mother, I put limits on my life. I can’t pretend that I am sorry I prized their welfare over mine, but with ending of my duties life can be of my design. It is far too late I realize for the plans I laid aside when I promised to be dutiful as a young and happy bride. After thirty years of employment, for a while it was a shock. that I need not set the buzzer.  I don’t revolve around the clock. I have missed the chance, I’m certain, to have accumulated wealth, but there are roles unlimited for elders in good health. I have found a latent talent that has been with me since birth. I’ve had the chance to let it grow and to travel o’er the Earth. With this forum so unlimited I can send my words afar with unfettered possibilities they could catch upon a star. With my little house around me to protect me from the storm, I have limitless time to venture.  I dare to tackle a new form. © By: Joyce I Johnson   Tragedy Ninety-two deaths from diabolic plan of a selfish, conniving, evil madman. Peaceful Norway is consumed with sorrow and no one knows who will weep tomorrow. Satan had planted him on the earth made him a disciple at his birth. He looks as normal as you and I but he’s plotted for years that others should die. Helpless young folks were sacrificed, only the best for him sufficed. So many good folks are now in mourning because viciousness struck without a warning. Norway has been  so crime free it appears their harshest sentence is twenty-one years. Twenty-one years not enough to pay unless twenty-one years for each life that day. © By: Joyce I Johnson   The School-bus Driver’s Prayer Their parents and the school board Trust me with this precious load. May I never lose attention As I drive on street or road. Some will be new students, Lord. Might I help to calm their fears? Please fill my heart with love for them, As I wipe away their tears. With my foot on the gas pedal And Yours upon the brake, We will do the job together, Never making a mistake. Another school-bus driver Transports one I call my own. May she turn to You each day, Lord Knowing she is not alone. They’re the future of our nation And their parent’s pride and joy. I remember this each morning As I load each girl and boy. A youngster may be unruly, Disrespectful, even wild. Help me to keep my patience, Lord. He is someone’s well loved child. © By Joyce Johnson   Not So Bad It’s really not so terrible, This thing of growing old. I don’t have to mind my manners Or do what I’ve been told. No one seems to care about it If I break a few short rules. And I can say I’m too old To tolerate the fools. I can wear the brightest colors. Red and yellow, both at once. Because I’m old, folks smile and don’t Assume that I’m a dunce. I can even hug young fellows, Without scorn for being bold. No it’s not too inconvenient, This process of growing old. In deference to my age, most folks I meet are quite polite. If I forget a thing or two, They say that it’s alright. At my age there’s not much difference Between the rich and poor. We can’t take it with us, money’s Not important anymore. Please don’t feel sorry for me Or believe what you’ve been told. It’s not the end of living Just because you’re growing old. ©Joyce Johnson 6/8/03   The Untold Story  I like to think that Daddy’s gold watch chain, And the way it came about; Was the true story of “The Magi”. That O. Henry had mixed it up a little, and changed it, As sometimes happens. I remember it, his beautiful chain. Heavy and each link engraved with dainty leaves. Each of us had played with it. Pulling from his pocket, the heavy, silver-plated watch it guarded. Just to hear it tick. I didn’t know it then of course, It was the golden chain that Daddy prided, Not the watch it led to. He could have bought a dozen more of those at any store, But never another chain so fine. I wish I’d asked, I don’t know how it came about, That Mama turned her gold, linked, bracelet,  Into a chain for Daddy. See it there draping her gloved hand,  In their wedding picture? Somehow they never told us private things. So busy making a good life for all of us. We were his treasures, the seven of us And Mama and her auburn hair. Then came the beloved chain. I like to think it was that first sweet Christmas, When they were still alone. She loved him enough to have Her treasured bracelet altered and He wore a leather thong to Hold his watch, on weekdays Only on Sundays or other times When he put on his suit, he proudly Added the prized chain. That’s why it happened that the chain was On the dresser in their bedroom When the fire started. Daddy was still on the farm, And Mama saved us. It was so cold, the fire engines couldn’t come... Daddy came by sled in time To carry the library table out. It was too late and the flames too hot, To save much else. I have that table now, my precious heirloom. Daddy searched the ashes of our home, As soon as they had cooled. I saw the tears when he told Mama, "The gold watch chain is gone.” ©Joyce Johnson 10/14/2000   Dear Little Tear Dear little tear, I feel the tickle as you trickle down my cheek. I am wishing you safe journey to the stream of tears you seek. Find the river where tears gather on their journey to the sea, taking all our fears and troubles as you’re doing now for me. May you join soon with the others, each of whom has played the role of sweet succor to his human and a soother of his soul.  © Joyce Johnson   Downsizing  "Mother," she cried, "You cannot fit everything into the space. Ridding yourself of some of it is something you must face.” I was opening a small red box as she began to speak. When I saw the contents that it held my aging legs turned weak. I’d put them away when he had died for seeing them made me sad. They were still there all neatly tied, love letters from her dad. I turned to her with welling eyes. “These go with me to my grave. Your daddy wrote them to me, they are something I must save.” “Of course, Mamma, it’s up to you. I’m just cautioning you a bit. We must weed out the useless things. They simply will not fit.” I put the box on the dresser where some other treasures lay, items I knew I must go through before I moved away. I gazed at the familiar room and the furniture it contained. I fancied I heard the pieces scream, “Am I discarded or retained?” I called my daughter to me and asked her to sit down. “Don’t be disgusted with me Honey, I’m not moving into town. I know you think I am not safe, alone on this old farm. I’ve lived here now for sixty years and have never come to harm. Your dad and I were frugal, we didn’t buy unneeded things. The only jewelry that we owned was our two wedding rings. I’ve never had a garage sale.  I had no excess to sell, and we had no reason to buy new, when the old worked just as well. I fit in here as comfortably as I do in my old shoes. Everything in this old house I love or is of use.  Knowing I’d made up my mind, my daughter sweetly assented. Staying in my home with beloved things, I never have repented. My letters in their box are on my little bedside table. I’ll read one with my prayers each night, as long as I am able. © Joyce Johnson 6/18/11   Before Sin Arrived They lived long ago when the world was young and in peace and plenty  abided. Some roamed the land dressed up in fur. Hard armor to some was provided, They did not ask from whence they came nor question the where of  their going. They were quite contented with their lot and had no need of knowing. The meat eaters didn’t waste their food . They killed only what they could eat. They lived by God given instinct, with no sinning and no deceit. It went on like this for eons. God created and then refined. He wanted to populate the Earth with these beings of every kind. It was after He created man from a handful of dry sod that sin descended onto earth. Man broke the laws of God. Given free will, Man took the reins And traversed the whole of Earth. And that is how Sin came to be and wrongs and troubles stirreth. © Joyce Johnson 4/11/11   Empty Nest To the tune of: “ I Was Born About Ten Thousand Years Ago.”` I’ve seen chickens try to hatch a big glass ball. Why the farmer put it there, I can’t recall. But the saddest bird I’ve known is this robin all alone Who’s been sitting on her nest from spring to fall. The swallows have raised several families. They are flying back and forth with perfect ease. Madam Robin pays no mind and every day I find She’s still sitting on that nest without a cease. I will never know what happened to her mate I truly fear he’s met a dreadful fate. Nor what has happened to, her little eggs of blue. By now they’d be no good at any rate. She made her nest in my nice potted plant. As comfortable a bed you’d ever want. That’s if you were a bird, but there has not been heard A single baby peeping and I can’t Bear the picture that she makes there all alone, The saddest bird that I have ever known. My plant is dying too, without water wouldn’t you? If they’d lived her children now would be full grown. So now you see the problem that  I’ve got. Should I leave the nest right there or should I not? Which is the kinder way, tear it down or let it stay? Until the bird and I are both besot. Perhaps she is just working through her grief And that little nest is giving her relief. So I’ll just let it stay until she flies away And my pretty plant is down to its last leaf. Next spring I hope she finds a brand new mate And he’ll be the kind to help her sit and wait For the little babes to hatch, and her tenderness to match. May he give her lots of eggs to incubate.  © By: Joyce Johnson   His Last Days There is something about palm branches, The halleluiahs and hoorays That separate Palm Sunday From the following dark days. They came en masse to laud him With fever running high They turned away to save themselves When danger edged too nigh. Only a few would follow Him As he walked towards his grave. Only a few would honor Him For coming to Earth to save. Would you have been among the few Who dared to call Him King? Or among those who shouted crucify, His unearned death to bring? If I had lived in those days And been blessed to see my Lord, I pray I would have stayed with Him And heard His final word. “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.” © By: Joyce Johnson 4/13/11   Thieving Time Time is a master thief who steals a bit of me each day. I’ve tried so hard to stop him, but he always gets away. Not long ago I thought that time and I were best of friends, but when he won my sacred trust that’s where the friendship ends. He’s taken my luxurious hair and turned it thin and grey. He packs a pound and paints a line upon me every day. He’s loaded me with aches and pains, and illnesses and grief. The experts I’ve consulted have all failed to give relief. Though I could stop the hands of clocks, and rule their chimes be muted, time will still have had his way, bringing changes undisputed. © By: Joyce February 22, 2011   The Pacific Northwest I live in Washington State When I don’t like the weather, I wait. The rain has begun Next hour the sun. Our rains come with handy rebate. Through window the raindrops appear. When sun shines, Mount Baker is near. Nice days bring scenes Framed by bright greens All beauties of Nature appear. My window is like a big screen. Every day it is a new scene. Mountains snow covered. Birds of prey hovered. Picture changes from wild to serene. Nest show will bring springtime delightful. The fields and the yards are abloom. The birds and the bees, The blossom filled trees, All in view from my own living room. © By: Joyce 2/22/2011   Lost Astronauts It is a black day in our land; Our hearts are filled with grief. There is only one sure place to turn, To find needed relief. Dear God please meet them at Your gates They dared to reach so high. Is mankind growing much too bold; Are we not meant to fly? Our president has said it well. “We didn’t see them land, We know they have gone on to home”. Someday we’ll understand. You gave us need and ambition In our short lives to find The key to all the mysteries Created by your Mind. Please bless our earnest endeavors To do the best we know To get where we are going. Where you would have us go. We ask protection for the ones Who carry out the plan That You have firmly planted in Resourceful mind of man. Our nation is in deep mourning Our hearts are full of pride, For each of those brave pioneers, Who dared to reach and died. © By: Joyce 02/01/03   First-Born There is something about a first-born That claims a mother’s heart And breaks it into pieces The day they have to part. Oh, Lord I wasn’t ready To send him home to You But when You said, “It’s time to go” What else was I to do? Oh, there’s something about a first-born That cannot be replaced. I loved him so, that he must go Is the hardest thing I’ve faced. Your mother knows the feeling. She lost her first-born too And now in Heaven’s glory She’s living there with you. He left me with Your promise Some day we’ll meet again And when at last I hold him I’ll be freed of all this pain. © By: Joyce 3/7/08   Alone Mama and Daddy and brothers, And I the new baby adored, Uncles and aunts and grandmothers, It seemed  I would never be bored. Neighbors and friends and cousins, All wanting to rock me a bit. The  very first girl in our family, Was acknowledged a perfect fit. A sister and brother would follow To bring me companionship. With abounding love surrounding Surely life would be a grand trip. I didn’t foresee all the shadows And the changes along the way, Or that I’d be the oldest person Alive in my world today. They stayed until I was grown Into a young woman and wife. They thought they were no longer needed. To guide me along in my life. But oh what a lonesome feeling That the first loved ones that you knew Are gone to their Heavenly father And there’s nobody left but you. © By: Joyce 5/31/08   The Facts of Life I saw an eagle, hawk and heron As I drove to town today. Each sat in calm aloofness With a watchful eye for prey. I’m glad I’m not a bunny, A small bird or a mouse. For with such predators about, I’d dare not leave my house If I were a frog or fish I would Sit still with eyes closed tight Knowing that big heron could Devour me with one bite. My Lord gave me dominion Over land and beast and fowl And made me big enough I can’t Be picked off by an owl. I find living to be tolerable, Quite peaceful and serene, But many smaller beings know That nature can be mean. So next time I feel like crying And grumbling at my fate I’ll remember all those creatures Who would think my life is great. “Survival of the Fittest” is The rule by which they live. Dying is the price of living They accept it and forgive. © Joyce Johnson 2008   Winter Rains You know me very well and that I’m not one to complain, But dear Lord in the wintertime, I get so tired of rain. I wouldn’t want to have Your job With everyone to please. Could you save some for our summer When we have droughts to ease? I took a turn about my yard To check my winter garden. The plants have all been watered well And my impudence please pardon. I’d like a little sunshine please, To boost my sagging spirit. A bit of warmth to sooth my soul If such reward I merit. But if you have a larger plan, Intend more clouds to bring; I’ll put my garden tools away And wait inside for Spring. ©Joyce 1/4/11   Great Grandbabies Doubled Beautiful babies Now coming by twos. I’m letting friends know Of this very good news. Baby Rae Kristine was born on September two. As was Sweet Charlotte Jean, So they’re still very new. Just three months Thursday . Each is thriving and gaining Two ounces a day. If they keep that up How much will they weigh In a year or two? It’s scary to say. It’s a fact that right now Its all they need do, So they gain on that schedule And of course wouldn’t you? © Joyce Johnson 2010   Long Evenings There is a sound and smell that brings back memories of the long ago, of those short hours between the work and bed. The family would gather in the front room for awhile. We were relaxed, contented and well fed. Sometimes we’d play card games or Mom would read a continued story to us all. In summer evenings we could stay outside for hide and seek, but the dark hours started early in the fall. In those early days of no TV, and no electric wonders when oil lamps substituted for the sun, it took a lot of patience and it took a lot of love and understanding of each other to have fun. Then there were the special evenings when Daddy would get out the heavy iron skillet to pop corn. I would hear those kernels popping and inhale the buttery smell and just be happy that I had been born. He would shake the skillet back and forth on Mama’s kitchen stove then empty it and start another batch. Oh the eagerness that skillet brought when Daddy popped the corn is something that no microwave can match. Now it only takes that popping sound or the smell of melting butter to bring all of the memories flooding back, of those long leisure evening hours we’d spend with one another before Daddy said, “It’s time to hit the sack.” © Joyce Johnson 2010   Ghostly Castle I took my children in October To a castle in the hills. We were enchanted by its splendor, Awing grandeur and its thrills. Purple plumes of smoke were pouring From big chimneys in the sky. The silver moon came out of hiding. Scary bats began to fly. I heard moans and groans and cackles Coming from those castle rooms And I thought I saw some witches Flying wildly on their brooms. I gathered up my children Fearing that one could be lost With ghosts and goblins in the castle. That would be too high a cost. So I took them to a motel Where live folks were all about. Real spooks on Halloween is something I for one could do without. I took a head count of my children And I seemed to have one more Than I had when we went bravely Through that big old castle door. I took him with us trick or treating Up and down the city street. He was already dressed in costume, Eye holes poked into a sheet. I got them ready for the bathtub Before putting them to bed And to help the little stranger, Pulled the sheet from off his head. I dropped the sheet and left it lying Upon the bathroom floor. When I turned to bathe the urchin He was not there any more. The next Halloween my children Went trick or treating once again. I counted twice, and there were four Where only my three should have been. So it has been ever after, Just the same each Halloween. I take my children trick or treating, With another in between. He's just as happy as the others With his bag of candy treats, But when I try to free him of them He's not there beneath the sheets. I am hoping when my children Such small pleasures have out grown, I'll still have the little stranger. I need not trick or treat alone. ©By: Joyce Johnson   Becoming Aware I was very young and so small in size, I sat by the mud, constructing some pies. My mama came out of the kitchen door. It was time for afternoon lunch at four. She called my name, for she needed me then To help carry lunch to our hungry men. I had dried my pies in the summer sun. I selected two that were nice and done. Something made me do it, I don’t know why, I called out to them, “We are bringing pie. Happy faces fell at the pie we brought. I knew I’d done something I hadn’t ought. Their baby sister changed a bit that day The first time she felt empathy that way. ©Joyce Johnson   Miracle in the Mines Dear Lord, you’ve been with them thus far Please stay with them until they’re out. They’ve shared unselfishly what they had. They know what brotherly love’s about. Please be with those who seek a way To bring those buried miners to light. Seventeen days before they were found, Not knowing whether day or night. Please soften the rock through which they drill And make their refuge stay secure. Please keep their minds and thoughts on you If four long months they must endure. May their loved one’s voices comfort them And let them know the whole world cares. Loving people everywhere Remember them with fervent prayers. Thank you Lord for answering prayer Of praying people everywhere. Good men worked hard night and day While the rest of us took time to pray. ©Joyce Johnson   Father's Day Another Father's Day is here. Just one Of the too many since you have been gone. You taught us well, when were were growing up, All that we'd need to know to carry on. Faithfulness to God and truth and country, And dedication to your family: A perfect pattern for us to follow, To make our future lives all they could be. I'm wondering today, "Would you be proud, Of how your seven boys and girls turned out? If some of us have failed, it's not your fault. You showed us what a good life was about. I have used you as the perfect yardstick To measure the true worth of other men. Most have failed the test most miserably, Not more than one or two like you in ten. The strong love we had between us, Daddy, Was always so completely understood. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you often The things I'd say now, if I only could. Not once in all the years when I was growing, Did you cause me unhappiness or pain. I'd hold you close and say how much I love you, If God would let me see you once again. © By: Joyce 6/16/01   My Sailor His good ship brought him home from war, I thought he'd sail away no more, My sailor boy, my sailor boy. I welcomed him with open arms. I wooed him with my girlish charms, My sailor boy, my sailor boy. I wanted to keep him from the sea, To keep him always near to me, My sailor boy, my sailor boy. When that great ship left port one day, He climbed aboard and sailed away, My sailor boy, my sailor boy. He didn't heed my pleas to stay, "I'll be back home in the month of May", My sailor boy, my sailor boy. If he falls into the salty brine The sea will steal this boy of mine, My sailor boy, my sailor boy. Because he never learned to swim, That fall will be the end of him, My sailor boy, my sailor boy. Standing on the lonely shore, I'll be forever longing for, My sailor boy, my sailor boy. Looking, longing, ever for My sailor boy, my sailor boy. My sailor who will come no more. My sailor boy, my sailor boy. © By: Joyce 5/5 2006   This Memorial Day We remember that You promised They have only gone ahead, As this Memorial weekend We pay homage to our dead. We thank You Heavenly Father That you lent them for awhile. You know we miss each dear one, His loving ways and smile. When we place our pretty flowers On their graves and tears are shed, We find comfort in Your promise, "They have only gone ahead." © By: Joyce   Flown Time I didn't notice as I went. I wasn't keeping score. Each new day in it sameness was Just like the one before. I thought there would be many more Tomorrows in my glass. Using it improvidently, I idly let time pass. The mirror now reveals to me How older I have grown. I'd like to have them back again, Those days I used to own. Now that future days are fewer, I try to fill each one; On this day a touch of kindness. On this a bit of fun. Storing memories while I can As each day passes on, Will be the way to keep them still, When most of them are gone. © Joyce Johnson   Your Easy Chair The view that I have from your big easy chair, Has not really changed since you would sit there. Mount Baker still looms, she hasn't blown her top. You'd watch as she steamed and expect her to pop. Is the grass just as green as it greened up for you? I'm trying to maintain it as you used to do. You know that it's hard, for we shared all the chores. This light one was mine, that tough one was yours. Both of our loved sons have now joined you up there And I sit alone in your big easy chair. I'm glad you've been spared the bad times I've been through. Your heart would have broken as God surely knew. So He took you first and then called them one by one, And I'm left to cope 'til my race too, is run. I hope that you're proud as you look down on me And this beloved where you wanted to be. I've planted more trees and more flowers and more shrubs And I've fought with the moles and the slugs and the grubs. When I've weeded as much as my poor heart will bear I come in and curl up in your big easy chair. © By: Joyce   The Games We see his parents in the stands As they sit tensely clasping hands In silent prayer for their loved son And for the task that must be done. Another recalls small girl she knew Who early showed the skill that grew With hard work and determination Into a gift for her loved nation. The small boy turned into the man Who is this tall Olympian. Spotlighted as the whole watches This daughter who is winning matches. With medals won and more to go, Speed records fall, they're much too slow. Favorites competing in the races Fall back as others take their places. The winter games of twenty-ten Are turning children into men And women who with skill and grace Are winners in the human race. © By: Joyce