Hand that Reaches Down to Help Me
Several times when I feel down and depressed a hand reaches
down to help me.
Through the dark hours of depression I see his hand reaching
down to guide me.
He smiles patiently when I stumble through life's troubles and
He picks me upwhen I fall he gently tells me not to worry about
simple things. He sits with me at night and we talk about the
know without his hand I couldn't make it through life.
His hand is strong when he picks me up his hand is gentle when
he is compassionate.
Where would I be without Him?
I'd be no where without his existence in my heart. I feel like
wrote this when I was in my early twenties also. I am a Christian. I
was having a difficult time in my life back then. I turn to God for
His strength and guidance. He somehow, I am not quite sure how, but
he somehow gave me the words to write this poem. This poem is a thankful
and praise mediation for what He had pulled me through. I have written
some religious poetry back then and alot of the poems express my faith
Rain leaves such a lovely smell.
Afterwards a rainbow appears to
light up the sky. The dewey smell
of fresh grass reaches the nose.
A walk through the fields and meadows
makes me wonder how rain could have
made such a beautiful picture for the mind.
Surely this is God's work, He is the the
I was very young when I wrote this poem. I may have been around the
age of twenty one or twenty two. At this time we lived in Tucson, Arizona.
I wrote often and sometimes I wrote in my room after I had gazed out
of my window. I had a nice big window in my room and I loved to watch
the birds and the sky. I still do. This is one way I get my inspiration.
Tree's Are My Protector
Walking in the forrest on a beautiful spring afternoon I stop to sit
under a tree to rest.
A light breeze brushes barely across my cheeks.
I close my eyes for a moment.
At that moment I feel the tree's in the forrest hovering over me protectively.
I don't feel alone anymore. Somehow the tree's make me feel safe.
An image comes to my mind, the tree's are moving together toward me
to keep me from all danger.
A warm sense of contentment washes over me.
I sit there for a while longer savoring the moment.
Finally I open my eyes and look up admiringly at the tall and sturdy
These tree's are not just tree's, they are my ever faithful Friends.
I don't know when I wrote this poem. It was later, possibly in my
late twenties. I don't think I was in my thirties. I love the natural
world. Tree's are just part of it. I was able to see the tall redwood
tree's in California when I was younger. It is possible I was thinking
of them. I was impressed with their coloring. I know I was not writing
about the pine tree! I have re-worked this poem some given the way it
was in it's original form. I simply didn't like it the way it was and
decided to write some new words to convey my feelings about tree's.
I hope the reader enjoys my poetry. They were written back in the eighties
and I was a different person then.
The future is unknown. I stand at the abyss of fear.
I only see one path to take.
A path called, Independence.
This path can lead to new discoveries and knowledge.
even education. Fear draws me back.
The only real campanion I've had is fear. It keeps me safe for now.
Change is another road. It brings all kinds of twists and turns.
The road ahead is not one of smooth stones. Change can become exciting
I stand uncertainly at the fork of the road.
I never thought I would think of setting my foot on the path of Change.
Change has always been a rough road for me. Change brings new avenue's
There are new people to meet and unexpected challenges come along the
Change and Independence.......Aren't they really the same? Is there
really a fork in the road?
No, I believe they are the same. It is really just one road.
The road of Independence beckons me.
I really don't know when I wrote this. I may have been facing a decision
I had to make. Sometimes I just think on all kinds of things and try
to imagine myself in certain situations and how I'd react. I also analize
quite a bit. I am serious thinker sometimes. I may just have been thinking
and writing at the same time. My poetry is like that. I am figuring
out or sorting my thoughts on a certain topic on paper. When I see it
written on paper and can see the words I feel like I have been in therapy.
Writing is like that for me. I don't always have the thought of writing
a poem when I start out. Writing is a form of therapy because I am writing
what I feel. This is what my poetry is in a nutshell. I simply write
what I am feeling that day. I have read that poets need to learn different
styles and rhymes and work on a subject to write a poem but I don't
think that way. I simply want to write what I am feeling. I don't know
what you call that but I call it writing. I am simply writing what I
feel, and think.
You made the beautiful flowers that sit
in the flower bed in the front yard.
You move the sun and rain above to make
I see you in them. I see the smile on your
The mountains look so big and luminous.
Clouds move around the mountain tops
and create a breaktaking picture.
And its funny, because I see your face in
the clouds. I see your loving smile.
How many people really take the time to
look at what you have made? We are so
busy in our lives that we forget to see you
in your creation's. We forget to see your
face, the face of beauty.
By Debbie, Age 42. MDS - I am a "Poet", Artist and Writer.
(A Poet is an Artist. I like to paint ceramics too).