Poems about People
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
My Daddy
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Dad’s memory was amazing,
His vocabulary vast.
Crossword puzzles were his hobby;
He’d complete them fairly fast.
He did not have bulky muscles,
But we all knew he was strong.
He’d hold one child on each hip and grin,
Made us feel we’d done no wrong.
But we knew not to do mischief,
For he’d sometimes use his belt.
He could teach us right by reason
Or by how our backsides felt.
Our dad was rather quiet,
Had to think out what he’d say.
When he spoke, we knew to listen.
We might learn some gems that day.
My dad could fix most anything,
From dolls to bikes to cars.
He built cabinets and bookcases;
His hands didn’t mind the scars.
Dad was a good mechanic,
And knew engineering too.
As a carpenter, he excelled.
There’s not much he couldn’t do.
He could often outperform young men
Doing home repairs outside,
For he’d learned to pace himself, not rush,
With lessons he’d applied.
He had a sense of humor;
His wit was quick and dry.
He could easily get you laughing
Until you would almost cry.
Then dementia took his memory,
But not those from the past.
He could quote old songs or ditties,
Recite poems with such class.
He remembered all his family,
But not where he had been
Or where he would soon be going;
He excused it with a grin.
He thought he should be doing
Something useful as before
And would ask for our suggestions
So that he would not be bored.
Then dementia slowed his movement,
Made him shuffle more than walk,
As his muscles became weaker.
“Brain-fog” made it hard to talk.
He would get so aggravated
When his brain would not work right.
He could not think like he wanted to,
And he’d sometimes get uptight.
He tried to persevere each day
To be there for his wife.
He promised many years ago
To protect her all his life.
Then pneumonia joined dementia,
UTIs, a heart attack,
And a broken hip—together
They would thwart his bouncing back.
I knew Dad was not immortal
And some day that he would die,
But since it has finally happened,
I just feel numb and want to cry.
Knowing Dad is now in Heaven
Comforts some, but leaves the pain.
I love you, Daddy. Say “Hi” to others.
I will see you all again.
Prenuptial Agreement
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What’s mine is yours.
What’s yours is mine.
That’s how it should be.
Now I can share my debt with you,
And you share yours with me.
Now I can share my children,
And you can share yours too,
With all the fun and all the tears
They’ll give to me and you.
Grandchildren are so special.
I get yours without fail,
No matter if they hug and kiss
Or jump and scream and yell.
I’ll share with you bad habits.
I’ll also share the good.
We couldn’t do it differently,
Even though we should.
What’s mine is yours.
What’s yours is mine.
That’s how it should be.
I want to share my life with you,
And you share yours with me.
Can I Give It to Him?
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My heart aches; my head feels like it might explode.
I can’t keep on carrying this burdensome load.
Why is the responsibility mine?
I’m a wife, mom, and daughter; I should make it all fine.
And although I do know that assumption’s not true,
It’s not any easier when there’s so much to do.
As a “doer,” I feel I must do it myself;
As a mom, I reach out when my kids call for help.
My parents are aging; housework’s hard to maintain.
My dad can’t remember, just can’t wake up his brain.
While my mom’s getting tired, can’t do what she’d like,
Her demanding behavior makes her seem like a tyke.
As I try to determine what relief they might need,
My doctor and friend give advice I don’t heed:
“You’re not always the answer to everyone’s woes.”
Still, in circles I run and trip o’er my own toes.
I know I must learn that it isn’t my job
To be all things to all who approach with a sob.
“Can you help with my child?” “Can you help me clean house?”
Mom says, “I need help NOW!” I feel like a louse.
I was hoping to work on my writing today,
Or perhaps paint a picture, make jewelry, just play.
Maybe reading a book would be so much fun
That I might just ignore all the things that aren’t done.
Can legitimate claims on my time not be right
As I help short-term needs some days or some nights?
I should consider my health and my husband’s desires.
Does he have my time, too, as I put out their fires?
I now must admit that I’m just not the one
Who should take all their problems; it’s God’s only Son
Who can bear all our burdens, dry tears, heal disease.
Then we’re free to enjoy God’s joy and His peace.
Belle
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Once a beautiful baby, now a beautiful girl.
First she wiggled and giggled; now she sways and she twirls.
She’s “as smart as a whip,” loves to sing and dance too.
As a friend, she is caring; Jesus’ love sure shines through.
She loves to play dress up, trying on lots of clothes.
Then she’ll make up a song, poem, letter, or prose.
She is such a good student and a big sister too.
Belle’s beauty starts inside, then smiles out at you.
Davis
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I don’t think I’ve met such a serious boy,
Who likes things done in specific ways.
He’s amazing with puzzles, does them really fast,
Is precise in the way that he plays.
He can write his own name and copy other names too
And can build wooden planes with Granddad.
He gives detailed accounts of games that he’s played,
And is the best drama king we have had.
Formats
Book Details
About the Book
This is a collection of poems about family, friends, and the ups and downs of life. When Robin was a young adult, she started writing poems as gifts for people to let them know how important they were—their virtues, skills, or ability to make people laugh. When her daughters were babies, she wrote poems about how adorable and amusing they were. Later, she wrote to her daughters to instill wisdom and help them survive their teenage years. She has created poems for her grandchildren, who each have distinct personalities and potential. Robin has also written about marriage—her love for her husband, as well as frustrations. Putting pen to paper helped her deal with watching dementia devastate her parents. When she lost loved ones or struggled with depression, she wrote about it and prayed. God has been with her in good times and comforted her in the bad.
About the Author
Family has been important to Robin since she was little. She is the second child, first daughter, of nine children. Her parents were married for almost 70 years. Robin has two daughters, a deceased baby daughter, two stepdaughters, and a stepson. She and her husband, Jim, have been married for 31 years and have fifteen grandchildren and nine great-grandchildren. While Robin and Jim probably have enough baggage from past relationships to open up a luggage shop, they have learned valuable life lessons. The love for God and family instilled in them continues on. They have fun getting together with children and siblings (and their families), especially if food is involved. At fifty-two years old, Robin received a BA in Psychology from The University of Texas. When she is not writing or visiting with family, she loves to do crafts—drawing, painting, making mosaics and walking sticks, and working with wood.