03.22.08
Posted in Poetry, Reader Mail at 7:41 pm by Administrator
More poetry from Bob Rotruck:
An Angel’s Love
I’m a very lucky person you know,
I have been blessed by an angel’s glow.
How you ask, can I know for sure,
That angels even exist all glorious and pure.
Trust me, I know, I have seen one in action,
An angel that gives love for pure satisfaction.
This angel has tended her husband for years,
A guy that occasionally brought her to tears.
An angel that raised two wonderful boys,
They’ve become fine men and her greatest joys.
But angels are more than just mothers and wives,
They go above and beyond in the living of their lives.
They take on a task that no other would take,
And do it out of pure love, no pretense or fake.
Such as tending a Mother that was frail in years,
Many times their relationship brought her tears.
But she would go back, day after day,
Because she knew that love was her pay.
She watched this tiny woman so frail,
Day after day she began to fail.
It got real bad down near the end,
But the love of an angel can never bend.
For the one thing that an angels got,
Is the backing of the Father for their lot.
An angel only knows how to share God’s love,
When you’re an angel, God fits like a glove.
Now God has rested this angel dear,
He has taken her Mother to heaven it’s clear.
This angel can rest, she has done her best,
There is no doubt she passed God’s test.
I’m a very lucky person you know,
I can boast I have an angel to show!
God bless you my angel dear,
You are my angel, it’s clear.
Rotruck – ‘02
This poem, as you can see, is dedicated to Bob’s wife. Every woman should have such an appreciative spouse! Thanks for sending this one, Bob, and Happy Easter!
Patricia Cummings — See more of Bob’s poetry in past blog entries and on this website: Quilter’s Muse
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03.15.08
Posted in Poetry at 8:52 pm by Administrator
Like many other creative artists and writers, Bob Rotruck believes that the words of his poetry come through him from a Higher Source. I take great pleasure in sharing his poem, written in 1994.
A Misty Morning in Canada. Photo by James Cummings, 2007.
“Mist in the Morning”
I awaken and look at the fresh new day
I seek the bright sun and its first ray.
But this day a pale mist hangs over the east,
It is a beautiful quietness for my eyes to feast.
What is it you see that quiets the mind?
What is it you seek for your eye to find?
A shroud of gray mist covers the land,
It is as though nature has put out her hand.
And yet the earth is coming awake.
I wonder how long it will take,
For birds and bees to look for food,
For the moisture on a leaf to do some good.
See how the mist makes the earth glisten?
Pause for a moment and just listen.
Hear the droplets of moisture fall down,
Kissing the earth it will never be found.
Maybe this drop will make a green thing grow
Perhaps it will grow to be food for a doe.
Or perhaps a tall tree it may become
To cast shade from the sun where heat comes from.
Someday this tree may push clear to the top.
And on the morn the fog it will stop,
And gather the drops of a gray mist,
It holds them there no drops it insists.
It waits for someone to listen I know,
The gray mist waits to display its show.
ROTRUCK - ‘94
Please see more of Bob Rotruck’s poetry on our website by accessing the word search function on the front page. There is also a file about his grandmother and her quilts.
Patricia Cummings, Quilter’s Muse Publications and Virtual Museum
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12.25.07
Posted in Poetry at 10:52 pm by Administrator
The importance of the Christmas tree and the fact that, for many, it represents eternal life, has me thinking about a poem written by Joyce Kilmer in 1913, first published in 1914.
The title is simple: “Trees.” I learned this poem in grade school and it is one of the most remembered and beloved pieces of American poetry. Kilmer was born in 1886 and served in the 69th Volunteer Infantry Regiment in World War I. He was killed in the second battle of Marne, France in 1918 but his poetry is lasting.
Trees
I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
Many artists have chosen trees as the focal point of their work. I enjoy trees in all seasons. My favorite ones would have to be Birch, Oak, and Balsam Fir. When I think of Birch, I recall Robert Frost and a book I have entitled, “A Swinger of Birches.” When I ponder the Oak tree, I think of all the acorns it provides to animals. The Balsam Fir has an irresistible smell on which one could become inebriated with Nature. That tree is the very essence of Christmas. Trees for shade, trees for fresh air, trees for fruit and nuts, trees for Christmas — No matter what kind, all trees are wonderful!
Patricia Cummings
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