Adsit's Poetry Anthology, Volume I

Adsit's Poetry Anthology, Volume I

by Tim L. Adsit

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Overview

Adsit's Poetry Anthology, Volume I presents a collection of three generations of American poetry from the Adsit family, written by Tim Adsit, his parents, and his grandmother. This unique anthology contains inspirational poetry with recurring themes focusing on wilderness, the nature of man, family, home, love, life, death, faith, patriotism, country, humor, and emotions, as well as personal thoughts and reflections gained while outdoors hunting, hiking, camping, and fishing.

With these inspiring thoughts and poetic images, the Adsit family brings us immediately into the beautiful world of nature and human nature. Relaxed, warmly intimate, and sometimes humorous, these verses reveal the inspiring world of nature that provides insight into what we are as human beings; what attitudes and beliefs we should take toward life, its Creator, death, and faith; and the way in which we should mature and develop daily in wisdom, knowledge, understanding, and humility.

Each poet at once sees connections between the creatures and situations in nature, and in the opportunities in our own lives. They each have a genuine gift for discovering and presenting new ideas in refreshing ways showing that "there is a stillness in nature that speaks louder than a choir of voices."

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781450288156
Publisher: iUniverse, Incorporated
Publication date: 02/04/2011
Pages: 148
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.32(d)

Read an Excerpt

Adsit's Poetry Anthology, Volume I

Thoughts and Inspiration Afield
By Tim L. Adsit

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2011 Tim L. Adsit
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4502-8815-6


Chapter One

Poems by Reecie Lillian (Dawson) (Carter) Adsit

Themes of Love, Children, Family, Home

    The Vanished Years

    Where have they gone the darling years;
    Of baby mirth and baby tears?
    What happened to the hours spent,
    With toys and books in deep content?

    And whither went the spells of mumps?
    Of measles, chicken-pox, and bumps?
    Those later years, where have they fled,
    Of bats and balls and knees that bled?

    Dear God, I was so hurried then.
    Could I but have my babies again;
    How eagerly I'd join the fun,
    And leave a task or two undone.

    Could I call back those years today,
    I'd be so tranquil, sweet and gay.
    Please let them, O God, remember me,
    Not as I was, but meant to be.

Reprinted with permission from Adsit, Reverend Glyn B., "Things On My Mind," The Church Life Bulletin, First Christian Church, Orange, California, Volume XVII, Number 24, Friday, May 6, 1955)

    Little Boys

    Father, I've loved the little boys you gave unto me.
    When they were very small I loved their star like baby hands,
    Their rose bud mouths, dimpled knees and crumpled toes,
    Their tousled heads and turned up nose.

    I tried to protect them from splinters in their feet,
    I prepared foods especially for them to eat,
    I crumbled up inside at the thought of any pain for them,
    When I heard their cries,
    My joy was complete when thru my efforts,
    I brought looks of contentment to their eyes.

    When school age was reached,
    I saw them march away,
    Small backs straight, heads held high
    Sturdy legs carrying them, arms swinging bravely
    As they joined playmates passing by.

    I loved their little manliness, the masculinity of their stride
    The bravery they professed and didn't feel
    Until at evening time I held them close by my side.
    And wondered if the teachers noticed their very special appeal.

    I tried to protect them from all harm such as children encounter
    As they live in childhood and grow.
    Such eternal anxiety only a mother's heart can know,
    As they grew from childhood into men

    And went their separate ways
    I felt I'd won over the world of care and could relax
    And wait for quieter days.

    I love them now for the stand they took on important issues
    That they faced from day to day,
    I loved them for being determined to win,
    Yet, using wisdom and judgment
    All along the way.

    Now I long to protect them from temptation
    And the common enemy, ill health,
    And to see them stand firm and true,
    Not to waiver while in the search for wealth.
    I could not bear to see them suffer day by day
    Neither from sickness or sin,
    A mother doesn't forget they were little boys
    Because now they are men.


    Do Babies Laugh in Berlin?

    Bombs are falling!
    Frantic voices calling,
    Then a hush, deadly quiet creeps in,
    Mothers clasp babies to breast,
    Mothers faint, weary from lack of food and rest.
    But do babies smile sweetly, demure?
    Do mother's arms feel secure?
    Do babies laugh in Berlin?
    What mother has not known
    Release from burdens that have flown
    When baby's smiles begin?
    Do war mothers have this blessing still?
    God grant it so, if it be they will,
    Let babies laugh again in Berlin.


    White Candles On a Birthday Cake

    Little white candles on a birthday cake
    Placed there with love and artistic care,
    By a young dark eyed mother so young and fair.
    Only sixteen candles, though I'm three times sixteen and more,
    I shall treasure the unspoken tenderness
    The touch of beauty there,
    The token of youth and happiness
    Will walk with me into distant days
    To lighten my burdens and cares.


    My Grandchildren

    As I watched my grandchildren fair
    Swinging on a high hill, wind in their hair,
    Uplifted faces filled with glee,
    Bringing visions of my own little ones back to me.

    Father guide them as they grow,
    Watch carefully as they upward climb,
    Make Thy presence felt,
    So that they may know
    Their innermost thoughts are also Thine.


    I'm Not Lonely

    I've heard them say,
    "She lives alone, her life was so busy,
    Now, does she stay"?
    The place is so lonely, so still,
    She does her little chores, nothing more,
    Day by day.

    Little do they know as I sit or move
    About the place,
    I do not see empty stillness,
    But four little boys and a little girl
    With smiling face.

    They stand upon the mound at the end of the garden
    While March wind blows in their hair
    To greet the first morning of Spring
    With gleeful laughter and joyous play, as they scamper there.

    They run on eager feet to see a yellow blossom of the Jonquil,
    The first to appear
    They pause breathless at the beauty,
    Never a thought of worry or care.
    They chase the Robins just to see them fly,
    They pester me for pennies, a kite to buy.
    It's Summer, they swim in the pool,
    They clamor for food and cool refreshing drink,
    Nestling down on shady porches,
    Filled with childish pleasures, too tired to think.

    The old piano seems to boom with noisy practice,
    As a kitten gives up its place upon the keys,
    A shepherd dog lies across the doorway,
    They step over him, he sleeps on, at ease.

    The Autumn brings eager school days,
    They march away for a little while
    At evening they return, their mind filled with stories,
    That only school days can bring
    Into the life of a little child.

    Then comes the Winter season,
    Their muddy boots and rubbers by the door,
    The joyous Christmas we share together,
    Then looking for Spring, once more.

    I'm not lonely, I've earned this place of quiet rest,
    This house filled with memories,
    Each shining pleasure with the love of God is blest,
    A home filled with happy memories where young men
    And their wives, and a young women with husband true,
    Come often to sit and visit,
    They bring their little ones too,
    I'm tired when they go, but happiness I've found,
    It's hard to remember, was it their little ones or mine
    That played upon the garden mound?


    Themes of Faith and Spirituality

    A Desire to Touch His Hand

    In praying, it seems He is so far away.
    I long to know Him, to hear Him say,
    I'm here, my child, be still.
    Know that I am God, obey My will.

    I go my way,
    Throughout the day,
    Unsatisfied, wishing still
    That somehow it would be revealed to me.
    Now, with mortal eyes I might see
    The Master who has so kindly fashioned me,
    Then I could show I love the Lord.
    I should greet Him with a look of sweet accord,
    I should clasp His hand in mine,
    Walk with Him, talk with Him,
    And ask Him to my house to dine.

    Oh, happy hours to me are given,
    The veil is torn asunder,
    I've known a glimpse of Heaven,
    I now know the touch of His dear hand,
    I cried aloud, He heard my plea
    And in a gentle way revealed Himself to me.

    A neighbor cried in pain, I soothed her feverish brow,
    I comforted a little child who had lost in a game of play,
    I spoke kindly to one whose color is not of mine,
    Feeling skin and enjoying a friendship as we walked along the way.

    I visited lonely old folk,
    Gathered wisdom of their years,
    I whispered hope to many
    To still their trembling fears.
    My days are filled with service
    Toward my fellowman,
    sweet peace, I have felt
    The Master reach out and touch my hand.


    Themes of Nature and Human Nature

    The Gift of Peace

    Stand beneath a tree in Summer,
    Let city's noises hush,
    Listen intently
    To the song of thrush.

    Gaze through trembling leaves to Heaven,
    Let stars look into your eyes,
    Grow closely related to the green earth
    And to the skies.

    When the silver plow of dawn
    Cleaves the somber dark,
    You will find the gift of peace
    Has nestled in your heart.


    Look Away

    When things are troubling you, look away!
    Pick out a spot you can see from your window or door
    Or perhaps a mental picture you may have in store,
    See a small white cloud scurrying across the sky
    Like tiny baby dresses, hung on a line to dry.
            Though your troubles may be as bothersome as a dead limb
            Of a tree, scraping against an empty house,
            Don't let it fret you my darling as you try to think things out.
            There's a clump of purple violets in a shady nook,
            Let your mind wander a little farther and see a babbling brook.
    Distance lends enchantment
    Memory will lend you wings
    Visit places you'd forgotten
    Recall the thrill of little things.
            See small ants carrying their babies from ant hills
            Out into the sunshine of Spring,
            Why, you can rest from all your worries
            Just by watching little things.
    Look at snowy cherry blossoms
    Banked against a sky of blue,
    Look away, far away, my darling
    When things are troubling you.


    Clover Blossoms On a Dresser Scarf

    Clover blossoms, blooming so sturdy and fair,
    Red and white, speaking as staunchly as the stripes
    On the flag we love so dear,
    Embroidered by loving hands, a young mother's hands,
    Guided thru busy hours,
    That can turn from artistic things to soothe a feverish brow,
    Or comfort a child in pain,
    These clover blossoms strengthen me,
    They whisper of green meadow grass and sparkling rain,
    And things of long ago.
    They encourage me to keep onward, to stand staunch,
    To rise again should I fall beneath a blow.

Chapter Two

Poems and Free Verse by Glyn Bemister (Carter) Adsit

Recurring Themes of Love, Family, Children, Life, Death, Faith, Nature, Friendship

    I Loved You

    My life has had its ups and downs,
    Sometimes good and sometimes bad,
    Sometimes happy, sometimes sad,
    But through it all, I loved you.

    I smiled when each of you were born,
    In my own way I loved you.
    I could not know—what the years would bring,
    Whether together we would be, or apart.

    You grew in your own ways, and watching—I took pride;
    Though not always was I able to be at your side.
    And now, through eyes made clear by death—God has granted me to see—
    that through it all
    I loved you, and you loved me.

I Like Men Who Fish

I like men who fish! Men who seek the challenge and the comfort of the ocean, the river, the stream, the lake, the sea.

Men—who laughing say, "When my time comes to go, let it be the fish on one end, on the other end me." Let it be like that dear Lord, when the final call comes.

Let me be there—on some stream, with loved ones or friends ... happy, hoping for a strike, or a nibble, or a bite ... let me be showing my faith ... that I will catch one before the day is gone ... there—call me home ... suddenly—free me from physical limitations.

And when I arrive in my heavenly home ... just one request dear Lord, for all who have gone before me ... those good friends of mine who love to fish ... let them be there to welcome me ... And Lord, give me a job, make me keeper of the streams, the rivers, the lakes ... for that will be Heaven to me.

God Have You Added It Up?

God, have you added up this score of my strivings and my failings? Have you taken into account my heartbreaks, my tears—when I have sought to be better than I am, but failed? I've had my share of hates and loves. I have been searching for myself. I found such joy in fixing things ... tinkering they call it. Dear God fix me now.

Some Will Say I Do Not Believe In God But, Let Me Tell You Something ...

What are you? A Dahlia bulb ... you say. Can life or beauty come from that ugly shriveled up seemingly lifeless thing? How can I know if life will come?

Do I dare venture ... have faith enough to trust? Can I have faith to wait after the bulb is planted out-of-sight into the ground? Why should I believe that life will come?

"Try me", please, cries the Dahlia ... "try me and see".

And so I tried ... I who was born and lived all my life in this incredibly beautiful valley ... I risked my faith on a ugly bulb ... it took faith I tell you to believe that anything could come from it at all.

Oh, blessed God: what beauty bursts in my garden. Colors like rainbows. What shall I do with this beauty? Keep it for myself. I cannot—I give it to my fellowmen that they may learn also to have faith enough to plant and pray and wait. And so my beauty spreads from garden to garden—until my faith grows stronger as their faith in waiting for life to come—is proved. He who plants an ugly bulb—believes in God. He has seen what God sends—beauty for ashes ...

And thus, it is that I am not afraid to die. I am like those Dahlia bulbs. Some will doubt that I can survive to produce life ... but I rest my case ... I put my life in the soil of God ... I wait for the life-giving blood to quicken me ... and I will blossom before God ... and I shall cry out, "have faith, life does come from what is planted in the ground".

I Was Your Teacher

I was your teacher. I taught you to read, to write, to add and subtract. But more—I poured myself into your lives—I sought to inspire, to guide, to insist that you do the best that you could do. I had no children of my own. But, you are my children as surely as if I had given you birth. For a while, I had you in my keeping even more than your own flesh and blood mothers. I helped you put on your snow shoes and I dried your tears. I listened to your heartaches and joys. Yes, when small, I mothered you. And then you grew up and left. But still I went with you in your dreams, your plans, and your accomplishments.

After a while, other small ones came to me and as I looked at them, I saw you again ... yes, they were your children. How happy I was to see you in them ... and to know that my teaching you had been successful ... That you had made it through marriage and child-bearing, and that you had returned to me in your children. The process started all over again ... reading, writing, and arithmetic ... heartaches and joys, Fall, Winter, Spring, and Summer. And then after 50 years of teaching came my time to step out and let younger ones come into the school and carry on.

I have followed you all these years of my retirement. I have lived in you. Now, that I am what men call dead, you must live for me. So much needs to be done. I ask that you do it. Go on out into life and read and write and help your fellowmen. I never gave you these priceless treasurers to be selfish with them. They will only help you as you use them for God and your fellowman.

I want you to know that I have been given a job to do up here in God's heaven. I watch the little ones—those whose lives were cut short on earth ... those who never grew up to adulthood. I gather them around me and we love each other and all of you. And every time the bell rings to signal the entrance of another life into our midst, I hasten to the gateway to see if it is one of my children that I had taught on earth.

Do you remember how timid you were that first day you came into my school room on earth, how fearful you were? It might be like that when you come up here to heaven. I want you to know that I will be here, just like I was there, to greet you and to help you learn the things you will need to know to make it up here in heaven. Things like learning how to brush and trim the Angel's wings ... how to mix the colors that go into the rainbows shining all over the earth ... Don't be afraid of death ... I made it through and the joy I know has helped me to forget the pain and suffering of earth. I must go now ... I hear the bell ringing—someone else is coming ... perhaps it will be you.

Grandpa's Gone

Grandpa's gone they say. Yes he died the other day—but still he lives.

He lives in sons and daughters, and even more in grandkids galore.

He lives in friends, who will remember. He lives in memory that shall never fade away.

And very much he lives in love of wife who shared his life in meaningful ways.

It's true grandpa's gone—but he's still here in things he did and said.

He's in your hearts and minds and thoughts and will be there forever.

To loved ones he might say—"don't be afraid to die—perhaps someday we'll meet again

Where God is—beyond the sky."

We'll accept that, and believe it too.

For love never dies and God is love. Yes, we'll find Grandpa again where he and God are waiting beyond the skies.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from Adsit's Poetry Anthology, Volume I by Tim L. Adsit Copyright © 2011 by Tim L. Adsit. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Table of Contents

Contents

About the Author and Contributing Poet(s)....................xi
Foreword....................xiii
Preface....................xv
Acknowledgments....................xvii
Introduction....................xix
Poems by Reecie Lillian (Dawson) (Carter) Adsit....................1
Poems and Free Verse by Glyn Bemister (Carter) Adsit....................15
Poems and Free Verse by Alice Jean (Dowd) Adsit....................25
Poems and Free Verse by Tim L. Adsit....................38
Additional Books by the Author, Projects in the Works and Contact Information....................125

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