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Best Poems Written by Diane Lefebvre

Below are the all-time best Diane Lefebvre poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Gift of Words

It’s said that God bestows on us, each and every soul,
A special gift just meant for us, to make our lifetime whole.
How often I have thought about what gift was to be mine.
I waited for His one bequest to make my earth years shine.
 
I've envied some their striking looks, their figures lean and spare.
(This gift from God not always used in unison with prayer.)
I watched the athlete nimbly scale to heights till now unclimbed.
While others scour the ocean floor: new life there, still to find.
 
I've closed my eyes and listened to the maestro's ebb and flow.
Was lifted up; my heart was stirred; my spirit touched my soul.
Then too there is the gift of song; a greater gift than gold.
Was I to have this blessed prize, what other need I hold?
 
But none of these He chose for me; not one did He bestow.
Instead perhaps the gift of words, shall serve me where I go.
For without words I could not write of wonders I have seen:
Could not return to times gone by, or capture fleeting dreams.
 
How, lacking words could I describe the sun upon of the sea:
A mountain pass, a lake of glass, the joy of being free?
Words serve to tell of all that’s good, as well as all that’s bad.
They make the beauty come alive and hurt us with what’s sad.
 
And when the years have passed on by and dust is what was me:
The gift of words, put down in verse, remain for all to see.
Thoughts penned in ink and left behind, let what ‘was me’ live on.
The gift of words will still be here when other gifts are gone.


© 2015 Diane Lefebvre

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The Stray

There was a little dog one day,
Who ambled on his aimless way.
He didn't have a house or home:
A doggy bed or fine meat bone.

His coat was mats and full of fleas.
He owned no boy to try and please.
Near garbage bin was where he sat,
Along with one sad, homeless cat.

His human threw him out you see.
This person wasn't you or me.
For we would never be so cruel,
Or act like some poor, heartless fool.

The winter came and with it cold.
Dog's airy ways were put on hold.
He shivered in the dark of night:
A sad, pathetic, needy sight.

And then a storm blew in with snow.
It left dog with no place to go.
He sat and whined beside the road,
For someone kind to lift his load.

Then came a car -- slow passing by.
A young boy warm and loved inside.
He saw the freezing, half grown pup 
And begged they stop and pick him up.

The winter passed and next the spring.
Now please behold a wondrous thing.
A boy and dog romp on the grass.
All mats and fleas now in the past.

It's joy and love and fun we see. 
The way that God meant it should be.
Both run and play, all pain now past;
This bond of dog and boy shall last.

The sad thing is allotted time
Of man and dog will just not rhyme.
The boy will know sad loss of friend,
Long years before his own sure end.

Then in a time that's yet to be,
They'll reunite both young and free.
Forever will their bond go on,
In timeless sunsets, countless dawns.


© 2015 Diane Lefebvre

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Ask the Lord's Forgiveness

All the things we are on earth- 
And all the things we're not.
All the times we've hurt our Lord,
By word and deed and thought.
 
All the days we've made Him sad,
Through hateful acts of spite.
We need step back a pace or two
And make the bad things right.
 
For heaven's not that far away-
Could be . . just round the bend.
And none of us can ever know
The moment of our end.
 
Be grateful for the blessings
He's bestowed on you this while.
Offer thanks by honoring Him,
In ways that make Him smile.
 
Ask for His forgiveness
For the times you hurt Him so.
Accept the blood He shed for you
Before your time to go.
 
Our days are but a platform,
Where we stage the life to come.
Thus all the joys of heaven
Are not there for everyone.
 
So bid the Lord come to your door
And then invite Him in.
Ask His grace as you confess
To all your earthly sins.
 
He will know what's in your heart
And if you are sincere . .
You'll have your place in Heaven
And dispel death’s dread and fear.

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Winter Cat - Summer Cat

She curled her tail around her toes,
Covering whiskers, chin and nose.
An ear twitch here, another there;
She claimed as hers the easy chair.

Tormentor of both mole and mouse,
She spent the summer out of house.
Plundered, pillaged, night and day,
No mercy for dim witted prey.

Summer passed and then the fall,
As bitter cold left wintery pall.
The feline wanted none of that;
Once more she posed as family cat. 

She lay about each day and night: 
Purred when stroked and feigned delight.
Her bowl, her chair and toilet place, 
Were all she claimed as sovereign space.

The season wore on long and cold.
Outside most life seemed put on hold.
The feline lay there still as dead,
Entombed within her winter bed.

Come now the spring with days of fair;
The old cat stretched within her chair.
A well placed nose near open sill;
She felt the much diminished chill.

Then rushed to door that still was closed.
Cries from her pleading throat arose.
Weaving through her mistress legs;
"Let me out," brash feline begged.

As chipmunk fed in hemlock crotch,
Unfettered cat dashed off the porch.
With one quick scramble up the tree;
A winter cat she ceased to be.

Do we not marvel at her grace,
Ere all those months confined in place?
The cat resumes with guileless ease,
Her summer reign of fields and trees.

Details | Diane Lefebvre Poem

The Grandson

It started with his dad, you see;
Those many years ago.
At first there was just gramps and she,
But then he joined the show.

Raising him into a man 
Was something to behold.
Many days it seemed the 
Only thing they did was scold.

But yet there were those other times,
When what they felt was pride.
To glimpse the man he would become:
What made him up inside.

And now there is his little son;
Their grandchild much adored.
God's guarantee that as they age,
They never will be bored.

He is the apple of their eye,
Who fell close to the tree.
They see the promise in him now,
The world will someday see.

A little boy who's growing up
To run and laugh and play.
Mischievous, loving, happy child,
Who changes with each day.

His dad was their first blessing,
And now for goodness sake;
Their proud to have a grandson
Who's just frosting on the cake.


© 2015 Diane Lefebvre

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Tony's Torrid Toga - For Contest

Tony wants to teach Mary some yoga,
While dressed in a short, little toga
He bends over the mat,
Where she just then had sat.
From jail Tony cannot now teach yoga.

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Fallen Warrior

She sits beside the fire
As failing embers dim.
Lost smoke trails up the chimney . .
Like dreams she’d shared with him.
 
She sits and grieves for children
That never will be born.
Because his life was briefly lived,
There’s darkness in each dawn.

She thinks of how he looked that day
When last they had embraced . .
Young and handsome, unafraid,
Of perils he would face.
 
While she must stand there brave and strong-
To meet each day with hope.
She kept her outlook bright and clear,
She’d done her best to cope.

He’d left her for a war, you see . .
So proud and full of fire.
His country and his flag came first,
“Stay free” his great desire.

For on the day the towers fell,
He vowed to God above . .
To do his best to keep 'Her' safe,
This country that he loved.
 
Then in the fiery sun of May,
In a land beyond this shore . .
He laid him down and shed his blood;
She'd see his face no more.

Now time has passed since learning
Of the sorrow she must bare.
Grief still raw as at the first . .
No lessening of despair.

Her anger now replaced by voids
Of empty time and thought.
A life now full of nothingness;
Is what his death has wrought.

Summer’s past and then the fall,
Now winter cold and sad.
She sits beside the fire
And remembers all they had.
 
She can’t remember springtime
And renewal of her life.
Surely this must come one day
With the lessening of her strife.

She can’t remember laughter
Or smiling from her heart.
But God will refund gifts like this;
In time He’ll do His part.
 
It’s then she'll come to realize
That her love is safe and well.
He’s in a place far better
Than the land in which he fell.

Then she will grow to honor
The love that sent him there.
That day she’ll fall on bended knee
And speak to God in prayer.

Then life will once again become
A wonder to be lived . .
Touched by wisps of sadness
When remembering his gift.

Love and children will be hers,
Then joy and laughter too.
She will know that he looks down
And smiles upon his view.

For he is always with her
Even though he’s not in sight.
He’s in the heartbeat of our land,
He’s in our country’s might.

He’s in the vastness of the plains,
In mountains capped with snow.
He’s everywhere that freedom rings;
He’s where 'The Brave Ones' go.

Details | Diane Lefebvre Poem

Old Dog

Fourteen came and went that year and as his light grew dim;
I thought of time so swiftly passed since life gave breath to him.
I stroked him and I held him near, remembering moments flown;
The sunny day, late in spring, when first I brought him home.

This tale not told of canine nerve or valor laced with fame,
Instead the story of two friends and what their lives became.
A story of long years attending one another’s cause,
Baths and brushes, meals and play, wet fur and muddy paws.

A young dog then, almost a pup: all full of fun and play.
Embedded in my heart so deep; I hoped he'd always stay.
Each early morn we'd walk our walk to tend the needs of day, 
Before I earned our daily bread, those many miles away.

And every time I left my home, the last that I would see,
A faithful face in window space: waiting there for me.
Still sitting there in patient pose at time of each day’s end.
The little dog back in his place; my loyal, canine friend.

After dinner we would take our evening walk for two:
Companions seeing seasons pass, as time so quickly flew.
Then I retired from my work, now with him every day.
Our walks grew few and shorter, with less, much gentler play.

Soft brown eyes at one time bright, grew milky with his failing sight.
Ears still perked for every sound, began to let the old dog down.
Then came the day his body said his spirit should be free: 
Allowed to soar to lofty heights, while I must stay and grieve.

With all the love and courage, the good Lord could provide;
I stood and held my dear old friend: I wept and then he died.
I sit, reflect, relive our time; I was his joy and he was mine.
And with all this, these thoughts old friend; I'll tell you now,
as I told you then . . .

On down the road and around a bend, where there's no painful, 
certain end; God's will, we'll do it all again!


© 2015 Diane Lefebvre

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The Face In the Window

Many years have passed on by since the 'happening' on that night.
Long before huge bigfoot feet were causing such a fright.
A humid eve and very warm, yet simply summer fare. 
I'd left the draperies open to let in late cool night air.

My spouse was in the land of nod with me not far behind.
That feeling one gets just before sleep makes the mind go blind.
But something caused me waken and I did so with a start.
The lump I felt deep in my throat was the pounding of my heart.

For peering through my window and pressed up against the screen,
Was a face of neither man nor beast, but something in between.
And was I fully on my game; I think I might have fled,
But reflex over came my fear, as I lurched from out my bed.

And in that following instant, lacking reason, rhyme or grace;
I grabbed the draperies in my hands and slammed them in its face.
Next I raced from out the room and every light got lit.
Collapsed with heart still pounding to ignite my cigarette.

I used my freshly muddled mind to think about the sight.
This creature need be nine feet tall to peer inside that night.
I reasoned with myself the facts, contained within the scene 
And then convinced my addled brain, it had to be a dream

No way could I describe him, nor for all the years to come.
But when I learned of bigfoot; I surmised it might be one.
I kept the 'happening' to myself, so not to scare my sons,
As summer slowly strolled on by with blaze of fall to come.

Then nearly two weeks later; I was awakened in the night, 
As the screaming of my oldest son, was subjected to my fright.
A face peered in his window, even though his bunk was tall.
The creature was the one I’d seen, same face, great height and all.

My son is now a granddad with slight memory of that time;
The summer of the creature thing, when he was eight or nine.
With all those years behind me; I still wonder what took place? 
In the open bedroom window, with that awful bigfoot face.

© 2015 Diane Lefebvre

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The Seagulls Commute

I commute down the highway quite early each morn:
South toward the seashore, days work to be done.
Half way to the ocean, traveling north through the sky;
A large flock of sea gulls, passes me by.

They too have their work load cut out for the day:
At the nearest large land-fill, on their ravenous way.
Traveling ever far inland away from the sea:
They will spend the day scouring town dumps for debris.

The hours pass slowly: comes the end of my day,
I drive the same highway to a home far away.
I see in the distance flying back to the shore;
The same flock of seagulls, but hungry no more.

I can never help smile when I meet them again,
These feathered shoplifters, heading where I have been.
Life's very well ordered for these ‘foul’ of the sea,
Who each day earn a living, stealing smelly debris.

Dusk finds them at shore line with short, squawk filled flights,
They will then disappear to where gulls go at night.
And with a new morning; I will greet them once more:
On their way to those landfills, from their home at the shore.