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Sonia Walker Poem
To Nome! To Nome!
The mushers are far from home.
Winding ribbon of snow,
Iditarod Trail is hard to tow,
Blowing wind smacking faces,
As they pick up their paces,
Vying for their pot-of-gold.
To Nome! To Nome!
The mushers are far from home.
Full moon at night,
Dogs' and racers' silhouettes in sight,
A picture of friendship is shown by light,
Determination and tired feet,
All dream of resting on a soft seat.
To Nome! To Nome!
The mushers are far from home.
As early daylight appears,
Sunlight peeks and gives a smile,
To the teams who have rested awhile,
Knowing they are ready,
Hitting the trail fast and steady.
To Nome! To Nome!
The mushers are far from home.
Dogs pick up the scent
Of moose who will not relent,
Stubborn and snorting and ready to charge
The barking visitors at large,
Annoyed and angry at the barge.
To Nome! To Nome!
The mushers are far from home.
Moose behind them and many miles,
The teams look ahead and see
The deep snow piles,
Feeling hearty and hale,
Bounding over hill and dale.
To Nome! To Nome!
The mushers are far from home.
Quiet is gone and replaced by shouts,
Of well wishers who have no doubts,
Watching the jubilant winner pass
Under Nome's burled arch in glory,
Making a March headline story.
Copyright © Sonia Walker | Year Posted 2016
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Sonia Walker Poem
prairie grass swaying
gently to the wind's music
in step with its beat
Copyright © Sonia Walker | Year Posted 2016
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Sonia Walker Poem
Streamers in the sky,
etched deeply as they contrast
against the pale blue,
breaking up the monochromatic
ceiling with its white streaks,
a criss-crossing interception
trying to erase each other from above,
a temporary display which lasts for
a few hours until determined clouds
decide to camouflage the unwelcome
intrusion by upstaging with their
slow-motion dance of drifting cotton balls.
March 5, 2017
Copyright © Sonia Walker | Year Posted 2017
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Sonia Walker Poem
Creative musing enthralls her psyche,
minute thoughts dance before her eyes,
waiting to be written before they
go astray within the confines of the mind
where cobwebbed effigies shadow her
enlightenment.
Gestation occurs, words labor to be born,
one minute adhering to the womb of her intellect,
the next forcing their way through her artistic
birth canal shouting to be heard
and shared by others who utter joy at the
rebirth.
Copyright © Sonia Walker | Year Posted 2016
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Sonia Walker Poem
In my travels among the roads of life,
I stumbled upon pathos, sadness and strife,
Sometimes I headed down the byway without a thought,
Not caring of the consequences and misdeeds which brought
Broken promises, hurtful words and lack of trust,
My soul cried out in despair dear Lord reach me if you must.
This spirit of mine was begging for a new life and a clear path to follow,
I prayed to Jesus on my knees to cleanse my soul of wallow,
Asking him to lead me to the passage of righteousness,
And that the despair was replaced by the light of blessedness,
It was a welcome beacon at the end of the rocky climb
For Jesus helped me shed the sins of grime.
I was led to the fork in the road by our Lord and His Son,
Showing me the direction of hope which had begun
A new lifetime to develop a bridge of spiritual strength,
Growing stronger each day and spanning the length
With a heart filled with faith, joy and blessed assurance
And knowing that the walk is guided by love and endurance.
Favorite Scripture: Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path.
Psalm 119:105
Copyright © Sonia Walker | Year Posted 2016
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Sonia Walker Poem
Sitting on the front porch in the evening shade,
strumming on a flattop guitar that was made
to play along with a country song
about a sad heart who was done wrong.
Old Shep beats his tail to the tune,
enjoying the breeze and the croon
of the melodic voice which fills the air,
encouraging the birds to sing with flair.
Friendly neighbors stop by to listen with glee
to the one-man show which is free,
there isn't anything he can't play,
taking all requests on any day.
Favorites are heard and the group is a part
of the dusk-like entertainment considered art,
joining together with voices raised up high,
taking a walk down memory lane with a sigh.
Sitting on the front porch in the evening shade
is a summertime thought that will not fade,
singing along with the guitar,
making sounds in unison near and far.
Copyright © Sonia Walker | Year Posted 2016
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Sonia Walker Poem
Proudly he stands,
the centurion of stone,
alone in his battleground
where winds drape their
coolness against his
sun-baked smile unbreaking
as he defies the forces
opposing his decades of being,
dauntless in his pose,
he holds his thrusting sword
towards a ghostly foe.
Copyright © Sonia Walker | Year Posted 2017
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Sonia Walker Poem
I am the crocheting granny,
the one who carries ample hooks
within a floral bag and yarn-a-plenty,
making baby blankets from how-to books.
I am the crocheting granny,
who looks forward to learning new stitches,
creating patterns of colorful design,
until I stumble upon some glitches.
I am the crocheting granny
who frequents all the hobby stores,
searching for sales to satisfy my need
as I walk briskly through their doors.
I am the crocheting granny
who enjoys attending baby showers,
sharing my hand-made gifts with delight
which my fingers worked for hours.
I am the crocheting granny,
finding delight in all my projects,
spanning over the years,
cherishing my hobby objects.
December 14, 2017
Copyright © Sonia Walker | Year Posted 2017
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Sonia Walker Poem
the sea is fickle
tides of high, low, ebb and flood
depending on mood
Copyright © Sonia Walker | Year Posted 2016
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Sonia Walker Poem
blue jay in the yard
boisterous and beautiful
prima donna act
May 9, 2020
Copyright © Sonia Walker | Year Posted 2020
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