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Jeanne Berger Poem
Let the paper be a canvas and the pen, a brush
The words fill the mind like a young girl’s blush
Every color on the palette of the imagination
Becomes a vibrant idea of luscious creation
Open a door of stained glass with swans of white
Made more brilliant by the glowing sunlight
Surrounded by a pool of sapphire blue
Water lilies afloat with teardrops of dew
Beyond the door a walled brick terrace of burgundy red
With a gray flagstone floor in which to tread
Terra cotta pots at the edges with mixed colored flowers
Above a dogwood in blooms like a canopy towers
Wide steps lead to a large flowing fountain
Three flowing tiers sparkle like a crystalline mountain
It towers within a large oval pool
A goldfish swimming like a small orange jewel
Beyond the fountain, a cobblestone path
Followed by a fence of latticework lath
An open field on the other side of the fence
Beyond the field is a forest, dark and dense
Two Belgian horses graze on clover patches of red
Near a large gray stone two-story shed
Nearby a pond of sparkling blue
Reflecting the clouds of a dusky pink hue
The blue sky fades into pink streaks of sunset
Turning the forest trees to a darker silhouette
And the grass to bright emerald green
All to create a tranquil pastoral scene
The words fill the mind like young girl’s blush
With the paper as a canvas and the pen, a brush.
Copyright © Jeanne Berger | Year Posted 2007
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Jeanne Berger Poem
On the very darkest night;
The absence of reflected light.
When mortals are asleep in bed;
Mythical creatures begin to tread.
Among the dark and ancient trees,
Only the skillful ever sees.
The tiny fairies begin to dance,
Among their favored trees they prance.
Water sprites jump and play,
Out from the river where they stay.
Leprechauns hide their gold,
That they’ve kept since days of old.
Pixies have the only light,
Their tiny lanterns burning bright.
Elves are busy choosing sticks,
Used to build instead of bricks .
Dwarves are seeking the best stone,
A useful tool they will hone.
The gnomes their with faces droll,
Venture from the grassy knoll.
Beneath the trees they plant the seeds,
Of all the good and noxious weeds.
The little imps are always there,
Making clothes of leaves to wear.
Goblins with their wicked curses,
Try to steal the fairie’s purses.
Trolls beneath the bridges hide,
They carry swords at their side.
Mighty dragons have taken flight,
Eerie wings against the night.
In the thicket, the enchanted unicorn,
In the cover of darkness its foal is born.
In the absence of reflected light,
At the darkest part of night.
On night of the new moon,
These creatures caste a magical rune
Through the years the lore of old,
Became the story forever told.
y
Copyright © Jeanne Berger | Year Posted 2007
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Jeanne Berger Poem
I laid my dreams upon a stone,
To see how far they could be thrown.
Upon the wind, the stone, I cast;
And after many years had past.
I found the stone, but alas,
My dreams had fallen on withered grass.
I gave the grass what I thought it needed.
To God above, through prayer, I pleaded.
With care and nurturing I could see,
My dreams were coming back to me.
Copyright © Jeanne Berger | Year Posted 2007
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Jeanne Berger Poem
I hideaway sometimes in my secret place
A place of true serenity, heartache, there is no trace.
It has a beauty all its own, unlike any place I know.
Just being there a moment sets my heart aglow
There is a gentle stream that babbles like quiet music
The birds join in to sing their comforting, sweet lyric
The trees seem to sway as if to dance along
To the gentle rhythm of nature’s heavenly song.
It is truly a divine and beautiful secret place;
I know that God has blessed it with His holy embrace.
It is a place that belongs to me, it is my very own,
No one else can visit there if I want to be alone.
It is my mind’s peaceful and perfect creation,
To which I have engaged the gift of my imagination.
Copyright © Jeanne Berger | Year Posted 2007
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Jeanne Berger Poem
The house was new on the inside and old on the out.
Busily we arranged and moved things about.
We worked all day until the night set in
We decided to wait till morning to again begin.
I decided to make us something to eat
I went to the kitchen with my dog at my feet.
I managed to prepare a tray full of snacks;
I picked up the tray and stopped dead in my tracks.
I heard a voice ask, “so what’s up with you?”
I thought to my self at least he didn’t say “BOO!”
I looked around and no one was there.
I have to admit it gave me a scare.
A day or two later, I was taking a nap.
I awoke to the sound of a repetitive tap.
I was startled to see someone at the foot of the bed,
A stocky fellow with a beard, flannel shirt and a cap on his head
I looked at him and he looked at me, a moment later he faded away
“I think this house is haunted!” I announced with dismay.
I checked around town and found out his name.
I found that he live in the house before we came.
“Rodney” passed from an accident a few years before;
After that day he appeared he would visit us more.
I don’t mind that he peeks through the bedroom door,
But when he dumps the trash can, I wish he would clean up the floor.
Copyright © Jeanne Berger | Year Posted 2007
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Jeanne Berger Poem
Bridle
Your self-control
Feeling all entitled
Running wild is your selfish goal
Freedom
Copyright © Jeanne Berger | Year Posted 2007
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Jeanne Berger Poem
She stands as a frozen, colorless statue;
But she is pliable as warm clay.
Searching for any remaining virtue,
Hidden in a core of unyielding dismay.
Is a statue formed by its own hand;
Can it chisel its self from the stone;
Or mold its self from clay of the land;
Can it create its self alone?
The artist tries to create the image desired,
Is the creation obliged to the creator,
To become a work that is inspired,
Or the possession of a captor?
The statue waits for unbiased opinion,
From those who may view her with admiration;
To give her strength to create her own dominion,
To be her own muse, her own inspiration.
Copyright © Jeanne Berger | Year Posted 2007
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Jeanne Berger Poem
Stop it, we’re stressed,
Our collective mind, regressed!
Searching for fields of clover,
Flower to flower. over and over.
But those planes full of bug spray,,,
A little of that and we fly astray
We just want to do our job,
But were turning into an aimless mob.
Remember we help to make your food;
Without us you might just be screwed.
And you think we will tell our honey-making facts,
We’re sorry, but that’s none of your beeswax!
So just admit it you need us more than you think,
Were out of sync, we could be gone in a blink.
We can’t find our way to our honeycomb home,
That stuff that you spray makes us aimlessly roam.
Our children need a life that’s serene,
An please, God, help us save the queen!
Copyright © Jeanne Berger | Year Posted 2007
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Jeanne Berger Poem
The sand in a pearl
The lily as it unfurls
See the soul within
Copyright © Jeanne Berger | Year Posted 2007
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Jeanne Berger Poem
The haunting coo of a mourning dove
Shrouded in a rainy haze
A burdened heart seems void of love
Recalling carefree days
The cup that is held is empty now
With no one to refill
The promise once kept, now disavowed
And blamed upon God’s will.
Looking out with hollow eyes
Behind them, an anguished mind
Calling out with silent cries
With no relief to find
The burdened heart has left its song
To the laments of the mourning dove
In hopes that angels come along
And carry it to the Lord above
Copyright © Jeanne Berger | Year Posted 2007
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