Hanging Memories

© Jeanne E Webster. All Rights Reserved.


Oh, Lord . . .

Nestled among the Mohawk trails:

My soul absorbed mountain airs

Tickling ancient senses

As I peer heavenward

Releasing my spirituality.


Lord . . .

My youth basked in its adventures:

Sour grass, 4-leaf clovers

Long-reeded grass jungles

Dandelion necklaces and such

Wide-leafed whistles.


Lord  . . .

Memories hang:

In cloudy closets of my mind

Popping into view to

Bolster my aging body


Oh, Lord, how green was my valley!


Are You Smiling?

© Jeanne E Webster. All rights reserved




An old ditty that ran through my head today brought some wise thoughts. Are you a little down today, troubled, burdened or just plain tired? Sing this little song and you’ll soon find the blues dispersed and your troubles less weighty.


“When you’re smilin’….when you’re smilin’
The whole world smiles with you.
And when you’re laughin’…. when you’re laughin’
The sun comes shinin’ through.

But when you’re cryin’…. you bring on the rain
So stop your frownin’….be happy again.
Cause when you’re smilin’….keep on smilin’
The whole world smiles with you!”

~Writers: Goodwin, Joe / Shay, Larry / Fisher, Mark



Psalm 128:1 Blessed is everyone who fears the Lord!



–Jill Spargur

I always wanted a red balloon,
It only cost a dime,
But Ma said it was risky,
They broke so quickly,
And beside, she didn’t have time;
And even if she did, she didn’t
Think they were worth a dime.
We lived on a farm, and I only went
To one circus and fair,
And all the balloons I ever saw
Were there.
There were yellow ones and blue ones,
But the kind I liked the best
Were red, and I don’t see why
She couldn’t have stopped and said
That maybe I could have one–
But she didn’t–I suppose that now
You can buy them anywheres,
And that they still sell red ones
At circuses and fairs.
I got a little money saved;
I got a lot of time,
I got no one to tell me how to spend my dime;
Plenty of balloons–but somehow
There’s something died inside of me,
And I don’t want one—now.


Life and Death Speak

© Jeanne E Webster – All Rights Reserved


The waters overpower us
With ruinous waves so high;
We cling tightly to each other
As lifeless bodies float by.

“Mama! Mama! Help me!”
My little one cries out;
My strength is waning fast
Numbing pain releasing doubt.

Up and down, back and forth
The waves shake us like dolls;
We spit out water to take in air
As the tide our spirit mauls.

My eyes are stuck wide open
My fingers glued to her coat;
She no longer screams “Mama!”
Utter silence swathes her throat.

Prayers of anguish gurgle forth
Amidst the roaring sea spray;
“Oh, my God!” “Help me, Lord!”
Become epithets spoken today.

Menial things matter not anymore
Squabbles are quickly laid aside;
Many to-do’s or forgotten sins
Are swigs for the ravenous tide.

There’s lots of dying, Dear one,
Enough to sate death’s thirst;
Life is clinging to another breath
Till you think you’ll surely burst.

Is this the true “Amen” corner
When all of life is predated?
When the Almighty speaks His word
And reclaims what He’s created?

So be it… from dawn to setting sun;
Life and death speak with one voice:
So be it…Lord Jesus, please come!

[Written on the fourth day after a massive earthquake and ensuing tsunami devastated Japan’s people.]


Except for tops that spin
And books and pomes
And my father’s grin,
I like spaces best of all.
Inside, outside, upside downside,
Narrow spaces where I can crawl.

Inside my house
Under a chair,
Behind a door
In my lion’s lair;
Pausing, whisper like, on a stair,
I listen, hear, and stop to see,
And no one ever knows it’s me.
“Hush,” says my mother. “Is that a mouse?”
When it’s only me, hiding in my house.

My clothes are space, too: a shirt,
My pants,
My socks,
A dress,
A skirt,
And in my shoes, below my clothes
Are spaces there

Outside, my spaces are things that grow:
A tree,
A bush,
A hill of snow.
(Except for rocks, that, as I grow taller,
Seem to shrink and grow much smaller)
I listen, hear, and stop to see.
And no one ever knows it’s me.
“Hear that?” They say! “A hair, a bird.”
When it’s really me, the noise they’ve heard.

But my very favorite space,
Behind my nose,
Behind my face,
Above my ears,
And past my tears,
Way in and back beyond,
Where I sort out my thoughts,
And sighs,
And shouts,
And cries,
That is where I like to be
Because I know that’s really me.
~Author unknown


(photo:  White Shar-Pei Puppy in Box ca. 1996)

Pillow Talk

© Jeanne E Webster – all rights reserved

My pillow is my best friend
Oh yes it sure ‘nuff be
It’s soft an’ so cuddly
So silky an’ snuggly
It helps make me sleepy.

Night or day or naptime
It’s always there for me
It’s lazy an’ so lumpy
So cozy an’ so comfy
How it pleases me.

When day is done I’m tired
Oh yes I sure ‘nuff be
Too daffy an’ so dilly
Silly an’ so nilly
Ole sleepyhead is me!

Thank you, Lord, for pillows
They’re the bestest things
For resting an’ for nesting
Jesting an’ for guesting
Oh, the joys they do bring!




(Check out my free E-Book****

WOMEN OF THE BIBLE: A BRIEF BIOGRAPHICAL GENEALOGY—-http://ebooks.faithwriters.com/ebook-details.php?id=546)

New Year Pause

©Jeanne Webster – All rights reserved

Resolutions, everyone? How about a revelation then? I’m not a great resolutionist of idle thought, but give me revelation of a gap in my relationship with God, I’ll report for duty every time. This New Year I have resolved to intensify my closeness to God. My spirit tells me I need to; my heart rejoices with the thought.

Where do I begin this trek? I think I’ll start with my prayer time. I’ve rather become a mite flippant, a little fiddling instead of a lot of communicating. With a bit of introspection, we could all draw closer to God, don’t you think?

A favorite hymn that always causes me to ponder with wonder:
I Know Whom I Have Believed
~Daniel W. Whittle 1840-1901

I know not why God’s wondrous grace
To me he hath made known,
Nor why, unworthy, Christ in love
Redeemed me for his own.

But I know whom I have believed,
And am persuaded that he is able
To keep that which I’ve committed
Unto Him against that day.


I know not how this saving faith
To me He did impart,
Nor how believing in His Word
Wrought peace within my heart.


I know not how the Spirit moves,
Convincing us of sin,
Revealing Jesus through the Word
Creating faith in Him.


I know not when my Lord may come,
At night or noonday fair,
Nor if I walk the vale with Him,
Or meet Him in the air.


Happy New Year, my friends in Christ.