A Bride's Tribute

I did not believe it would happen,
And my journey on this plane,
Would be one of sorrow,
Loneliness and pain.

I believed that I would walk alone,
My heart and soul unfulfilled.
My life full of yearning
For love’s ecstatic thrill.

And then one day you came along.
I stood as if in a trance,
As you held your hand out to me –
“May I have this dance?”

As hands touched in music’s embrace
I knew that I’d come home.
My heart sighed with completion.
I was no longer alone.

I stood at the entrance and took a breath,
My soul and heart soared.
A tuxedo-clad arm steadied me,
As I walked slowly to my adored.

Step, stop, step, stop
Here finally was love.
I’d found my harbor, a safe place to rest,
Within a magic cove.

© 2014 Debra Shiveley Welch

Sweetheart

You asked me
the other day,
what I would like
for Valentine’s Day.

My answer is simple,
and straight to the truth…
for Valentine’s Day,
I want only you.

You spend the whole year
doing things just for me:
you fill my tank,
my windshields are clean.

You lift heavy loads
you don’t want me to try,
you remind me daily,
that you are my guy.

So, for this Valentine’s Day,
I promise, my dear –
the fridge will be stocked
with your favorite beer,

Cheetos in bowls,
slippers on your feet,
me beside you
to make it complete.

I know you will come home
with flowers and wine,
and a beautiful card
to tell me you’re mine.

You’ll have reservations
to a lovely restaurant,
but let me tell you, my love,
what I really want.

A strong arm around me,
you by my side
for the next fifty years –
the rest of our lives.

Your beautiful smile,
when you walk in the door,
that tells me you’ve missed me
as much, if not more,

than I have missed you
through the course of the day.
You’re finally home!
Kiss me right away!

It’s Valentine’s Day
the entire year through,
so on the fourteenth, my sweet darling,
I want only you.

©2009 Debra Shiveley Welch

Love’s Journey

Music’s crescendo
Circle complete
The sway of it
Here heat

Timeless movement
Eternal dance
Hearts merge
Romance

Souls warm
Woman and man
Year begets year
Here stand

Love’s glow
Enthrall, yearn
Dream’s echo
Pages turn

Mature and ripe
Memories intact
For better, for worse
Love’s act

© 2014 Debra Shiveley Welch

Once Upon a Morning Dreary

Once upon a morning dreary,
As I pounded my keyboard, weary
Over some poem with which I was bored,
Slowly sipping my coffee cooling,
Thinking to end a stanza unruly,
I dropped a participial upon the floor.
Oh, ‘tis nothing, sugar rushing,
‘Tis a mistake and nothing more.

Still, I continued with my tapping,
Unceasingly typing, my work unraveling,
Using comma after comma evermore.
Now my brain whirling with my writing,
Adjectives dazzling, so inviting,
Tapping tapping at my keyboard,
My editor crying “Nevermore!”

The sun now moved upon my window,
Silhouetting a stately willow,
Creating in my memory stored,
A lust for wordiness galore.
Still I was tapping, my mind unscrambling,
Quelling spelling evermore.
Quoth my editor “Nevermore!”

Unmoved I continued with my tapping,
Tapping until my fingers sore,
Thrilled me with their swift endeavors,
Using clichés evermore.
Faster, faster, typing now,
Sweat upon my fevered brow,
Ending sentences with prepositions evermore,

Quoth my editor, “Nevermore!”

And my editor, never flinching,
Sits at her computer convincing,
That I am doomed in grammar evermore.
As I tap tap out my sentences,
Semicolons and commas inventive,
My editor shall trust me nevermore.

©Debra Shiveley Welch 2007

I walk the Streets We Walked

I walk the same streets we walked.
Alone.
The emptiness in my breast,
A living thing.
The heels of my shoes,
Pound out
The beat of my heart.
Echoes bounce
Off the walls of my brain.

Faces once familiar pass me by.
I do not recognize them.
The landmarks
Are unchanged.
The world is
The same as before.
Should this be?
How can change
Be unchanged?

You are gone.
Your footsteps
No longer match mine:
Footstep by footstep,
Heartbeat by heartbeat.
I walk these streets alone.
Your spirit has flown
Away from mine.
And I am undone.

© 2008 Debra Shiveley Welch

How I Got Here

“Write a poem,” he commanded,
A pencil hit the desk.
“I want to see if you are able
To come up to the task.”

Eyes wide, cheeks aflame,
I looked down to see
A single stanza – my grandpa’s poem
To be added to by me.

“One day I sat down to see
If I could write some poetry
And found I had a hectic time,
To get the silly stuff to rhyme.”

I pondered each and every line,
Oh, my! How can I add more?
I wanted to please my daddy,
But I’d never done this before.

Like a lightning bolt, it came to me,
The pencil began to fly,
As the words flowed through my brain
I rhymed line after line.

 The clock ticked, the minutes passed,
The paper filled with verse.
I’d re-created the poem
And could certainly have done worse.

My father read my offering,
A smile slowly replaced a frown.
“I think you’ve done it, Dotter,
The legacy has been handed down.”

I’ve written poetry since that day,
With confidence; without fear,
All because of my father –
Now you know how I got here.


© 2011 Debra Shiveley Welch 2011


The poem - written in approximately 10 minutes at age 11


Poetry Problems

One day I sat down to see
If I could write some poetry,
And found I had a hectic time
To get the silly stuff to rhyme.

(Proxy, © 1939 Homer Alva Shiveley)

No words would go either here or there,
They simply refused to go anywhere,
And so with a sad and doleful frown,
I slowly put my pencil down,
Instead of trying to go on again –
I wouldn’t do it at all – if I couldn’t do it then.

Maybe if I had worked long enough,
I could finally have written the kind of stuff
That poets get paid for, every day,
But, no, I had to have it my way.

So I’ll tell you something you all should know,
Don’t every quit 'till you’ve reached your goal.
Don’t do as I did, and quit, just like that.
If at first you strike out, go back up to bat!


© Debra Shiveley Welch 1978/2012

If The World Were New Again

If the world were new again
The air would smell fresh and sweet,
But I would be on the lookout,
For gigantic Mammoth……poop.

All of my food would be fresh,
Each root and fruit a surprise,
I would feast on bison burgers,
But without my curly fries.

I would draw all of my pictures
On the walls of my cave-rnous home,
And when I wanted a new sofa,
I would have to haul in stone.

My garments would be hand made,
I would not shop for what I wear,
I would simply send my man out
To kill a big cave bear.

Our clothing would be simple,
Sewn together with deer bone.
I would sew, cook, and watch the kids,
In my “cozy,” new world home.

Every day I would be a grillin’,
Bobby Flay would be so proud.
No “Kiss the Chef” for hubby.
Only women are allowed.

I would butcher meat, raise the kids,
Forage and scrape hides.
Tan elk skins with deer brains
And put winter food aside.

I would work nonstop from dawn to dusk
Just to keep my people alive.
Guarding my children from the fire,
And hoping that they would thrive.

And when the sun would finally set
At the end of a long, hard day,
I would freshen up the fire,
To keep wild beasts at bay.

I would snuggle down in my furs,
Beneath which bug-ridden grasses lay,
Drawing my small family near,
And then I would………….. WAIT!!!

Thank God, this was just a daydream!  Where is the control to my electric blanket?

©Debra Shiveley Welch - 2009