Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

A Thanksgiving poem, written 40 years ago – but still very relevant!


A Country Thanksgiving

A country Thanksgiving’s

the most glorious kind.

For we saw the food raised,

from the stalk and the vine.

We are no stranger

to the hoe and the plow.

We’ve each known hard labor,

and sweat on our brow.

But that labor’s behind us

the crops are all in.

Let’s humble ourselves

and be thankful again.

For the food on the table

a result of our task.

And for strength for the labor

a labor now past.

Father, a blessing,

we know we’ve received here.

You’ve shown us Your mercy

throughout the past year.

And on through the future

please show us the way.

As we strive more to serve You

with each passing day.

Betty J. Newman ©1976

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The following poem just reflects our lives here on the farm. I wrote this more than 25 years ago when our older son was about 6. It speaks of our faith – but hey – that’s who we are. (If you’re like-minded click on the link to my Prayerlogue ministry blog).


Flour on the Bible


While filling up my flour bowl

a job I sometimes dread,

My older son (who always helps)

turned to me and said,

“Mama, you got flour on your Bible,

seems it’s always in the way.”

I smiled and said, “No son,

I need to read it every day.”


Since the kitchen is my “home court”

where I spend most all my time,

With my Bible and my coffee cup

every morning you will find,

That when I get them off to work and school

and before another deed,

I lean back in my rocking chair

and sip my coffee while I read.


A woman gives and gives and gives,

then has to give some more.

Not only must I meet my needs,

I need a reservoir!


So my Bible’s in the kitchen

giving strength for each new day,

and filling up

an extra cup

if needed on the way.


And if some food gets spilled along

I’ll wipe it with a breeze

So far it’s nothing major,

just watch that syrup, please!


©Betty Newman


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A friend of mine posted some photos on Facebook of beautiful front porches… and what’s a front porch without a swing? It reminded me of this poem.


The Front Porch Swing

The reward for a day

Of hard work or hard play,

As the night creatures begin to sing,

I escape to the front porch swing.


Lightening bugs aimlessly dotting the night,

I smile as the children

squeal with delight,

As they chase the elusive whispers of light,

knowing, I’ve done the very same thing.


No other tonic,

no drug or no pill,

can soothe the soul like a porch swing will.

Sitting alone in the cool night air,

somehow begins to calm the cares,

that have worried me most of the day.


But a swing is for more

than worry or pain.


far more,

than I could ever




In days gone by, to sit with a date,

on Mama’s porch swing

and patiently wait,

for that stolen kiss

oh what a thrill.


No, nothing makes memories

like a porch swing will.


I’ve sat many times

with my mother-in-law

After working together

or not working at all,

enjoying the time, just having a ball.


Yes, a swing does a lot for a friendship.


Whether breaking beans,

Or folding clothes,

I’d rather be sitting

(The Good Lord Knows)

On the front porch swing when the chores are done,

Than anywhere else under the sun.


I’ve come to my swing

as a mother-to-be,

And felt my babies kicking me,

I’ve marveled at their tenacity,

and the miracle about to unfold.


Then later as I held them to my breast

I would gently swing

Almost holding my breath.

And with each child, it was still the same,

A sense of wonder and awe.



In this swing

I’ve kissed many hurts,

I’ve wiped many tears,

I’ve said many prayers,

I’ve calmed many fears.

I’ve watched the rain gently soaking the land,

I’ve watched my reflection

in a gold wedding band.


So, with my first cup of coffee,

in the morning light,

or holding hands with my husband \

in the cool of the night,

No place on earth can the joy bring,

like the memories I’ve made on a front porch swing.

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