Marie Williams' Poems


Appearances – the Deceivers
By Marie Williams

Appearances can be deceiving
They are not always what they seem.
A women doesn't look pregnant
Three weeks after conception.
Poles and steel sticking out of the ground
Don't look like skyscrapers.
A tiny dried up seed
Doesn't look like an enormous tree.
Blank sheets of paper
Don't look like a best-selling novel.
An ugly brown cocoon
Doesn't look like a beautiful vibrant butterfly.
An empty house filled with rooms
Doesn't look like a home.
A dusty bag of self-rising flour
Doesn't look like a happy birthday cake.
A dirty rock dug out of a mine
Doesn't look like a sparkling diamond.
What you see in the mirror today
Is not necessarily
Who you will be tomorrow.

A Present Help
By Marie Williams

It was the night of a revival
I had given the Lord my best.
Inside, God was really blessing
but the weather outside was a mess.

After the service was over
I entered my car to go home.
I ran into a flooded street
and I was in my car alone.

The water underneath my car
moved up, causing it to stall.
Outside it was dark and gloomy
and I didn't have anyone to call.

Instantly, a favorite scripture
began to enter my mind.
Jesus is a present help,
it doesn't matter the time.

I called on God out loud
saying, Father help me please.
I had no time for long prayers.
I could not get down on my knees.

It seemed like out of now where,
I saw the bright lights of a truck.
I knew that God was answering my prayer.
I knew that this wasn't just luck.

The truck pulled up behind me.
His front end touched the back of my car.
He pushed me out of the water
and wait for it to start.

Once he heard my engine turn
he left as mysteriously as he came.
I sat there for a little while.
I had to praise God's Holy name.

I made it home safely that night.
I was careful as I drove down each street.
I thank the Lord for showing himself
as my help in a time of need.

Big Mama
By Marie Williams

Her old gnarled hands
pat dough into fluffy biscuits.
Gnarled hands
that gave a thousand tend touches.
Her heavy breast sag
deflated remnants
of the life givers that they once were.
Her dimmed eyes
concentrate on the task at hand,
never showing a hint
of the countless tears they have shed,
as they bear a twinkle
and a river of compassion.
Her shaky voice
hums an old spiritual song;
the same voice that never
uttered a negative word
only words of comfort and hope.
Her head is crowned with
snow white hair,
each strand, a testament of concern
for those she loves.
She bends over and carefully places
her master pieces into the oven.
As she straightens,
she places her hand on the small of her back.
A back now curved by time
that once stood proud and strong.
To others
she is one in a number
of many old forgotten women.
Mediocre, elderly, nothing out of the ordinary
but to me, she is a paragon of love.

Home Free
By Marie Williams

The sky is my roof
and the sun is my heat.
The grass is my bed
and the dew is my sheet.

I eat what's leftover
in the trash or on a bench.
A tree is my restroom
if I'm in a pinch.

I wash in gas stations.
Brush my teeth in a pool.
My deodorant is air.
Leaves are napkins, if I drool.

The rain is my shampoo.
The wind dries my hair.
My clothes come from shelters
or I guess I'd be bare.

I once worked a job
and lived in a home,
but the pressure of living
finally caused me to roam.

Lice are my enemies
and the rats are my foe.
How did this happen,
you probably want to know?

Not everyone can cope
with the stress of a day.
It was just too hard
to keep working for pay.

My mind stay clouded
with one thing or another.
My nerves broke down
so I lived with my brother.

He didn't like working
to take care of me.
He tried a few nursing homes
but none of them were free.

So he put me back out
to fend for myself.
I had no one to turn to.
I tried everything else.

So, the sky is my roof
and the sun is my heat.
I am sure I will die
living here on the street.

By Marie Williams

Dust settles on a cracked picture frame
surrounding an image of smiling lovers.
An embroidered wedding dress
hangs on the back of a closet door
yellowing with each passing day.
Dried red roses lay flat
in the pages of a novel
written during a time of love and war.
A delicate laced handkerchief,
hiding secrets of happy tears,
lay on an antique dresser
across the room.
Three pair of bronzed baby shoes
grace the mantel of the fireplace.
An elderly woman covered by
a handmade quilt rocks slowly
in a chair near a window.
As she gazes out,
she leans her head back and smiles.
The moments of joy have passed,
but the memories live on.

By Marie Williams

I love rich, beautiful colors
and songs that are written for me.
I love the beauty of nature
and the calmness of the sea.

I love the brilliant moon
as it shines among the stars.
I love the open fields
dressed in flowers near and far.

I love the vivid rainbow
and the gentle falling rain.
I love the flying sparrows
and the deer on the terrain.

I love the beautiful sun sets
and the snow when it falls.
I love the majestic mountains,
that is why I created them all.

I created all this beauty
to share with "you" my child.
Take some time in your life
to enjoy it for a while.

Heaven is a glorious place
filled with beauty to its girth,
but I want you to enjoy the treasures
that I've created for you on earth.

Fate and Faith
By Marie Williams

Heavy was the heart of the lonely one.
Empty were his arms and thirsty were his lips.
Yearning, he woke to the mediocrity of another day.
Questions whirled around in his mind
seeking, reaching for answers
that would fill his empty soul.
He no longer believed in fate or faith
because both had failed him miserably so far.
Passion nagged at his taut nerves
as his need to be fulfilled consumed his body.
Maybe today would be his day. Probably not.
He dressed for work
then inhaled a quick breakfast
of toast and juice.
The rain outside symbolized
the sentiments of his heart.
Numb, he conducted business as usual.
The day was finally over.
Remembering that he needed a new tie
he stopped by the mall on the way home.
With purchases in hand,
he walked to his car mentally preparing himself for
another placid, lonely evening.
Deep in thought, he did not see the car
seeking a parking place.
It stopped within inches of his knees.
Startled from his reverie,
he looked at the driver seeking some explanation
for what just happened.
She floated from the car like an angel.
Apologizing, she checked his body for signs of damage.
When she completed her task, she looked up at him.
He looked down into two of the most beautiful
concerned, tender eyes that he had ever seen.
Beautiful, she was absolutely perfect.
Their encounter in the parking lot only took minutes,
but the minutes lead to hours filled with
dinners, endless phone conversations,
cherished intimate moments
and a life filled with such love
he had only dreamed about it.
Never again would he doubt fate or faith,
because they had both rewarded him well.

The Key
By Marie Williams

He ran straight into a wall
when he tried to enter my heart.
He couldn't get past the bars.
I warned him from the start.

I'm not the "loving" kind,
I belong to only me.
I will be your special friend,
only if you agree

To accept me on my terms.
I had this elaborate list.
I gave him the choice
to leave if he wished.

No, I'll stay with you
he said with a little frown.
I wasn't going to give an inch
as I doggedly stood my ground.

We had many conversations
about the ups and downs of life.
We got along just fine
until he said the word "wife".

I shut down like a car
that had run out of gas.
I wouldn't return his calls,
claimed he was moving much to fast.

He said that he was sorry,
didn't mean to scare me away.
Slowly, I came back around
and we talked nearly every day.

He was so sweet and kind.
He had such a gentle touch.
I fought hard as I could.
I didn't want to care too much.

He was killing me with kindness
He was generous and attentive too.
I felt my resolve melting
and I didn't know what to do.

The first time that he kissed me
it was warm and inviting.
He held me in his arms.
He was tender and exciting.

No!, I screamed to myself.
You'll just get hurt again.
Don't be a fool twice.
Don't let this man get in.

But I found myself wanting
to always have him near.
He was special and understanding.
I felt cherished and especially dear.

I threw caution to the wind
and yielded my heart to him.
I was willing to bear the pain
if it meant sharing love again.

I have never once regretted
letting him into my heart.
His love unlocked my prison
and game my life a new start.

"The Key," Copyright © 2012 by Marie Williams
Posted May 23, 2012

By Marie Williams

I was climbing a fence the other day
when my foot slipped and I fell down.
I tried to hold on, but it was too hard;
I scraped my hand on the ground.

The other children laughed at me.
They made me feel very bad.
When I got home from school that day,
Mom asked, why was I so sad.

I told her all about the fence
and the way that I slipped and fell.
I thought that she would be mad at me
or fuss and start to yell.

She didn't yell or fuss at all.
She said everything would be ok.
Then she wrapped me in her arms
and all of the pain went away.

I didn't care that the kids had laughed
and said I was clumsy and small.
The hug that my mother gave to me
had made up for it all.

"The Hug," Copyright © 2012 by Marie Williams
Posted May 24, 2012

By Marie Williams

What do you mean
he disrespected you?
Just because he said
he didn't like your new shoes?

What do you mean,
you don't take no mess?
So you took three bullets
and put them in his chest.

What do you mean,
you don't give a care,
If you die in a prison
and at walls, you stare?

What do you mean,
you just did what was right?
Whatever happened to talking
or a plain fist fight?

What do you mean
you stood up for yourself?
Because of one statement,
you put your life on a shelf.

For a stupid pair of shoes
you have taken a life.
You have nothing left now
but despair and strife

You will sit in a prison
until you rot deep within,
for a pair of new shoes
that you will never wear again.

"Stupid," Copyright © 2012 by Marie Williams
Posted May 24, 2012

Contact Us   ||    Home | Poets | Poems | The Group | News | Poetry Lab    || © Copyright Glenn Currier, 2011