This is a blog in honor of my husband’s grandmother, Mildred Ballard. Grandma wrote poetry. A lot of poetry. In the course of her life, I can’t even begin to imagine how much she wrote. It has been over 10 years since Grandma Mickey passed on from this world and went to be with her Heavenly Father. In that time, boxes of her poetry have been stored in our home. In an effort to clear out some boxes, and honor her wish for publication, I am going to be posting one or two of her poems on this blog each day. After they are posted, the paper — or the church bulletin, or the post-it note, or the napkin, or (well, you get the idea) — that she wrote it on will be let go from our home. I openly admit that some of these poems are wonderful. Some of them are eclectic. Some, I simply do not get. However, I can promise you that every one of them was written from the heart of a woman that loved life and beauty and her family…and above all else…she loved God.   Enjoy.

In Loving Memory
Mildred Edith Ballard
1909-1997

The Incredible Rockies

The setting sun bathes each ethereal promontory
With a rosy radiance of resplendent glory;
The mountain air is fresh and exhilarating:
A special gift from the Great Creator,
An added “lift” to the joy, creating.

The incredible rock-formations, of the scene
In panorama, make us wonder
As we ponder in breathless ecstasy
The infinity of design, a “sign” from deep antiquity:
A “Bible” ~ a revelation of a Great Creator Mind.

Some formations resemble ancient temples,
Some, great Cathedral spires,
They exist in breathtaking beauty;
They persist for thousands of miles,
Without repetition. Their awesomeness inspires!

The full-length, incredible distance,
Of this great continent, tip to top,
In undulating beauty, rise and dip!
Interminable in number, their immensity
Is matched by their variety.

No language could express the infinity
Of design.
The rock, intersperses with hemlock,
Fir, and spruce, and pine,
Thousands of breath-catching acres
Of throat-aching beauty!

What majestic, gigantic, incredible Hand,
Could have planted all these?
Thousands and thousands of acres
Of trees!

Some trees piece the rock and grow
Through it, although the rock is deep
And high and immense.

Humanly speaking, it defies common sense.

Soul Power

Though I am weak and sinful
And have no significance:
Like one atom in one grain of stand
On the shores of Eternity.

My soul is a strong and mighty tower;
For my Great God has shaped it
In His image, and created it with Power;
His Power is in my for good.

Greater it is, than the power of the atom.
For good is stronger than evil.
I am His child.
And you are, too.

Like fresh roses
That sparkle with the dew.

We are His anointed
Whom He had appointed
His wondrous work to do.
His Power is in you, too!

It’s vast!
I am aghast
At what my God can do
In me! In you!

Psalm 28:7-9

True Value

To some I must seem a mess
Because over and over I wear the same dress!
It’s what’s under the clothes that counts.
So what you are inside, amounts
To more than the clothes you wear.

Some people’s skin’s not the color of mine
But what’s inside determines their worth
If they have pure hearts, the skin of their birth
By God’s design, does not tell their true worth.

The paint on the barn, may hide decay.
It’s what’s inside
That saves the hay.

Wall Street Yo-Yo

Frenzy!
Excitement!
The market is up!
Borrow more to invest;
Embezzle.
(Easy to put back)
Steal.
Cheat.
Grab while you can.

Oh-h-h!
It’s down again:
Can’t quit now!
Lose everything . . .
Embezzle more
Steal again . . .

Up Up again
Make a real killing!
Richest American!
Power! Prestige!
Steal still more
Oh-oh!
Down again!
Wall to wall people
Swarming; venomous;
Angry bees;

Crash!
Weeping,
Cursing,
Praying,
Slashing,
Gouging,
Slugging,
stabbing.

Who held the yo-yo?
Who pulled the strings?

Of all the treasures the heart can hold:
Of life or health or wealth or art
The purest gold is the glow in the heart
That is left by a gift of love.

He Restoreth My Soul

What incredible splendor!
What marvelous rapture!
To create a shining sould
All perfect, pure, and beautiful!
Sins all forgiven!
Newborn, as fresh as morning dew!
Ecstatic, thrilled, pulsating, new,
And filled with joy divine!
Such loveliness, such peace is mine!
No wealth, no jewel of the mine
So precious! And it’s free!
God’s wondrous gift to you! To me!
To all who love and follow Him,
In rich communion sweet.
Obey His will, kneel at His feet
Forsaking pride, and being meditative.
Oour Heavenly Maestro, great Creative
Genius of th Soul, who made it
Can restore it whole, replete
With freshness, beautiful, pristine!
No soul so vile, so black, so mean
He can’t redeem it, give it worth!
Give it new hope, new life, new birth!
He will restore your soul! And make it pure.
“He restoreth my soul,” how safe, secure,
I feel, because I know.

Psalm 23

Chrysalis

How often I have found the crisp, beige hull that a locust has shed;
I’m sure that you have, too: the form was there, but empty
Like an old deserted house or cast-off empty shoe,
Battered and worn, or like an ancient garment tattered and torn.

And so, some day, (how soon I do not know)
This shell of flesh, decadent, I shall shed.
(They’ll say, “She’s dead.”)
This wrinkled, shrivelled hull I’ll throw aside. . .
And then emerging whole again
All fresh and new and beautiful
As new-born chrysalis, all crystalled-silver in the dawn,
Or, like the fresh-distilled dew of awe-breath morn,
I’ll be reborn.

All perfect in the radiant dawn I’ll rise;
And you will, too!
Beyond the iridescent skies
We’ll live anew.

1995

From the Eternal

In the soft gentleness,
And the kind tenderness,
Of Spring’s warm caress,
Before the rigors of summer
And winter have come,
Wise plan of the Sculptor-Creator!

So with us – we are protected in youth
And nurtured in our springtime of life
So that we can be “tough”
For the rigors and “rough”;
And the strife
That come later.
Oh, wise Creator!

Incredible, Inexpressible, Ineffable: The Resurrection Glory!

Joy to the world
The Lord is Ris’n!
Broken is His deathly prison.
Hosanna to His glorious name!
Alleluia! Alleluia! Raise His fame
To Heaven’s portals,
Let it shine with the immortals!
Glory! Glory! All creation,
Till with love and adoration,
Deepest cadences of ocean
And music of the whirling spheres
Flow in torrents of devotion!
Joyous laughter! Joyous tears!
Bursting hearts with exultation,
Incredulous with sheer relief!
Left behind the night of anguish
With its ebony of grief!
Christ the Lord is risen today!

The Easter Miracle

All the pain-filled earth is stilled:
The sad, sad earth where Christ’s blood was spilled
And where a bitter mob had milled,
Two days ago, about His cross.
The world’s sad loss!
Suddenly, now, that air is filled
With music trilled
From the cedar trees.
The birds seem thrilled
With expectancy, a shining hope:
An earth-wide effervescent scope
Of dramatic pageantry!
The dew distilled
From the cold earth, chilled,
Is freezing into frost.
(All . . . all seems lost.)

The morn is gray; no faintest breeze
Has stirred the lovely olive trees.
The pearly-iridescent tints
Of morning give but the faintest hints
Of the drama to unfold;
When from the saddened “gray-wool” sky,
An angel rends its somber fold
And gracefully floating to the tomb,
With effortless magic breaks the seal,
(The emporer’s seal — that’s death to break)
And rolls the stone away,
The ponderous, forbidding stone
That sealed the dead that day.
That awful day, that saddest day,
When Christ was crucified.

With spices rich, the women came
His body to anoint
The well-loved body of their Lord.
(But there’s a “disappoint”!)
“Who’ll roll the stone away?”
“He is not here, for He is risen”
They hear the angel say.
The Savior, released form His prison:
His earthly robe of clay,
Has brought us Everlasting Life;
Has given us Easter Day.

Awesomeness

The elms are a mist of filmy green:
There’s the flash of a blue-black-satin wing,
And the tang of snow still lingering
In the breezes that flow
From the mountain peak,
And a bird with a straw
In her motherly beak.
There’s a mystical, magical, silent hush
Hovering over the forest and lake
And the frozen river:
It’s the Gift of Life
From the Silent Giver:
Majestic, thrilling, awesome Giver!

‘Neath the sacred sky
There’s a breathless hush:
A mysterious silence
As if the brush of an angel wing
Were passing by.

Spring 1985