Tag Archive | love

She and Me

***** She and Me


Humans love their dogs, it’s
true; mine was a caring child,
and I a Newfoundland mild.

In early months, I eagerly ran,
but her frailty halted play
in an overly vigorous way.

She was fanciful and sat alone,
plain, weak, but never dull.
At my side was she, just to mull.

I was larger and black, and
loved to run, fetch, and catch
even when she would shut the latch.

Left to run from the yard, where to?
She likely would fairly stew
if I chose to pass through.

Besides, where would I go?

Lying still, she seemed to contemplate
for hours; as I grew, I knew her ways
of hide and seek from very bad days.

A walk to her was reason to think
and pray. I would willingly go,
then we’d come back so very slow.

The sweetest personality, a smile,
She’d call, “Here, girl”, as my friend.
Every day I hoped we’d never end.

But I knew a twilight ever called;
that life was weak and small, and love
would wane through a whisper from above.

Something evil was amiss for her,
it seemed; let me not be afraid
before that time to come, I prayed.

Because where would I go?

So many nights now are very long;
she shivers and shudders an eye
while I ask myself faintly, “Why?”

When first we’d met, I admit
I roamed a dirty, sheltered cage
while she was free and thrice my age.

Soon it was clear as sun is to
the growing rose; after we’d met,
Newfie black, girlie white, we were set.

Days we’d walk and talk and play;
never in doubt with her low giggle
as I would do a shake and a wiggle.

I’d thought that first day to give her a whirl;
to be her Newfie in a lifetime borrowed!
Now I only hope she’ll wake upon the morrow.

Because where would I go?




Poem and Photo from the personal and copyrighted collection of Barbara Anne Helberg


Lost Love

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***** Lost Love, East and West

He’d long abided in Vermont’s winters;
she arrived from Ohio in mid-May.

There never was a doubt,
fiery first meeting to end,
they would lose a final bout.

They were as different as night
is to day, as marble is to clay.

New Englander, Midwesterner,
in love after second glance, were
doomed to a romance’s chance.

They never could survive, even as
Autumn’s sunset touched their lives.
Still, they plunged together.

Days relinquished Autumn hues,
dwindling into snowy December;
they moved to May, ignoring clues.

Differences of mind fired red-hot
in their aching heart of hearts.

Their arguments were unrefined,
struggles of strength beyond reason.

In Green Mountain winter woods
their babies were born, a blue-eyed
son, a dark-haired daughter to mourn.

Days went gray around the child
who remained, not the cause
of their loss, but neither the cure.

Their deep love, unstable at best,
could not somehow last the rest
of the year of their daughter’s death.

Their agreement to part was hard
fought, as any of their days of rage.

Love’s cruel loss, their choice
from the start, closed before the ebb
of another May. All was past.


Poem and Photo from the personal and copyrighted collection of Barbara Anne Helberg


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If you could change who you are at a snap of your fingers, who would you be…?

Discovery is change, but is change discovery? Would you change if you could? Why doesn’t self-discovery prompt change?

***** Changes

We dream of change, love for change…
We change love…

But when change happens,
we fail to embrace it…

The winds of emotion blow us awry…
We think less of the change and more
of the fears of change…

And we change not, but become
more of what we are.


Poem and Photo from the personal and copyrighted collection of Barbara Anne Helberg