The Afgan

Different colors of bright yarn -
Brought together for one purpose.
To keep me warm is their job.

So many colors, so many memories,
Every time I look at it, I think of so many things.
All the time it took me, and all the family who watched,
All the women the yarn belonged to,
Before it came to me.

My Great-Grandma Jensen,
A most wonderful person she was.
She was always ready with cookies
Whenever we went there.

My Grandma Bateman,
Still a great lady, always willing to help me
With whatever I need her for.

My great-grandma Barton,
Her, I never knew
My great-aunt Rula,
I never met her, but I’m sure she was amazing.

And finally my Mom,
Who bought me the black and white yarn.
And always encouraged me to keep going,
And reach toward my dreams.

So many memories in one afghan,
They all come flooding back,
Someday, I’ll tell my kids of all of them
As they lay there, and the afghan’s job changes,
It now keeps them warm.

I'm making another one, three times as large, and I just have all these feelings again. So I thought I'd put this up. Hope you like it.

The Lathe Spins

The lathe keeps spinning around and around

It’s hard to remember it’s not tearing me down.

I need to remember I’ve been sent to this land

To be turned and molded by the master’s hand.

Remember the sawdust falling to the ground.

Remember how fast the lathe must spin around.

Remember that though life’s been rough in the past,

Remember that troubles were not meant to last.

The conflict inside me is fighting to win.

At times I really just want to give in.

But when I can’t stand it, I fall to my knees,

And cry out to God a tear filled, “Please!”

“Please help me!” I cry with all of my might.

“Help me to know and to do what is right.

Help me to follow thy path and thy will.

Help me be calm and help me be still.”

A loving assurance of hope indeed shows,

As I feel an amazing serenity grow.

The Savior will help me. He won’t let me down.

But I know that the lathe must always spin ‘round.

Eight years

Wow. September 11. Will any of us ever forget where we were that day? When I first heard I was in the intersection of Cross hall and D hall at Orem High. Matthew Worsham told Valerie Mechling and I that a plane had crashed into the World Trade Towers. I had no idea what they were or what significance it would have. As most, I just thought it was an accident. Then I went to first period - US History with Mr Miner. And we watched as the towers fell. I saw the second plane crash into the South tower. And as I sat there, I had to get some of my feelings onto paper, as is my way, so I wrote this poem.

Tuesday, September 11, 2001
Death, Destruction, Devastation.
Yet Hope, Serenity, Knowledge.
Those who died still live,
They live inside each of us.

Those who lived are better for it.
They have more happiness
More patriotism, more family love.
Even with the world crashing down around us,

America Lives On

It is definitely not a great literary work, or even the best poem ever written, but it describes what I was feeling and thinking at the time. At that crazy moment that we all wish to forget, but will always remember.