Afraid of the Dark

reblogging my published poetry

gaillovesgodspoetry

On a late Friday night,
we walked into the park.
he stayed so very close to me.
She was afraid of the dark.

Another time we double dated,
she was out with Marc.
He wanted to take her to the swings,
but she was afraid of the dark.

There were many other times
we came upon the park,
but we would always go around
cause she was afraid of the dark.

Well last night as I thought
of how she’s afraid of the dark,
she somehow finally got the courage
to be murdered in the park.

8-9-89 Written by Gail Brookshire
(by the grace of God)

View original post

YOU: THE REASON

reblogging my published poetry

gaillovesgodspoetry

Shining down upon the ocean,
the sun is sharing warmth.
The gentle wind is caressing
the trees in flower like form.
Wings of the passing birds
flutter to support,
to give flight to the little souls
that I am smiling for.
Tides of the ocean roll forward
to gently tease the sands.
The sands soften in such approval,
as if they understand.
The beauty of life is so refreshing,
ecstasy lay within the scene.
Yet if it weren’t for the way you make me feel,
I would notice a thing.

1994 Written by Gail Brookshire|
(published in Voices, Volume 1, NO.4 Issue, Sept.14, 1994, page 5)
(by the grace of God)

View original post

You’re The Woman

reblogging my published poetry

gaillovesgodspoetry

You’re the woman who loves me, who loves my dad,
Everything about me good or bad.
You’re the woman who gave me life, gave me birth.
You are as precious to me as this God given earth.
God saw sight in Mary and Jesus was mothered.
There is no better gift, not even friend or lover.
Be ye great, my mom, for you’re the woman, you’re my mother.

1992 Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Expressions, May 2, 1994 Issue, Page 2)
(by the grace of God)

View original post

With You, Of Course

reblogging my published poetry

gaillovesgodspoetry

In the middle of our candle lit dinner,
you ask a question of me.
Of all the beautiful places in the world,
where would I rather be?
As I think of romantic Paris
and lover’s London too,
I see the warmth of beauty in Maui
and a trip to the Caribbean.
So to answer your question
with honesty and truth,
the only place I’d rather be,
of course, is right here with you.

1989 Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Voices, Volume 1, NO.4 Issue, Sept.14, 1994, page 5)
(by the grace of God)

View original post

Welcome Fellow Freshmen

reblogging my published poetry

gaillovesgodspoetry

Welcome fellow freshmen,
I’m really glad to meet you.
And as you journey through these halls,
I really hope to greet you.
You may have a lot to learn,
but trust me, that’s okay.
This may be my second year,
but I learn more every day.
It’s really hard adjusting to
a very chaotic pace,
but in the end you’ll win the race
standing in first place.
Your future’s on a roulette wheel.
You’re gambling on every grade.
But when you have succeeded,
you’ll see it was worth the effort you made.

1992 Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Expressions, Sept.1, 1992 Issue, Front page)
(by the grace of God)

View original post

To Be Of God

reblogging my published poetry

gaillovesgodspoetry

To be of God, we must be forgiven.
His son died to forgive us.
To forgive us… He must have a reason to forgive.
To have a reason to forgive… He must have been disappointed.
To have been disappointed… we must have done something wrong.
To have done something wrong… we must have went against His law.
To have went against His law… we must have sinned.
To have sinned… we must be sinful.
To be sinful… we must be weak.
To be weak… we must be human.
To be human… we must be of creation.
To be of creation… we must be of God.
To be of God… we must be forgiven.

1989 Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Flight, Spring ’95, page 11)
(by the grace of God)

View original post

This Little Girl

A story of this little girl, hiding in a closet.
Scared behind the broken door, she has tried to lock it.
Frightened of the things outside, making life a storm
Of violence, rage, and weapons, wondering what will form.

Screaming, hollering, sounds of terror, banging up the place.
If only you could see the look on this little girl’s face.
Tears are running down her cheeks; she cannot close her eyes.
For living in this nightmare has made her paralyzed.

Curled in a little ball, she’s waiting for the kill
Knowing if it never comes, it will be against her will.
Protect this little girl from him. He’s going to commit a crime.
You have to hurry and grab her, there’s really not much time.

Oh NO! He’s broken through the door and found this little girl.
It’s much too late to save her now. He’s going to take her world.
What will she do, now that she’s hurt and he has got away?
Tell me what to do for her, and what it is I’ll say.

Well now this little girl has got a gun within her hand,
And when she pulls the trigger, they will never understand.
Holding it at her side, she puts it to her head.
And though the man is running free, this little girl is dead.

1989 Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Flight magazine, Spring ’95, page 12)
(by the grace of God)