BEAUTY IN THE WEEDS and new poems

copyright (c) 1996 Beatrice K. Sheftel New poems copyright (c) 1998 Beatrice K. Sheftel

a collection of my poems. (Please read and enjoy,

but do not copy my poems.)

ISBN: 1-889289-10-8

God's Children

by Bea Sheftel (c) Feb 1999

We are spirits in bodies.

Spirits have no color,

no religion, no race.

Spirits live by Divine touch

Let us unite and sit together

not as racial colors

but God's people,

open to His spirit, His love.

Put away the knives and axes

of prejudices and see beyond

differences to what makes us one.

Love, compassion, understanding.

These know no region, no country.

They are the best part of us,

unafraid to mingle, to break

barriers which divide.

Solder ourselves soul to soul until

we cry with one voice.

"We are all God's children!"


Bea Sheftel (From Beauty in the Weeds)

He sheds his workcoat when he visits New York

Becomes one of the many exclamation points

hurrying up Fifth Avenue, In their black overcoats,

furred and fluffed women by their sides.

His hands give him away, ungloved,

their texture like medium fine sandpaper.

But he joins in the pretense, with a pocketful

of dollars, a working man's hoard.

He spends too much cash at the golden tower of Trump:

eats salad with hundred dollar patrons,

tips bills, rolled from his penny jar.


by Bea Sheftel (From Beauty in the Weeds)

We sit at Grandma's wooden table,

watching wrinkled hands knead dough.

She fills the shell with sliced apples

bought fresh at the fruit wagon,

mixed with a crab apple or two

from a gnarled tree.

Back bent over floured board,

she blends the fruit, like life,

sweet and sour combined,

a treat for her grandchildren,

whose itching tongues ache to taste

the gift of Grandma's love,

the memory of her harvest.


Dear Lord, hear my prayer today.
It isn't for me or my family.

I pray for those I never met

in a country far far away.

The children of Kosovo,

they need your Divine help.

Oh Lord, I pray for the children

who cry in the fields of despair,

who hunger and thirst.

Dear Lord, reach down from Heaven

wipe the tears from the children.

Put hope back into their hearts

and smiles on their faces.

The Children of Kosovo

how little they have left.

Families gone forever.

Babies cry, children sob,

have mercy on them.

Oh Lord, hear my prayer

for people I do not know.

My arms ach to hold them,

the children of Kosovo.

Bea Sheftel

United States

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Many years have flashed by
since my son to me was born,
like lightening in the sky
since I held him in my arms.
My heart soared with deep joy
when I kissed my baby boy.
Now my son is a grown man,
proud mom, his greatest fan,
watching him running through life,
following an upward path,
fearless to problems or strife.
I gather roses on his way,
to bring the sweet to each day.
From ancestors this gift wends
from parent to child, I send
a mother's love has no end.


Crackling wood in flame's glory,
sweet pies and special dishes,
mangers, the Christmas story,
reminders of our wishes.
Hand in hand with love we sing,
Peace and hope, blessed season,
Faith in Man, still lingering.
Hatred kneels to His reason,
our life renews as we see
the Christmas star on the tree.


Knowledge alone will not
a good teacher make,
too few really are,
Teaching saps the strength
and drains the blood.
The young wear age lines
when they dare to teach


A moment flits by
swift as a butterfly,
the sun opens the day
dancing light colors
as dawn awakes
from night's darkness.
One child has learned,
One teacher has taught.


I look our my kitchen door
at the hills of snowy slides
where the dog jumps and plays.
His small body softly sinks
into the mounds. And up he pops
to bound again on another mound.
He chases a branch blown free
by the breeze, rolls round and round
in the deep snow. Stopping
just a second, he nibbles the crusty
surface. Body bounding,
he leaves large prints.

He looks at me waiting
in the open kitchen door.
Then he turns and sees the street
where freedom sees to lie.
No leash holds him.

I twist the heavy band
which collars my finer
and set the table.

Elmo, the hero dog


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