Life's Bits and Pieces, The Puzzle of Life -by Joy S. Barefoot

We are like pieces of an unfinished puzzle, a puzzle of life, infused with the love of God, permeating every small piece. There is not really much meaning to a single piece of a puzzle and yet, our one piece of the puzzle is a vital link to the end result. It can bring together many pieces all around it, suddenly drawing the puzzle into clearer focus.

How often have I worked a puzzle, searching diligently for a single piece, and then, when it is found, I can move quickly along, adding more and more to the picture?

Even a meaningless-seeming piece to me has real significance, giving the puzzle completeness and balance.

We do not choose our place in the puzzle of life. God has chosen our position and with his wondrous grace, he allocated a place in the final picture for each of us. we must be willing to take our appointed space, no matter what its seeming importance may be to us.

When a piece of a puzzle is missing, it suddenly becomes, to me, the most important piece because there is an unfinished work before me. It is up to us to claim our rightful inclusion in this great mystery of life which God is working out all around us. Only then will the puzzle be complete.

No matter how insignificant, each piece is invaluable to the completion of the puzzle of life.

Red Boots by Joy S. Barefoot

I wanted red boots,

red rubber boots,

like the other girls wore

when I was six or seven

. . . wonderful boots

smacking mud puddles

. . . boots with the tops

rolled over, so I could see

warm fuzzy linings

hugging their pale winter legs.

I wore black galoshes!

Sometimes

water seeped in

over their tops.

My wet feet

resented those red boots

the other girls wore

when I was six, or seven . . . .

When I was older

I had red boots

but it was not a time

for red boots.

On Dealing With Impossible People

Suddenly,

I felt

like a plucked

chicken;

sprawled,

lifeless;

completely shorn

of soft feathers

and bright plumage.

-Joy Stalvey Barefoot

Pretending

Pretending
eats out your heart
and, like a thief,
steals away
all your truth;
Pretending
loses who you are;
makes unworthy
all of your past.
It is a perversion
of your seed,
which mutates
into some other thing,
not knowing
where to reach
for food, water and light.

After a while
I would not remember
who it was
I was pretending to be,
just some pretended soul
with a hollow place
where my heart use to be.
-Joy S. Barefoot

Soul Seekers (or long good-byes)

No memories of life;
like the empty cidada shell
. . . nothing within,
no childhood,
no memories
of mother, father, sisters, brothers.
Empty of memories,
I am a hull of life,
long escaped.
The mirror shows no reflection.
Windows are drawn
on my soul,
long escaped.

Do not leave me
hidden away in here.
Seek, and you will find me
somewhere
in this cicada-like shell
. . . cloistered, safely, away.

-Joy Stalvey Barefoot

(written after being confronted several times with Alzheimer's disease)

Mortar and Pestal

Life
can be like
a mortar and pestal
grinding and grinding
at the smallest grains
making them ever smaller.

Little lumps pop up
out of the congregation
only to be hammered
harder with the pestal
ground ever smaller
against the walls
of the mortar bowl
into powdery dust;
indistinguishable
one from the other;
just a gray mass
of lifeless powder.
-Joy Stalvey Barefoot

Silent Weaver

Silent Weaver
-Joy S. Barefoot

There is a web in which we’re caught.
It is the web of life.
It is a web of great deceit
where good and evil strive.

It is a web of cunning weave.
Its beauty is the snare.
Its lustrous threads gleam in the sun
to draw the dreamer there.

There is no voice that calls to us.
There is no beacon light;
only the diligent weaver’s lair
in glistening, silvery light.                                                        

Life's Wrinkles

Wrinkles
are hard to remove
when sharply creased into a fabric.
The iron may soften them out
but it’s hard to remove
a sharply creased line.

Life’s wrinkles
can be like that,
when they are pressed,
again and again,
into the fabric
of our malleable souls,
making knife-like creases
where once
a gentle wrinkle laid.

-Joy Stalvey Barefoot

Timing is Everything

-Joy S. Barefoot

Just beyond the potato bin
where the hands of bananas
laid separated
and sprawled about,
he was checking out
the frozen delicacies
when his eyes
caught upon a lovely thing.
She was some years younger than I
(patiently waiting
at the poultry counter).

He watched her,
seemingly entranced.
Was it her easy movement;
her manicured tips and toes;
the high-heeled sling pumps
descending from hips
that swung fabric
back and forth,
as she called out her thanks
to the happy little meat manager
and swished that silken fabric
down the canned vegetable aisle
all the while aware
of the eyes
in the frozen delicacies?

The Tale of Mrs. Block

The Tale of Mrs. Block
-Joy S. Barefoot


This is the tale of Mrs. Block
and how she used her head;
how she scrimped and saved the old
and how she ate her bread.

She went down to the grocery store;
bought a loaf of bread;
brought it home; put it up
and ate the old instead.

Each day she ate the old stale bread,
she buttered it quite well,
she wouldn’t waste a crumb of it
not one crumb ever fell.

Day after day, she ate her bread.
She dunked it in her cup.
She ate the bread and ate the bread
until she ate it up!

She then took out her loaf of fresh,
and this is the end of the tale;
she opened up the loaf of fresh
and found
that it was stale . . . .

Turning Sideways

Turning Sideways
-Joy S. Barefoot


When you find the seat is crowded
with people scrunched together,
if you turn a little sideways
you won’t feel in such a tether.

When the shoulder of the person
seated next to you digs in,
just turn a little sideways
and you both may fit right in.

It seems in all the dealings
trusting souls are made to bear
turning just a little sideways
often saves us much despair.

So, when the seat is crowded
and sharp elbows seem to nudge;
try and turn a little sideways
when the other man won’t budge!

What Once Was

What Once Was
-Joy S. Barefoot

I see them
at the pool
young women
their smooth, silky bodies
move in easy rhythm
like young foxes on a hunt,
new women
searching
for the right position.
Makes me want to paint my lips
with “Lilac Champagne”
one more time,
just for old time’s sake,
and spin
before the mirror
of my youth;
to see that vibrant
flirting
reflection
of a young vixen,
filled with dreams,
overflowing with expectations
and waiting for
the right man.

Life's Crazy Dance

Do not grieve me when I’m gone
Life’s for living, so live on
Don’t spend time remembering
injustices or little things.
Move on.

In my turn, I was the same,
sometimes, thoughtless or inane;
overlooking every chance.
Life is just a crazy dance.
Move on.

Wasted time and energy
over opportunities
hugs and cards and visits too
meant to send and meant to do
Move on.

Look ahead; don’t look back.
Change the course; take up the slack.
Don’t give the past a second glance.
Start the music, dance the dance.
Move on!

- Joy Stalvey Barefoot