Lena, Mistress of the Country Store

In Memory of Lost Friend who asked that this be read at her funeral:

She is different.

Her hands are rough,

not those of a lay-about lady.

She is filled

with an innate curiosity,

like that of a child

seeking to placate

the five senses.

As she mills about

the pot-bellied stove

her long, gypsy-looking skirt

wafts the rancid smell

of fatback, cured ham and streak 'o lean.

There is a smell of overripe bananas.

Her bold original

palette knife paintings

in full, rich colors

hang about the old store walls,

as a skirted table

awaits us, with fresh flowers

and a pineapple pie.

Soft classical music,

sounds of violin

and wind instruments

filter through the canned goods

and Dixie Cups

on the shelves.

she is somewhat "other worldly".

Her family fails to understand her.

They say "Who is this woman?"

In their youth they cannot understand.

Someday they may

but

then her abundant spirit

will be out of reach

in another world.

written by: Joy S. Barefoot

The Colors of Hope

"God, help me to look for answers

and work at discerning Your call.

Help me to grasp, as Joseph did,

when feeling abandoned by all.”

As I prayed again for vision

for clarity to understand

I looked up to see a rainbow,

full palette, stretched out, in a band

of brightly arrayed perfection,

a ribbon rolled out, edge to edge

and in those colors, a promise

God’s signature, signed with His pledge

-Joy S. Barefoot

Woods in Winter

 
I want to walk

the woods

in winter;

follow

snowy paths

where

glistening

shimmers

lead me

through a pale

white

winter bath.

I want to feel

the wind’s

icy fingers

enscarve me

in their clasp;

taste

weathered snows

of a thousand

years

with every

breathless

gasp.

-Joy S. Barefoot