Zelda Davidson (Part Three)
A photograph of Zelda’s In-Laws (Rhoda and Owen Marley)
Many of us have fond memories of Zelda. She was a mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, and friend. She was loved by many and those are the stories I’ve heard, and so it was with great interest that I found this poem. It brings with it the chance to see the world through the eyes of another, to see the world at a simpler time.
I cherish the opportunity to look back through history and hope that you will as well.
(Written in 1978) This poem is titled “Remember”
“I remember…..
Overalls and aprons, chuckles and smiles,
Letters and cards across the miles.
A necklace and flowers, I remember that
And a fishing pole and a stained old hat.
Biscuits fat and cookies baking,
Potatoes fried and gravy making.
Holiday feasts prepared with care.
Families together and family prayer.
An iron bed and quilts hand-sewn
By tireless hands that I have known.
Weathered walls and chimney black
And a creaking board in the house out back.
The smell of apples, the smell of flowers,
The smell of fields after the showers.
Cows in the barn, milk in the pail,
In spite of the rain, in spite of the gale.
A look at old photos or playing a few games.
The fire’s warm. Who cares if it rains!
‘Round the piano, let’s have a tune,
And voices blended filling the room.
Children climbing up to the loft,
Quarrels and giggles and whispers soft.
Time for the kids, patient and kind.
A living legacy-ties that bind.
Going to the folks/ in spite of the snow,
Leaving the car in the road below.
Horses steaming before the sleigh,
Coats pulled close on a frosty day.
Up at dawn when the alarm clock rings,
Summers and winters and falls and springs.
Work for the living, work for the dead,
Work for love and work for bread.
Year into year-reaping the sowing,
Muscles tightening and minds that are growing.
Joy abounding and faith unbounded,
Lives in the Gospel firmly founded.
Work stained shirts and Sunday best,
Daily bread and a baby blessed.
Go to the church for meetings and choir.
Time will come later to sit by the fire.
Trips to the cemetary sometime in May.
Seems it was always a cold, gray day.
Raking and weeding forlorn ground
Flowers placed on a dim, cold mound
Departed loved ones remembered anew
And long gone faces recalled by a few.
Getting together at the farm, after.
Visiting, feasting, squabbles and laughter.
Dimming ears and dimmer eyes
But loving hands hold fast the ties
Of family and friends and anyone caring
To enter the circle of their sharing.
Laughing and loving and crying together.
Creating the bonds that will last forever.
These are my memories, glad, not sad.
There are the memories of Rhoda and Dad.
These are my memories of golden years,
Drowning the sorrow and drying the tears.
For there is more joy than we’ve ever known,
But they know now…. for they are home.”
Dedicated to the talented poet, who was loved by all.
Zelda M. Davidson:
Born on September 25th, 1922
Died on February 26th, 2014
Zelda Davidson (Part Two)
In 1993, the year I was born, Zelda was beginning her seventh decade of life. This generational gap is why my perspective will always be influence by her gray hair and impeccable grace. It also serves as the simple explanation as to why I struggle to imagine her as anything other than my Great-Grandmother.
That’s why I read her poetry with exceptional gratitude. They serve as a window into a world I never saw. They prove that Zelda has been so much, in the lives of so many.
Today I want to share three poems with you. They portray Zelda as a daughter, a young soul who recognized the value of her family, and loved her parents dearly.
(Written in 1941) This poem is titled “Heritage - Supreme”
“From the hope of fleeting house of dawn.
And the strength of the beating rain,
Two hearts were fashioned by the hand of God.
Where humblest prayers remain.
From the silver of clouds and the blue of night,
He molded two souls with care,
Wrought them with gold from the sunset’s glow.
More exalted than heaven’s stars—more rare.
Then two sacred temples of flesh he raised,
A shrine for these priceless gems,
Placed them on earth with the breath of life.
‘Mid a chorus of angel’s “Amen’s”.
From these two souls came this soul of mine,
A meager spark from a brilliant ray.
My father! My Mother! Seraphim on earth!
God, give them peace, I pray.”
(Written in 1941) This poem is titled “Mother”
M is for the mist—
That shadows laughing eyes,
When Mother’s far away
And trouble clouds the skies.
O is the opulence of love—
That shrouds her tired face,
That brings a peace in evening
When she tucks you in your place.
T is for the silent tears—
That fall when things go wrong.
But any trace of bitterness
She covers with a song.
H is for her loving heart—
That’s good as any gold,
That lifts you from the thorny path
And shields you from the cold.
E is the energy with which she builds—
The foundations for her goals,
Each, a castle of humor bright,
All, her children’s souls.
R is for the righteousness—
With which her home is blessed,
And peace in her companionship
With the one she loves the best.
The sum of these is happiness—
And freedom from all care,
When trust is place in him above
Who hears each silent prayer.
(Written in 1943) This poem is titled “ He’s Just “My Dad” ”
My dad’s not a senator,
But he can milk a cow.
He never built a river bridge
But he sure knows how to plow.
He never sat the President’s chair,
Nor even the governor’s seat,
But we always had warm clothes to wear
And all we wanted to eat.
He’s never had his name in print,
Nor crossed the ocean wide
But he can fix a car, by gosh,
And from the underside!
He never had a million bucks,
Nor ran the Security Bank.
But his kids didn’t have to go on their own.
And they’ve got their Dad to thank.
My Dad’s not a mighty man,
Of mighty brawn and girth,
But I think he’s the finest Dad
That’s ever been on earth.
He never won a prizefight
Nor tussled with a steer
But he never left us home at nights
To come home full of beer
He never got mad, nor smoked, nor swore,
Nor anted gambler’s bids,
And he never got too busy with things,
To spend some time with his kids.
He’s too old now to go win a prize,
For shooting down the nips
So he’s just staying here at home
To help them build the ships.
No one knows much about my Dad
But just his friends and kin,
But he’s never had a neighbor
That could complain about what he’s been.
Not many folks will lament when he goes,
Nor fight over the wealth he had.
But there’d sure be an empty place in my heart,
If it weren’t for my Dad.
Dedicated to the talented poet, who was loved by all.
Zelda M. Davidson:
Born on September 25th, 1922
Died on February 26th, 2014
Zelda Davidson (Part One)
Zelda was an incredible woman. When I think of poets in the family, she stands foremost. Her passion for creation was palpable and manifested through both painting and the written word. She truly was an artist.
More often than not, she drew inspiration from the world around her. Landscapes and animals were to be found upon her canvas and graced the pages of her notebooks as well. If you’re looking to understand her love for nature, you needn’t look far. She had a love for life.
(Written in 1944) This poem is titled “Return of the Prodigal”
“After the smoke and noise of the town,
After the hurrying crowds on the street.
It’s good to be back on the farm again,
To have real earth beneath my feet.
After a summer on pavement and rail,
After small patches of close-cropped lawn,
It’s good to breath the scent of the soil.
It’s good to walk in the Autumn dawn.
It’s good to walk in the still, cool dusk,
To stretch in the freedom of field and sky,
To see the herds come in at night,
To watch a blazing sunset die.
I like Mt. Tom in his “Joseph’s Coat,”
The yellows, browns, and Autumn red
Of the frosted maples and the shivering asp
That crown his shaggy, rocky head.
I like to walk through crisp, brown stubble,
To follow the fence-line with my gun,
To flush the rainbow-throated pheasant,
Resplendent in the evening sun.
I like the sounds of the waiting cattle.
The smell of the hay in the yellow stack.
The rich, brown loam in the wake of the plows,
And the harvest piled in crib and rack.
I like the crispness of the morning air,
The easy crackle of a flaming log,
The honk of gray geese “V”ing north
Through damp cold fingers of a rising fog.
Give me Autumn away from town.
Give me the freedom of fence and lane,
The peace and strength of rich, dank soil,
And the soothing calm of country rain.”
Dedicated to the talented poet, who was loved by all.
Zelda M. Davidson:
Born on September 25th, 1922
Died on February 26th, 2014