This is an eclectic, earthy and honest collection of poetic works from the pen of Beverly J. Raffaele. Most are fictional and pulled from her experience and insight of others.
Some are drawn from her passionate love of our worlds landscapes, while others are deeply personal. Her whimsical pieces are from the child in her that she contends shall never die.
I live in the beautiful Pacific Northwest. The lush valleys, Cascade Mountain range, and the Pacific Ocean lend me much inspiration for my pen.
I am a retired pre-school teacher and I truly love and care for the well-being of our nations children. There is nothing more precious than a child. Educate them, train them, hug them, and play with them. Worry about them and nose into their life. Parenthood is not for cowards. I am proud to say that I share my life with my friend and husband of thirty plus years, Stephen. We have six grown children and sixteen grandchildren. My passion is writing. I have many pieces published online, two books of poetry available at Barnes & Noble online, Amazon.com and many other bookstores around the world. They are entitled Peace, Love, Turmoil, Whimsy & Rhyme" and Peace, Love, Turmoil, Whimsy,& Rhyme Collection Two. I am working on Collection Three and a book of short stories.
I operate two websites, "Artspoetry.com" and "BooksbyBeverlyJRaffaele.com".
I love to paint, create, dance, sing, and spoil my grandchildren.
Beverly J. Raffaele
The world outside hurts. but me,
I am content to be in the quiet-
ironing in the winter- in a cold garage-
dressed in my underwear, not caring.
Hearing the rain fall and- loving
the cool biting air on my skin.
Alone- barefoot, cold concrete aching
the soles of my feet, wet hair from
a long hot shower- ignoring
my gray cat Mac, winding
about my ankles, nipping me.
I love the cold hurt on my feet,
By the washer and dryer .ironing
in a dirty garage because.
I will not find this moment again.
The Woman Talks to Wisdom
"Too often I ran out in the cold
away from my safe harbor
and father wisdom,
you tossed a massive anchor
and prayed that it would hold."
"And hold it did until
a great squall broke me away.
With outstretched arms
I cried, protect me
But you said, "another day."
you spoke to my heart and said,"
'That day won't come until the tide is high
And the wreckage you left behind
Has restored you to your life.'
"But what of the wreckage
That is drifting and injured?"
I hung my head and asked.
"My feet are not on solid ground
and there is no end to this task."
"For shouldn't I rebuild the timbers
that crashed upon the jagged rocks?
They are there because of me.
The gloomy squall was a terrible cost."
"No," came the answer from wisdom,
"that wreckage may always be,
and it started the black rainy day
that you broke away from me."
"Do not blame the tempest,
for you pulled at the anchor's chain.
Thinking that when you returned
Your life would be the same."
"Those timbers from the wreckage you caused
you should carefully try to restore,
With each nail that you hammer in
will bring healing from the storm."
It Was Just A Dime
There on the round braided rug
It was just a dime lying bright
Reflecting the glow of silver
In a ghostly shaft of light.
It was a child that found the dime
His little face alit,
With the thought of his mason jar
Where all his change was kept.
The dime, it was delighted
With the purpose that it had
And one day it was spilled out
Upon the boy's simple bed.
The boy began to count his coins
And when he counted the last,
The dime gave him just enough
To venture toward his task.
He bought a an old guitar
He had spied at the second hand store.
And then hid it in the attic
For his family was very poor.
He would sneak away to practice
An old man was showing him notes
As he leaned against a brick building
Wrapped in a raggedy old coat.
As he played for the spell bound boy
Blues in the key of "A."
On the side walk, in the beggars cup
The shiny dime now lay.
It gave the beggar food
So he could carry on
And the boy a priceless gift
Where a musician began to dawn.
The boy became famous
With his gifted new sound
But never once did he forget
The sweet old beggar
Or the shiny dime that he found.