More Than A Memory

Comments from readers

Your poetry touches something deep inside each and every woman of our
generation and beyond. As I read your work, it is so rewarding to recognize
things familiar, but even more, to realize things overlooked and rarely
mentioned. You bring to light the inner recesses of a woman’s soul.
Jo Lea Levy, DDS, Alexandria, LA

The Chinese have a saying, “a poem in every painting, a painting in every
poem.” With the stroke of her pen, Carol Grace skillfully paints many
pictures with her words. More than a Memory by Carol Grace is more
than just memories. It is about remembering the past, connecting with the
present, and looking to the future with faith. It is like standing on the line
of time looking back to see where you’ve been, looking around to see where
you are, and looking forward to see where life’s journey will take you.
More than a Memory is a wonderful collection of Carol’s reflections and
perspectives that begin in the memories of the mind and takes you to the
very heart and soul of the human journey. “’Tis grace has bro’t me safe
thus far, and grace will lead me home.”
Linda James Southern (James Family Singers)

Moments With My Father

Sitting in his room late at night, just
the green glow of the radio and the tip
of his cigarette burning orange, listening
to “Mack the Knife,” a tenuous sense
of security washing over me, knowing
that my growing up and his growing old
would soon grow us apart.

Rain Drops Keep Falling on my Head

Rain drops playing hopscotch
with arid ground, thunder
growling after being disturbed
from another afternoon nap,
wind snapping at the trees
and dogs swarming at my feet,
looking for refuge from yet
another Arkansas storm.

More than A Memory

Have you ever noticed
some memories are so strong
you can almost taste them,
almost smell them, almost feel
the touch of them
on your arm?
It is then that all of our
senses are suddenly engaged,
when the memories become
more vivid
than what we did today.
Even more important
is the way they make us feel,
more warm, more alive,
extraordinarily real,
for in the midst of daily living
too few memories are made,
too many things left undone,
too many words
left to say.

Two hundred feet ahead

Ribbon of road stretches
toward tomorrow, night
looms larger, vision
impaired, but car
lights illumine
the path
before me, and
I can see clearly
two hundred feet ahead.

Ribbon of life stretches
toward the unknown,
precarious, ever
changing, vision
impaired, but
God delivers
me through
the dark shadows,
for He can see clearly
the pitfalls ahead.

If I can depend on car
lights to transport me
over potholes and around
the next bend, how much more
can I depend on my Savior,
whose vision is limitless,
whose love never ends.

God is always with me
of that I am sure,
the need to know
unimportant,
the need to see,
petty now. Faith’s
headlights shine the way
before me, and I am
two hundred feet closer now.

I Am A Poet

Going over words on paper
or the computer
for the thousandth time,
revision or new vision,
which shall it be?

I am a storyteller, the genre
as important as the tales
I tell, the shape of the words
as vital as the feelings
they elicit.
Gathering together words
to make a collection,
my husband says, “Why
not write something that sells--
how about fiction?”

I am a poet, the words
carefully chosen, not
some hash hastily thrown
together nor a formula
dutifully followed
so that only the names
change, but every
scene remains the same,
and every conclusion
a ready resolution.

I am a storyteller, a poet,
and life is reduced to exist
on twenty pound paper
between soft covers held together
by the glue of passion and observation.