Biography of Barbara Attaway
I come from southeast Texas and a big family of poets. Daddy wrote songs and Mother wrote poetry. My brother was a gifted musician and my sister writes beautiful poetry, short stories, and books. I had a great-grandfather who was a song-and-dance man in vaudeville. I feel I am the lesser talent of all of them, but owe them at least my attempt at something along the same line. I do love poetry...I use it to document days and memorable moments in my life. I hope you will enjoy my efforts.
Barbara Attaway Poems
Wind Wind blow Blow me far away Away from my grief
Is Not The Summer Prairie Calling To You
Is not the summer prairie calling to you Sultry days lazily await your rollicking voice To answer and cool the afternoon Only daubers busy themselves in this heat
Is Buffalo Jerky Big Medicine
Shhhhh.....stay quiet There is big medicine in being reverent Around Medicine Wheel One must esteem this place, son of my son
''Let The Cat Die''
'Higher, higher, swing me higher, Dad-o! I can almost touch those leaves with my big toe... I did it! I touched them! Now we can let the cat die, Dad-o.'
come and get it i call to the boys please wash your hands and put up the toys
Nude Beach Ahead
Whirlwind lifting shapeless seas Frosted Crashing In hot breeze
I remember a day not so long ago You sat under hot CBS lights Giving your account Of that first 'Day of Infamy'
Sitting at brackish-brown water's edge Hands, blue-veined, sore to the bone Strong tanned fingers, through muddied sand, dredge And seek Early Man's sharpened stones
We had hiked the hills a long, long way My privilege was to gift their feet that day Soak in warm water, soothe with mint lotion Seemed to me just the right heaven-sent potion
They stand as sentinels against azure storms Assured as most storms of life, it's supposed Although bared of dress, although naked as jays Winter's trees umbrella from worst of those
Red Plums Wild
To preserve this day, I pick red plums wild Within my soul, I dream a while A vision ancient, to me smiles Of plums growing wild in thickets dark
My Brother's Keeper
He listened for The Master Voicing not his woes His thoughts were sombre, pensive 'I know my time is close.'
We watched her approach That dark, heavy beauty With blue-black coif All rolled up
A beggar's tired voice Rings out seeking pity His cup rattles constantly
We had hiked the hills a long, long way
My privilege was to gift their feet that day
Soak in warm water, soothe with mint lotion
Seemed to me just the right heaven-sent potion
My desire, you see, was to mimic my Lord
Their refusal to allow it caught me off guard
My gift was unwanted, unaccepted, and scorned
No concern had they; oh, my heart was torn