Biography of George Wootton
I have enjoyed reading poetry for as long as I can remember, even as a youngster. I began writing in my teens, short stories and plays but little poetry at that time. Poetry came along in my more recent years as the riggors of life began to really close in, as a way to express my feelings. For a long while they were kept to myself but family and friends encouraged me to publish some of them so I compiled a small collection of a hundred or so and had a booklet printed. I enjoy reading others work and seeing that I am not the only person with similar problems and joys. To some my words may not be particularly enjoyable but that is OK too, they are my feelings and expressions and not meant to change the world over to my way of thinking, (heaven forbid) . If the reader identifies with or enjoys them then I am blessed, if not then please don't be too critical.
George Wootton's Works:
Something to Think About (1996) (out of print)
George Wootton Poems
Endeavor To Persevere
When best-laid plans have fallen to waste and frustration abounds in their former place, when failure looms with doubts and fears we must endeavor to persevere!
Springtime In Oklahoma
Robins on the front lawn, waiting for a worm, back from winters hideaway where days were mostly warm. Shovel in the flowerbeds, blisters on my hands, sparrows in my martin house, bare feet in the sand.
The Old Home Place
The grand old house is gone now from the hill on which it stood, for a hundred years and then some, through the bad years and the good. It was my favorite landmark on this often traveled road to see it sent me dreaming of the toils of time it showed.
Mother, such a beautiful word just the sound brings a smile to my heart. Just the thought of the word takes me back through the years by the memories that shall never depart. Memories of an often rebellious child unknowing of her grief and pain, unwilling to help ease her burdens and fears, harboring only thoughts of self gain.
Hunny I Miss You
Hunny I miss you, I'd sure like to kiss you, to gaze upon your beautiful face. I'd love to be near you, let my longing ears hear you sweetly singing Amazing Grace.
A Special Soul
Long ago and far away God created a soul one day. A beautiful soul it had to be for it had a special purpose you see.
How Far We Have Come
With heart heavy-laden I remember back when things were much different way back then. When neighbors were neighbors for miles around, not just some other person living in the same town.
The Best Gift Ever
Christmas trees and Christmas bells Christmas lights and all the frills. Smiles on all the children’s faces Special foods and yuletide graces.
Warehouses Of Wisdom
I visited today a warehouse of wisdom, tears of sadness clouded my eyes. There the aged and infirm seek a familiar face and stifle their grieving cries.
The old lighthouse on yonder reef still stands warning pilgrims of the dangers in unseen lands. Death lurks for the unwary pilgrims here as ships drive onward toward destruction so near.
Oh regal crown what brow is this that fiery thorn doth pierce. What tear doth well in bleeding eye for soul of man to shield.
Come Home Son, Supper's Ready
Many years ago when just a boy I would go outside to play with some toy. I could be in the pasture or down by the creek or perhaps in the trash dump, for more playthings to seek.
What man can tell what wondrous beauties have past but once this way unseen by human eye because t’was closed in sleep at end of day.
Lost Souls Of Wandering Boys
There once lived a boy in a ghetto for him there was no other place. He was not black or white or yellow or red just a boy of the human race. He was none of these yet he was all for hopelessness knows no color. He could have been you or me or your father but he was everyone's brother.
Springtime In Oklahoma
Robins on the front lawn, waiting for a worm,
back from winters hideaway where days were mostly warm.
Shovel in the flowerbeds, blisters on my hands,
sparrows in my martin house, bare feet in the sand.
Henbit showing off its’ blooms, crabgrass getting high,
darn! , it’s time to mow again, dust and pollen make me cry!
Dark clouds racing ‘cross the sky blocking out the sun,
waiting for the “twister” that puts us on the run.