Category Archives: Poetry

Oh, Little Butterfly


Original phot of Butterfly on Azaela BushO h,   L i t t l e   B u t t e r f l y –
w h e r e   w i l l   y o u   f l y   t o d a y?
S o   f r e s h   f r o m   t h e  c o c o o n.

Y o u r   u n t r i e d   w i n g s
u n f u r l e d   a g a i n s t
t h e  b e c k o n i n g   s k y.

Y o u r   c o n q u e r i n g   o f
t h e   b l u e   h e i g h t s
l i k e   h e a d y   w i n e

S o   u n l i k e   t h e
d a r k   w r a p p i n g s
o f   y e s t e r y e a r.

B y   C l a r a   B e t t y   D e e s e,

Everything hangin on….


Everything  hangin on for dear life

the leaves

the  clothes

the birdnest

even me!

I’m hangin on for dear Life!

Leaves battered and beaten by the world

fallin’ – fallin

not yet dad

(Did you know that the leaves don’t fall off the tree- the tree pushes them off when it is time?)

They lie on the ground until they  decompose

it will be another season before fruit comes forth.

I lie,  on the  warm, dark earth

My time will come to reseed & spring forth

into newness of purpose and harvest.


This picture was taken in March 2005 when Deat...

This picture was taken in March 2005 when Death Valley had a tremendous display of wildflowers after an extremely wet year. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The mountains seem unchanging
as I gaze upon them today
Yet down through the ages they
have fallen and crumbled away
through earthquakes, floods,
 forces of nature.
Some have been built back up
You can see where they have
not always been the same.
They are always changing,
And I see as I never have before –
nothing is unchangeable,
in this world, except God.
 HE ONLY is the “Rock” on
which we can stand.
All other things WILL BE
shaken and fall
regardless of how firm or
permanent they appear.
By Clara Betty Deese
(written on a trip to Death Valley)

Impressions at the Beach

                                             Impressions at the Beach
                                              Sand between my fingers;
                                           Sound of waves on the shore;
                                        Warmth of the sun on my back.
                                               Watching children build
                                                 sand castles and canals
                                              to carry cargos of dreams.
                                             Seems my life is contained
                                               in this microcosm of life-
                                                 here on the beach; Me-
                                               the sea- the sun- the sky.
                                                Time to commune with
                                                my thoughts and nature.
                                                To be made whole by the
                                                  caressing touch of the
                                              wind on body, mind, soul;
                                                The warmth of the sun
                                                     caressing my body
                                                          the feel of sand
                                                the sound of the waves
                                                       lulls me to sleep                                    
                                            As I lie here on the beach
                                             Dreaming of sand castles. 
                                                                                      by Clara Betty Deese
                                                                           Mendocino, Calif. –  Seventy’s

                                      (written on a camping trip to Mendocino)
                                           copyrighted by CBC 1976

Poems About My Daughter


My Daughter

My daughter was a brief  ripple

upon the ocean of  life

not a hurricane,

Ebbing and flowing

in gentle waves around

those who knew her:

A broken alabaster box,

a precious treasure

releasing its essence.

Waves of memory rush in and

recede on the shores of my mind


*              *           *


Garden of Life

There are noxious weeds in the Garden of Life

which suck the nourishment from God’s flowers.

Cancer was the weed that choked the life

from my daughter’s body that fatal day in

the Spring of 2007.

I had no weapon but prayer to fight this foe

which took possession of her body,

so suddenly and completely.

It seemed that even this failed

That God did not hear my plea.

I cried out, “Why, Why?? –she is so young!”

There are still so many things for her to do!!

Surely, this is a bad dream that will pass

And I will awake to my daughters smile.

I try to comprehend it as day follows day –

I expect to see her as before –

for her to call me on the phone with the latest

news – what she and Vicki have been doing,

and we will talk way too long, as usual.

But the dream doesn’t end.

My “Reality” will never be the same.

I have to learn to live without a daughter

who was my closest confident and friend –

my constant Joy and Wonder.

A daughter who understood

and tried to please me – and everyone else.

She never wanted to offend in any way.

(This was both her best and worse trait

as she didn’t take care of herself.)

How do I live without her Sweet spirit?

The fact that she was always there for me?

By Clara Betty Deese


(My daughter,  Glenda Marie (Deese) Jacinto died March 9th, 2007 at the Solano Hospital in Vallejo, Ca.  She was 50 years old. This was written at my brother’s home in Arizona, on March 26 after reading one of  his books on “Poetic Healing” )

These poems are copyrighted by the owner and cannot be reproduced in any way, written, printed or electronically without prior permission from the owner, clarabettyreflections. wordpress. com.