Posted by: tsopr | October 25, 2010

Marycile Beer, American Poet

Marycile Beer was born in Kansas and spent her youth in the Sandhills of Nebraska and the Rosebud Reservation of South Dakota. Upon graduation she got her teaching certificate and went back to the Sandhills to teach and found her wonderful Cowboy Billy. They married and ranched on the Rosebud Reservation of South Dakota and were blessed with 4 precious children Shirlee, Jim, Keith and Cathy. Their children blessed them with 8 grandchild and now great grand children. She lost Cathy in 2004 with breast cancer and in 2005 her precious husband Billy of 47 years and 2 weeks. Marycile began her writing in South Dakota and had a column in a supplement to the Valentine Newspaper. Through the years she wrote over 40 articles for the Fence Post Agricultural mag in Colorado. She also had a column Bits and Pieces in The Prairie Connection for 9 years in Harper, Kansas.

Marycile Beer is now living in Casper, Wyoming next to her daughter Shirlee and her family. She spends her time reading her unpublished novels to the members of Nursing homes and Retirement Center in Casper.

                            Featured Poetry of Marycile Beer

Through My Eyes

I look upon a dam today
That nature didn’t build
The water wasn’t gentle
As the rocks will soon reveal

The danger it is producing
From rain and melted snow
Has caused problems to others
Where the river flows below

The rocks that surround the dam
Have for centuries stood
And gave into the urgings
Of Mother Natures mood

Cracked and crumbling
They do a danger pose
But the man made bridge below it
Allow the mystery to unfold

Their colors and their shapes and size
Were finally brought to light
As the waters and the wind
Pushed the dirt aside

Some of them are red
Some of them are brown
Some of them are green with moss
And some of them are tan

Native foliage in cracks are found
Purple lupine and yellow clover abound
Blue sage brush and mountain dandelions too
Give new life to this awesome view

And as we leave this scene of scenes
The mountain walls do grow
Some rounded intermingling humps
The sharp ones behind could have snow

I look upon the huge red wall
Its reminds me of red clay
The kind I used to play in
Which are now three states away

The white rocks on top this wall
Near match the clouds above
Each rock is different and like the clouds
Change at natures touch

But half way down the red wall
White and blacks stripes come into play
And there on the ground below
Pieces of the stripes do lay

The grassy mountains luscious green
Beckon cattle near
But the forests here are all dead trees
From a fire just last year

Meer words can not describe
What I really see
No matter how hard I try
It’s a small bit of heaven to me

The Winds of Time

One day I was passing time
And wrote these words upon the lines,
I know not where they came you see
The Winds of Time were there for me.

If I could open a door to the past
And there before me were the paths
I’m not quite sure which I would choose
But The Winds of Time would see me through.

The vastness there before God’s Hand
Then came the heavens, the seas, the land
Eden, Noah and the Christ Child’s birth
Is the path that I see first.

I’m not into Knights or dragon days,
Nor Robin Hood and his saving ways,
But give me a Viking as he crosses the seas
And I’ll dream of the lands so wild and free.

The music of Ireland calls to me,
Where Kathleen’s heart has ever been,
And for Danny Boy the fifes do call
I’ll shed my tears lest he should fall.

As Immigrants touched upon our shores
The Indians prepared to fight once more,
But fate stepped in and eased the sore
They’d live in peace forever more.

The battles fought upon this land
To protect us from Tierney’s hand,
The Civil War for Freedom’s right
The Alamo where comrades died.

At Little Big Horn where our soldiers died,
As Indians defend their homes with pride,
The government later took a hand
And put them on Reservation land.

I remember well, when I was quite young
The days of World War II
And how my father’s life did change
When the family business he assumed.

Twenty-four seven was unheard of then,
But that was their working day,
They helped keep our nations trucks on the road
Their battlefield was here in the USA.

I’ll choose the path with pastures green,
Horses, cattle and the cowboy scene,
This is the land of my mother’s birth
The most precious land to me on earth.

I chose this land and took a stand,
Married a cowboy and we ranched the land.
Though now retired and family gone
This land will always be our home.

The Winds of Time, know well my soul
I’ll rest at night with days of yore.
And as I wake a prayer I’ll say
Please God, may we have Peace today?

Questions and Answers

I was always told
Good things will come your way
And for the most part
This is true I say.

Why does it seem
As we wait and wait
It’s like looking for a miracle
To walk through the gate.

We wonder and worry
And hold our breaths in hope
Then if it really happened
It soon becomes a joke.

I look for signs
And say my prayers
Hoping they will be heard
By the Man upstairs.

All kinds of things
Can take ‘or your mind
And cause you to leave
Your faith behind.

Then when all
Is said and done
You accept what happens
And then go on.

I have accepted
What I can not see
And thank the Lord
For helping me.

They Are More than Just Rocks

Once there was a woman
Who hap to pass this way,
She examined all the rocks she could
To pass the time of day.

With each stone she did pick up,
She felt the weight of time,
T’was just as if the hand of God,
Told her to look inside.

It all began in Kansas,
With a rock she had found,
It held a crinoid fossil,
For centuries safe and sound.

It told of seas, marsh and grass,
Where the dinosaur did pass,
When at last its life was through
It turned to rock for her to view.

She touched a post of sandstone,
Eyes closed she could see,
It told of a farm family,
From far across the sea.

When she reached Nebraska,
She found a rust red stone,
T’was the blood of the might bison,
Slaughtered for hide and bone.

Bill Cody fired the fatal shot,
That caused the shaggy beast to drop,
When all was said and done,
He’d left his blood there in the sun.

She walked beside the river Platt,
The wagon ruts were deep,
There she found some rocks burned black,
By fires they did keep.

She walked along the dimming trail,
And found there in the sand,
A rock that showed the stress marks,
Where wagons crossed this land.

The crown of Chimney Rock,
Draw nearer with each day,
Helped by this ancient guidepost,
The pioneer found his way.

She listened to the whispers,
From Wyoming’s Casper Peak.
It told about a cozy cave,
Where the dangerous grizzly sleeps.

And there in a lively stream,
A shiny stone did wink,
She waded in and picked it up,
Its sharp edge cut her deep.

It wasn’t just another rock,
But an Indian arrowhead,
It told his desperate search for food,
To keep his family fed.

The rock that lay upon the bank
Was scarred by years of use,
Here the mountain man tied his trap
So the beaver he’d not lose.

She picked up a large piece of rock,
And oh, it was so cold,
It was once a mighty palm tree
From long, long ago.

The lava flows of Idaho,
Did yield some garden stones,
Each was placed with loving care,
Where Pa Pa’s zinnias grow.

Behind a school in Oregon,
She hunted fossil leaves,
She carefully pried the rocks apart
Revealing hidden dreams.

She placed each rock that she had found
Beside the driveway safe and sound,
And like a child when day was through,
She dreamed about her treasurers too.

She can’t wait until tomorrow,
For early mornings glow,
She’ll be off to Oklahoma,
Where the rose rocks grow.

Copyright © 2010 Marycile Beer

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Responses

  1. Marycile Beer, American Poet « The Sound Of Poetry Review…

    Here at World Spinner we are debating the same thing……


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