Word Painter's Blog (15)

A TRAIL OF TEARS

© Vickey Stamps 3/4/14

Her parents had wanted her to be a boy child. Obviously that hadn’t happened, so the Matthew they’d thought for a Matthew, Sr. had become Mattie instead, and they’d grown to love this only child, with all their hearts.

She stood now, in front of the closet she had shared with her husband all these long years. Two ‘Sunday go to meeting’ shirts hung there that they had indulged in for Mark, at the local mercantile. The rest of the shirts…

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A TRAIL OF TEARS

© Vickey Stamps 3/4/14

Her parents had wanted her to be a boy child. Obviously that hadn’t happened, so the Matthew they’d thought for a Matthew, Sr. had become Mattie instead, and they’d grown to love this only child, with all their hearts.

She stood now, in front of the closet she had shared with her husband all these long years. Two ‘Sunday go to meeting’ shirts hung there that they had indulged in for Mark, at the local mercantile. The rest of the shirts…

Continue

THE NEW YEAR’S BABY

© Vickey Stamps

She’d sworn and been darned if she would spend another year after this one,

trying to get a New Year’s Baby ready to face the world. This one had to

have been the most difficult of all the years ever! It was as if it had an

internal computer inside it, set on FAST SPEED and never allowed to turn off.

“Mercy, Lord, and why me?” It was ever so much easier, she thought. In the

very old days, all she’d had to do…

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THE LONELY MAN

© Vickey Stamps 12/12/15

Strange as it might seem, and unusual as it was, snow fell softly upon the ocean of the sleepy little town. Its fingers of water were weary. A long day had passed. None the less, it reached up grabbing the tiny flakes, pulling them down and further cooling the vastness of its watery domain. Upon the sidewalks, the snow slowly collected building up layer upon layer, making itself a lovely thing to look upon. Few would likely know at this…

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my gift is a brand new story orientated to the new year. My prayer is that the Creator will pour upon you and yours all that which is good and right in life and forever hold you all in the hollow of HIS hands. Happy 2015. My latest doll fro sick kids went to a child age 4 in So. Africa that has brain cancer.

SAM

© 12/29/14

The ranch-house seemed to almost groan then settle in, as if talking to Sam. The people within slept longer this day, for the night had been long with…

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A PENNY WORTH OF LOVE

© Vickey Stamps 12/1-09

While she was very young yet, Becca knew somehow that something was going wrong at home. Her parents were sad about Christmas. Usually it was the happiest time of the year for all of them. It was only a couple weeks away and….unlike other years, there was no tree in their home. There had always been a tree. Her baby brother would not mind. He was just a baby and didn’t know of Christmas and trees. It was…

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AMERICA

By Vickey Stamps

In America there’s the Irish, Italians and the Swede.

There’s Japanese and Mexicans unique in the life they lead.

There are African Americans, the Polish and the Swiss.

All are part and parcel of the Immigration Dish

See the English and the French who fought an awful war.

Now sons and daughters all unite on this far and distant shore.

The Jewish folks…

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Courage

© Vickey Stamps

Half wolf and some other mixture, mangy and nearly dead, the cattle drive boss had found him. He was hungry, half out of his head.

He’d taken him home on his saddle. He’d figured the pup wouldn’t

live through the night; but he’d rescued a real good scrapper who

had the know how to fight.

Ben gave him the name of ‘Courage.’ He still didn’t think he’d stay long.

A trail herds no place…

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OLD SPARKY AND JOE





Cowboy Joe and his old horse

both were now growing old;

They’d rode on many a path

They were curious and bold

But they’d known fun days of yesterday

but it weren’t the same today

Joe sure loved Old Sparky;

“Good friend” you’d hear him say



Old Sparky had been wild,

trained ‘a twisting bronc’ for cowpokes to ride

But old Joe… Continue

SARA SAID ....

(Life and death from the viewpoint of a dog, as barked to her lady-person Vickey Stamps)

Foreword:

It is not quite two in the morning. I am talking to my neighborhood friend. (Just a little barking) My master disagrees and yells “Shut that up, Sara!” He makes more noise then I did. Oh well, he is a people and those kind have to be humored. I say to him “Don’t get yourself in an uproar!” and go back inside my dog apartment. My name is Sara. As you have most likely…

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THE FIDDLER

Vickey Stamps 8/20/09



The old man cradled his violin across and over his heart, the rosined strings

to the bow freshly applied. Now he stepped down as gently as he could upon his arthritic legs, grateful there were only a few steps to the sidewalk. The home was older than he was and he thought perhaps that was enough to say about it.



It was the deep dusk just after sunset and before the dark of true night. He had finished up a brief performance with a… Continue

CHRISTMAS WITH THE ALDER WOOD

© Vickey Stamps 12/4/09…. 9:30 a.m.

It was an old tree and if one were there at the right time and year, it might be seen to tug at its roots, limbering up its limbs and branches in a tall stretch. After all, even a tree such as this one, with its whitish-gray bark, could stand just so long over its many years with stillness. Granted of course were the times when the winds blew upon and against it, when…

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Murmers Of The Heart

© Vickey Stamps 3/4/14

Her parents had wanted her to be a boy child. Obviously that hadn’t happened, so the Matthew they’d decided on... for a Matthew, Sr., had become Mattie instead. They’d grown to love this only child with all their hearts.

She stood now in front of the closet she had shared with her husband all these long years. Two ‘Sunday go to meeting’ shirts hung there that they had indulged in for Mark, at the local mercantile. The rest of the…

Continue

The Slave Ship © Vickey Stamps 8:30 p.m. (3/16/10)

The water was beyond choppy. No small strike and retreat type violent waves, but instead tall strong waves, rising up as if in battle against the huge ship. Within its hull and in its depth sat one soul across from another and row upon row from front to back with only a narrow opening to walk along.…

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THE FOXHOLE

© Vickey Stamps Written, 12/12/09 11: 15 a.m.

It is Christmas Time, thinks the young soldier, not yet out of his teens, as he lies quietly in a shallow foxhole built from desert sand. He remains alert, but is unable to keep his entire thought from traveling to a place called home. He sees the family far away. He can almost smell the ham with its covering of cloves and pineapple slices secured to its surface. He pictures it pulled forth from the oven, steam and aroma…

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