Church of my youth,
Old teacher, old friend,
our roots so entwined, entangled
deep beneath the sand.
Growing up in the 50’s
was an experience all its own –
Life pulsated with innocence,
and that church was a second home.
We were childhood sweethearts –
the group that I was in,
but the 60’s took us so far away,
we could never come back again.
I wonder though on summer nights,
when moonlight fills those pews,
can shadows from our pasts be seen,
unveiled like hidden truths?
Does “Blessed Assurance” echo still
as that old piano rings?
Do June bugs fly in and out,
while ghostly voices sing?
Can babies be heard crying
above some ancient prayer,
while stifled youthful laughter,
is silenced by a stare.
Anita Stubbs
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My House of Many Rooms
I am a private person, but need a place to publish my writings, which have accumulated over the years. I am in the autumn of my life, and feel the need to preserve some of what I have written in forms of poetry, short stories, and articles. I have written one novel and now am working on my second one.
I live quietly with my husband of 57 years, as of this coming November, in Texas. My ancestors first came to Texas prior to the Civil War. Other than the five or so years when we moved out of state, I have lived my life here.
Anything more you may wish to know about me, you can hopefully gather from my writings, as far as my values, my character, and my impressions of humanity -- in as much and as far as I have experienced it, or imagined it.
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Anita Stubbs 