Poetry by Gynith Roberts

I live in Blue Springs, MO., a suburb of Kansas City. Married (to the same husband) 48 years. Have two children and four grandsons. Have had a Christmas story published in GRIT magazine and an article in Whispers from Heaven magazine. Have been a winner in several International Poetry Contests. One poem published in the Independence, MO. newspaper. I am on the staff of the Senior Center newspaper, The Vesper Voice. I do editorials, interviews and poetry for the Voice. Am also taking a Creative Writing Class. I have finished one non-fiction novel which has not been submitted and am working on my first fiction novel.


He is known by many names;
The grim reaper, the finger of
Doom or the death angel.
I prefer to know him as the traveler.

I've seen him afar, forever.
Today he comes closer,
So near I see the sand in the hourglass
Still falling one grain at a time.
Is he here for me?
No, not this day.
My work is not yet finished.

One day he will
Come for me.
I pray it will be a summer
Morning, when the grass
Is green velvet,
Gentle breezes whisper
Softly across the land,
The mist is fresh upon
The lilac and the heavens
Are alive with the song of birds.

Let me hear his call from
My garden.
Then, I will set aside the
Tools of life and follow
Him to the land of
Promise and fulfillment.
There I shall rest eternally in
The company of angels.

© Gynith Roberts


Shall I walk along the beach
And collect the grains of sand;
Or amass the many treasures
Put on this earth for man?

Should I accumulate selected works
Of writers great and grand;
Or hoard all contributiions
Bestowed upon this land?

Will I set aside wealth and riches
For my golden years to come:
Or bring together little things
That mean so much to some?

I cannot fill my storehouse
With gleanings from the past;
Or cling to all the mundane things
That may or may not last.

The collections in my life
Are treasures from above -
Faith, hope, miracles
And God's most perfect love.

© Gynith Roberts


Shadows of black and white
Flutter across my soul
Like rose petals
Blowing in the wind.

Each petal becomes
A blossom of the past
Clinging to eternity,
Whispering in my heart.

Shaded memories
Wandering aimlessly
Touch my inner selt
With infinite serenity.

© Gynith Roberts