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Omajean Lewis' Profile


Legendary Poet

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About Me and My Poetry

Born 1935 in a half dug out near the " Packsaddle Bridge," within five miles of the small town of Camargo,Oklahoma, growing up during the Dust Bowl days and amid the early days of the Texas Panhandle Oil Fields, observing WW 11 as a child, graduating from Borger,Texas High School and marrying in the early fifties, raising two children Tonya and Brenton through the sixties and seventies and taking care of her parents and parent-in-laws through the nineteen nineties has given Omajean Lewis a unique perspective on life. When not traveling and enjoying her family with her husband Dalton of 62 years, Oma is active as an artist, photographer,poet and writer. In 2012 she was chosen, "Pampa Fine Arts Association, Artist of The Year." In the year 2015 Omajean had a Poetry Book published Titled,"Beyond the Packsaddle Bridge."

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About My Poem

I was out on my porch ,
Porch light shinning bright,
When I happened to see,
Three little frogs staring at me.

If it hadn't been for the light,
Three frogs would have been in trouble,
I would not of seen them,
You know how a pin pops a bubble.?

The light was on,
The frogs were hunting for sure,
Light brings bugs,
I doubt the bugs will endure.

There's a bug,
There was a bug,
Fastest tongues in the west,
Three frogs are drawing down there best.

Now what do you do with three frogs?
Who are hungry?
Bugs are gone with a snap of a tongue,
All I can say is, "Bugs Begone."

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Children of the broad fields,
Brought forth before the morning sun,
Laborers of earlier times,
... continued
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Love is made from dreams,
Kisses sweeter than wine,
Loving arms to hold me,
... continued
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I am headed down the Glory Road,
My feet will touch no stone,
For upon that Glory Road,
... continued
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Pulling together my life in time,
Little pieces one by one,
Places I've been,
... continued
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Two little girls,
On the church house steps,
Shinning sweet faces,
In their Sunday School best.

Waiting for the preacher,
To arrive for his quest,
Nice brown suit,
With a smooth silk vest.

Sunday School every Sunday,
Learning about Christ,
Filling their hearts,
With love and delight.

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She says, "I'm indestructible,
'Indestructible me.'"
She needs to understand,
She doesn't see what we see.

She's young and beautiful,
A sentiment everyone enjoys,
We envision in her, great love,
Virtue gifted from above.

This could be her ploy,
I'm sure it must be,
In no way is she indestructible,
She is equal of you and me.

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A farce, a lie,
Onset to end,
Those who proclaim love,
... continued
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There stands an old farm house,
Tucked between two weathered hill,
Memories live on of fruitful years,
... continued
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As we walked to Sunday School,
Sister and I would skip and play,
Stopping at auntie's house,
... continued
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