Publishing family history | Writing creative nonfiction
This is lettering using a quill instead of an apostrophe for the contraction "As Penned"

Sing or Cry


Children laughed, crossed their eyes,

Pointed fingers, pushed me, would shout,

"Cross-eyed monkey!" I didn't know why,

I was on the "inside" looking out.


Dear brother knew, my sisters too,

Numbers did not matter,

They did what loving siblings do,

Words and fist made my tormentors scatter.


Tears dried, my scraped knees healed,

Pity was not a word I heeded,

Music and prose became my saving grace,

It gave my soul a secret place.


When four and five, hunger held us hostage,

We sang in harmony, a bar room floor our stage,

Mother picked up coins that came our way,

There would be food for another day.

Poems by Nelda "Sunny" Fairchild Bingo

Bundled in a patch work quilt,

While Mother kneaded dough for bread.

The light from an old oil lamp,

Cast shadows on the bed.


Putting kids to bed with nothing to eat,

Mother wished it wasn't so.

She turned away to hide her tears,

It broke her heart to tell us no.


Mother worked so very hard,

To keep us fed and dry.

Her love, so sweet, we savored,

Our choice was to sing or cry.

Unburdened Heart Though none call me poet when I am gone, Someone may find this little book and read How I was battered blue and left to bleed. Insensible, on life's threshing stone. Not just for my sake or soul's own purging. If another weep in sweet release Of pent up griefs that overwhelm them so. Cries across the years, "I know, I know! Your pain is mine." This somehow gives me peace; A narrow respite from the constancy Of anguish that did not begin with me. From my heart to yours, Sunny

To purchase one of Sunny's few remaining personally autographed books, click here.