The Secret of the Christmas Heart....

The Christmas Heart 

The secret of the Christmas heart

Is hidden but quite clear;

It follows us around a lot

And goes from year to year.

Not evident at times to us,

Not meant for us to know,

For the mystery of its secret

Is in the loving that we show.

Not in presents given in December

That with money we can buy;

Not in parties given for Christmas cheer,

Or in Christmas songs that make us cry.

Not in empty hours spent shopping,

Going from store to store.

Not in cards, so bright and gay,

Signed and hanging around our door

Not in a tree cut and dying,

Not in lights that blink and flash;

Not in Christmas clubs set up to save

To give us Christmas cash.

Not in stories about a fat man,

Not in tales of his reindeer;

No, the secret of the Christmas heart

Is not in Christmas cheer.

To find the heart of Christmas,

We must sit and reflect alone:

Remembering the year gone by

And the loving we have shown.

In the time we spend with children,

Helping them learn of life;

In tears shed with others,

In times of personal strife.

In little deeds of kindness,

In listening to a friend;

In walking down the road of life

Straightening all its bends.

In an hour spent fishing,

In laughter to break a mood;

In the good times and in the bad times,

It’s the deeds that people do.

So when you check your presents

To see all that they hold,

Reflect on all you’ve done this year

And the secret you’ve been told.

A Life that just passed me by..........

Quaker Basin Cemetery

Life Just Passed Me By

I felt the wind like the touch of Spring,

Gently passing in the glow of day.

I saw a scene so far from me,

Yet passing just a foot away.

I heard God as I walked the hill.

I stopped to listen and to pray,

And time just passed on by.

My heart smiled, enjoyed, and cared,

As my lungs filled with the sweet Spring air;

And the breeze against my face wasn’t even there,

As life just passed on by.

They laughed at me for I beamed with love,

For the grass that felt like silken glove,

It gave me pleasure and just a bit of love,

And time just passed me by.

I heard the call of the meadow’s lark,

I felt the tree and its rugged bark,

But time had passed me by.

For now I’m grown and now I’ve lost

The simple heart that would have bought,

With a fortune or a ransom lost,

But not even that could stop..

Time from passing me on by.

My Cat!

My Cheshire Cat

What type of cat can stay in one place?

With never a frown but a smile on his face?

Is he watching something that I can’t see?

Or is he just trying to out “psyche” me!

I’ll see if this string will divert his gaze,

And wipe that smile off his furry old face.

But all I get is a sideways glance,

As if I’ve lost “it” or really gone “bats”!

Maybe if I creep up and give him a nudge

I can wipe that smile off this overweight “pudge!”

But alas, in disgust, he gets up and moves,

Revealing that he just threw up on my shoes!

Gathering in Fall...

Gathering in Fall

As the days get shorter,

And the evenings grow crisp and cool,

The trees shed their summer colors,

Turning blaze against skies of blue.

Walking deep within the woods,

With the smell of wood fires in the air,

I stop to gaze upon a log

And notice competition there.

My furry friend with bushy tail

Scurries quickly to and fro,

Knowing winter and all that’s cold

Will soon follow fall and so..

Gathering nature’s fall-time bounty,

Nuts to keep him through winter’s time.

I feel a bit like a thief,

And robbing him, a fall time crime.

But chestnuts roasting and hazelnuts baked

Are a rather great reward;

For such a pleasant task as this,

Gathering nature’s bounty dropped by the Lord.

The Fields of Grass.......and stone.....

National Cemetery in Elmira, New York

Fields of Grass & Stone

Cold steel brought me here,

Among my fellow soldiers

And their loved ones tears.

How simple and yet so cold,

Long white lines, markers bold

Soldiers buried young and old.

Honor is a fleeting thing,

Thought as gold in life’s small ring,

Never giving thought to death,

Now I lay with all the rest.

Thoughts of Fall and Winter's coming!

And so its Fall

FALL

The worries of the ending year,

With fall so close and cold so near,

Have brought a sigh to woodland folk,

Who scurry quickly and gather so,

That wintertime in white so stark,

And days that start and end in dark,

Are lit by wood fires fed with love,

Granted to earth from above!

Sun and rain grow the good,

That gives us our supply of wood.

Pumpkins, corn and squash are dried,

To carry us to warmer times.

So scurry my little squirrelly friends,

And chop dear neighbors the wood that sends,

Smoke rising to heaven high above,

To thank Mother Nature for her love!

The Moon's Shadow!

Moon’s Shadow

Stargazers watch the swirling sky,

As dots of light go rolling by.

The sky’s dark envelope closes overhead,

As we watch in wonder and delight;

For the moon, our very fickle friend,

Will dance a dance for us tonight.

Shimmering, glimmering, moving but still,

As we lie on our backs at the top of a hill,

Dancing and prancing across the velvet sky,

The star show for us goes gaily by.

Hours pass, the night is still,

As we sit on our perch above the hill.

So beautiful and so hard to believe

That it's with a mere shadow you deceive.

Then slowly you pull the mask from your face,

And again bathe the earth with your silvery grace.

The Seward House still stands tall!

Seward House

The sage of Auburn lived here,

Among the books and fine adornments.

Was Miller’s home for many years,

Filled with history and refinements.

Scene of dinners, fetes and friends

Who ruled New York in years past.

Weed, an honored often guest,

As well as all the famous rest.

A Stone fireplace...at site of a CCC Camp!

CCC camp at McDonough

It is silent there now,

No sound, no sound.

I heard a faint call of a bird…

It seemed so far away.

Where men once worked,

And learned a trade,

And helped to make a way!

The forest stands as a monument,

To the men who planted trees;

They were a force of hope and growth,

Those men of the CCC!

Walking by the Glimmerglass shore.....

Summer thoughts on a Summers day in Cooperstown

Summer's warm breezes filled the air,

As I wondered near the waters edge;

The sky in muted summer colors,

Called my name so I stopped to stare.

An ancient sound seemed to echo forth,

From generations who lived before;

Of marching men who took to boats

Docked and waiting by this shore.

To hear the birds as they float in air,

And watch the sun set on its way;

I think of my place set in time,

And wonder if here I should stay.

But life is but a fickle friend,

Who we cannot trust to tell us more;

We must cross the water in the end,

To make it to the other shore.

The all important BEE!

The Bee

The bee, with all its work,

Finds time to smell the flowers.

Extracting all it needs for life,

As it visits each blossom,

hour after hour.

The stately hollyhock its friend,

With rich hues of pink and white;

Attracting all the little bees,

Until the fall of night.

I wonder, does their work produce,

A feeling of bee satisfaction?

Does it give the bee its life's fulfillment,

Drawn from hours of buzzing action?

Is the honey that it produces

From its life's work its reward?

Or is it just a little gift,

Left for us

By the workings of the Lord?

The walls of mankind.....

Walls

Beyond the eyes lies the wall of man, 

His heart safe and warm, beyond other ken. 

Hidden at length to prevent any pain, 

Any sorrow or trouble, in life’s time of rain.

I wonder in passing if compassion is real, 

For those people with walls, who swear that they feel, 

When helping others with acts of kindness, 

Hoping to show their open mindedness.

These people are truly fools; 

For their kindness is shown by only their rules.

The vitality of life is a flickering candle,

 Put behind our walls so that we can handle, 

Any situation or person that feelings alert 

Our mind to the fact that our heart might get hurt.

The cruel hard fact is...

Too soon life is gone, 

And whatever we have to give 

Has been ours all along.

The embodiment of all that we wish we could tell others 

Is hidden beneath our walls and warm covers. 

In moments of loneliness we wish we could say, 

All the feelings and thoughts we once put away.

Our walls are things 

We start in our youth,

When we fail to come to terms 

With God’s honest truth.

TIME.......an enemy of all!

Time

Time is so perilous …

To the old and sickly,

To the youth whose dreams soon die,

To the soldier who can never return to his former being,

To the lonely who can never climb out of their thoughts,

To the petals of a flower that must fall,

To history that will never be remembered,

To hopes that are dashed,

To love that grows cold,

To us all as we return to dust!

The Old Bridge to Grandma's House!

The Old Bridge!

The old bridge goes nowhere now.

It once crossed to memories of grandma’s house.

Through the thicket and across the creek,

We would run and jump so eager to seek

Grandma waiting by the old kitchen door;

Calling out to us to come in and enjoy,

Cookies from the oven, milk from the cow,

I wish I could cross the bridge

And be there right now!

The "Old House"...

Old House near Stockbridge

The Old House

I came upon it quite by chance, 

On a cold fall afternoon. 

The gray skies hanging overhead 

Had reduced the day to gloom.

There was a path worn around it, 

Through brush and tall brown grass. 

I pondered for a moment, 

Was this from the present or the past.

The siding gray and cracking, 

Things were hanging at the seams. 

Vines entangled around the roof, 

And wound around the beams.

Did I hear a whisper? 

Perhaps it’s just the wind, 

Though it seems to be some voices 

From the past, but then again.

All my senses tell me

 That it’s the vacant haunting sound 

Of memories, both good and bad, 

This house their burying ground.

As I gaze off the old front step,

I picture lilies by the door, 

With the creaking of a rocking chair 

On the cracked and buckling floor.

Do I hear children’s laughter

Wafting up the hill? 

Alas, it’s just the wind again, 

Coming through the sills.

The hour grows late, I hate to leave, 

For you’re so empty and alone. 

But I must travel to another house, 

The one I call my Home.