Author: Carol Welch
Date: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Life's Dear Things

All These Dear Things
Holding That Thought
Perseverance
Never, Never Land
"Bearing" All Things
Ideas Shared
Four Year Old's Lesson
Fairy Garden
Spring Change
Together For Us
An Orderly Appearance
Fowl Invasion
Making The Best of It
A Facebook Funk
Sumac
Fathers' Loving Patience
Truly, True Value
Gray Funk
A Travel Farewell
Stream of Observation
Bird Coloration
Farming in Summer
Redeeming the Rotten
Redeeming the Rotten
July 5
Fair for 4-H Members
Late Summer at the Bird Feeder
After-bloom
Lily Lost
An old playmates birthday
Help To Order My Time
August Lace
Deadhead and Prune
To Fostering of the Arts
Unpredictable Summer Day
Musical Gift
Hold Onto the Music
Finding Truth
Party Mascots
Flighty Fall Fellow
Portraits of Living
Hidden Peril
Conundrum Remedied
Solitary Spectator
Outlook
Choosing Begins with Grass Roots
Clinging and Freeing
Day by Day
Finding Fault
Recovery Halloween Party
Taut Strings
From Little Molehills
Moving Mountains
Standard Time--Fall Back
Deer Hunting From the Past
Thanks My Gentleman
Light the Truth
Gift of Encouragement
Christmas Dreams and Gift
Tribute To A Generous Technician
Snipping Away The Wilted
Hope for 2017
Two Thousand Seventeen
Quiet Challenge
Sharing a Sorrow
Crescent Moon
A Good Example--Shared Learning
Will Challenged
Home Town
So That Was the Farm
Good Wishes, Mr. President
To Advise Or
Inauguration 2017
Projects
A Valentine For Him
Canine Companion
Conveying a Thought
The Biggest Thrills
Ant as Teacher
Live and let----
Breakfast in the Park
Today's Moves
Daylight Time 2017
Holding Hope
Man at the Helm
Just Different
Turn to Truth
Bare Hills Euphoria
Versatile Birds
Playing an Old Instrument
Creeping Attitude
On Second Thought
A Heart Art Commentary
A Jeweled Aid
A Gift Acknowledged
Symphony of Tongue and Ear
Gifts From Father
Day of Memory and Honor
Farewell, Bob Williamson
Today's Slate
My Will or My Best
Another Fathers' Day
Exercising the Body and Eyes

All These Dear Things

Of all things that could be retained,
tangible and to be seen,
of all that is felt and unfeigned,
would we pluck and sort and glean?

Can we hold onto the breeze,
wafting past us, touching skin,
rustling the leaves of trees,
responding of the soul within?

Colors of the flowers bright,
charming lift and light of smile,
clear cut gleam of stars at night,
home, when sensed in that last mile.

Would be glossy fur of pet,
purring, cuddly, haughty airs?
Soft drops on my face, and wet,
when the sun's heat over bears?

All around us and within,
objects dear and sky above,
what would we hold, much loved kin?
That which is forever, love.

All, God-given, on the earth,
we have not the power to hold.
through our life and from our birth.
What can't be ended, love, the gold.

Holding That Thought

I must ask your indulgence,
when I cannot interrupt,
my train of thought, derailing,
though I fear I am abrupt.

to accomplish concentration
and to focus such a chore,
that when I seem to get it,
to break it shakes my core.

Although it helps me empathize,
when your concentration's key,
and my chagrin to minimize,
when it's happening to me.

I do not know the answer
for this dilemma grave,
but it would be an advantage,
if I could just hit."save."

Perseverance

Look! What we didn't know that we would ever have at all,
has been accomplished here before our eyes.
If ever, we may have had to wait until the fall.
Now it's true, and we can use it. Well, surprise!

The waiting and the wishing, doing then without,
are past, and we can go on with the day.
The obstacle is now removed without a doubt,
It is hoped we'd find a word or two to say

To the one it was who--somewhat--quietly strove on,
while we went about our planned activities,
not minding that the time to share in fun was gone,
the progress born of efforts , now he sees.

We will use the result of work on our behalf,
not forgetting who accomplished what appears.
And the way we coped without it now will be a laugh,
as we thank the one who calmly perseveres.

We say, "How was it that you stayed at it so true,
how you came up with the answer with that verve?"
And then, with a shrug and modest smile, say you,
"I guess It was another learning curve.

Never, Never Land

It's time for Never, Never Land,
where there's a girl friend by your side,
and you go walking hand in hand,
and skip a little in your stride.

It's time to fix each other's hair,
and share your dear and secret thought,
commerce of the world just unaware,
laugh at comics as we ought.

It's time to let our heart shine through,
and share what your heart dearly holds,
take time to cherish old and new,
ignoring politics and gold.

It's time to weave a garland sweet,
and place upon your pretty brow,
admire it, so fancy and so neat,
and just glory in the now.

It's time for Never, Never Land,
where love and secrets never end,
and you go walking hand in hand,
in the closeness of a friend.

"Bearing" All Things

If you have a friendship with a bear,
you can doubtless see he's cuddly and warm.
Though you may revel in his smile and hair,
only in his own way will he perform.

His deep and gentle growl be like a purr,
his hug great to experience and hold,
but , if you are an assuming her,
your expectations may be far too bold.

So, if you have a friendship with a bear,
just realize, though bears are good and true
if you should get too tangled in his hair ,
that precious bear may simply utter,' Shoo."

Ideas Shared

Ideas may have special beauty,
unmarred by personalities.
To share expression may seem duty.
In any case, shared thoughts bring keys.

Keys to understand our brother,
opening door to learn from friends,
purpose not to knock the other,
but with clear and useful ends.

Ideas not to change or alter,
what our friend holds or perceives,
not to make another falter,
but to hear what he believes.

Shared ideas like two forces,
parallel but still not bound,
only serve to change the courses,
of those in whom like purpose found .

Ideas may have special beauty,
moved by accepting searching minds,
not bound by a burden's duty,
real fellowship, by sharing, finds

Growth in learning and in living,
ideas free and deep and dear,
Our attention's generous giving,
speaking lips and listening ear..

Four Year Old's Lesson

When I was four, we moved today,
April first, long years away.
We moved with cows, pigs, chickens too,
even pheasants, home grown, a few,
to farm house on a hill so high
although weather beaten--a sigh,
the view below, magnificent,
could have made us glad we went.
Why, to four-year-old not known.

The days were much like this same day,
not so many miles away.
patches of snow lingered below,
mud on boots and raw winds blow.
But, the scene when looking back,
reminds me, much I do not lack,
patched tarpaper torn and black
obstacles set Mama back:
How now to make a home?

Time has passed,I think it was grit
that made them try and never quit.
that made me grow to search and see,
although sometimes, it was we
that got me perching higher up
someone beside me saying, Yup.'
I could do it if I try,
or sometimes just got by.
But I learned back at age four,
to give myself a better score,
when instead of just get by,
I'd try.

We scraped loose paint and calcimine,
we put the paving stones in line;
tear off ;loose siding, paint the trim.
Daddy smiled when we helped him.
Held the boards while Grandpa nailed;
it seemed with help we really sailed.
When Mama painted one room blue
we all helped her paint another too'.
The sighs that came from paint so chipped.
a four year old just laughed, and skipped.
and thought, I helped a little bit.
That seemed to make the best of it.
and so as years and years go by,
I try.

Fairy Garden

Where leaves were lying, brown, gray, sere,
pressed down by snow of months from skies,
warmed by sun , subtly disappears;
enchantment creeps in, awes our eyes.

On a stem delicate as a hair,
they open in a miniature row:
white Dutchmen's breeches, pair by pair,
laugh at dead leaves unseen below.

By nature's call, "Arise and bloom."
they push dead and dry leaves aside.
With fern-like leaves, state, "Give me room."
Soon pure white with purple and pink abide.

As blue bell clusters crowd around.
Spring beauties pink striped petals state,
a fairy land close to the ground,
a small girl's eyes' fresh wonder rate.

How brief the show, rare to perceive,
and, yet, the woodland overall,
turns to a lace, hard to believe,
a short-lived floral fairies' ball.

As violets of the purple kind
draw attention, a royal dance
dog-tooth violets, maribels we find,
precious, not as in finance.

We marvel these posies we detect
gather a few for someone, then,
a back-looking view may reflect,
little girls picking flowers once again.

Spring Change

Only last week, trees' shadows cast bars,
defined and regular, spaced on dead leaves,
formed by dawn's rays--displaced fading stars.
What surprising images spring season weaves.

Today, the same forest that showed formal lines,
is veiled by the sapling leaves, barely unfurled.
Then--we looked in tjhe woods, screened only where pines
were in view; now the veil dots our world.

Our wakig-up eyelids raise to the view,
where grass's new green the expanse dominates.
What last week, God dusted with snow, today dew
sparkles petals and leaves as sun radiates.

Though it may be it's wishful, birds building nest,
then over their newly hatched babies will sing.
There may be a reason why I think it's best,
to luxuriate crisply in the forthcoming spring.

Together For Us

Be with us, within us,
around us above us.
We seek You; You keep us.
We can know You love us.

You make each occurrence
turn out for our best
When we love and trust You,
our worries find rest.

Oh, help us to know You,
and be with Your sight.
Your will be our motive,
Your presence our light.

So. with You within us,
around us above us,
we may learn to love,
with love as You love us.

An Orderly Appearance

What is the reason you're pushing the season,
little wood anemone?
I've seen no May flowers, though searching for hours:
they are called hepatica (properly.)

Trillium leaves, triplicate, future plans activate,
though they are not due 'til mid-May,
The leaves of the violet, appear deep green, and yet,
where are the hepaticae?

While fern fiddle heads, uncurl, lift leaves so dead,
and mosses with tiny-haired spore,
precede some seed-bearers, if I'm not in errors,
the other should come before.

The bloodroot, white, star-like, rarely seen on our hike,
surprises the eye, so pristine,
although on the fingers, a rusty stain lingers,
just part of nature's spring scene.

The unlearned conclusion, it may be illusion,
the order in which spring appears.
The Father, all-knowing oversees the growing,
that we may enjoy, see and hear.

Fowl Invasion

In orderly formation, now, once more.
this spring they, in martial column, parade.
Their leaders, heads erect, move to the fore.
Methodic footfalls marsh and lea invade.

They launch, like undeviating train of verse,
into the sedge surrounded, reed-bordered pond.;
they glide as one the surface to transverse,
push aside every impeding frond.

Purposeful, aligned, they mount the bank,
and without interruption, split the mass,
the vegetation, brushing either flank,
unswerving as the grassy tract they pass.

Beneath their dignity, "Aren't they cute?"
observers, then, not comprehending, say.
The bent to follow, sedate, keen, astute,
remains consistent as they wend their way.

Each year, welcome appearance is the same,
covertly subtle, as their intent they hide.
Mother, father Canada geese seem tame,
protecting seven goslings shown with pride.

They disappear, their presence ever near,
slip to neighbors pond, picturesque mural.
Their city neighbors may be heard to cheer,
their annual faithful return is rural.

Making The Best of It

Surprise, the motivation came,
to do the job I knew we should,
eventually see done, my aim..
Now, should I see the cause as good?

The bits of dust accumulate,
we can't quite reach as daily chore,
though slowly, as a steady rate,
they soon present a challenge sore.

And, should your love by accident,
cause liquid under appliances,
to enter, and you think he's bent
on the enemy alliances.

But, should he,perhaps, find worthwhile,
the conundrum that just took place
and even help--it brings a smile,
when you recover and save face.

All clean and shiny you admit,
although disaster brought it on;
recalculate the size of it,
and the smile may linger on.

A Facebook Funk (or Chat Combat)

Facebook, I fear, is giving me the fits;
when I try to reply, I get chat window blitz.
Your photos are the best,
but how may I attest,
when the chat window my reply omits.

Chat window, I believe you are designed,
to allow a message shared, not blow my mind.
But that to which I would reply ,
is blocked from my eye.
Can anyone the answer to this find?

Social media, this way to communicate
seems designed by gremlins just to frust-er-rate.
If someone would explain,
how to circumvent this pain,
I'd enjoy the advantages you state.

Sumac

Another lesson learned today,
as in the process of my work,
nature's choice is not my way,
acts with many a puzzling quirk.

The sumac I want, just a few,
picturesque, seen by road,
I protected, babied, one or two,
threats of natural pests, a load.

The deer chose them over tender grass,
to nibble closely to the ground,
lawn mower took too close a pass,
gravel formed a smothering mound.

Now, they're beginning to produce,
leaves and branches I desired.
It's as though Hades cut loose,
flower bed is snarled and mired.

Midst Intercepting roots and stones,
foliage enthusiastically,
challenges muscles, strength and bones.
before ruling entirely.

Is there an answer? Nature's way,
seems to best my efforts scant,
Only opposing day by day,
I'm spared from shouting, "No,I can't."

Must I destroy its vibrant drive,
its foliage lively, full of verve?
To keep control, yet keep alive,
nature is throwing me a curve.

Fathers' Loving Patience

I heard a tale, a true one too'
about a little lad so bright,
to engage with Dad--Grandpa, it's new--
in fishing, much longed-for delight.

Little boys' bright minds investigate;
a cast, he'd seen it gamely done.
The lines tangled in random state,
for some, tragic, for one--fun.

Long, intricate trial, to disentwine,
the boy observed, still thinking too,
"If we had not this tangled line,
we would have had nothing to do.

So goes this tale of patience long,
of father, grandfather, as well,
whose love exceeded thoughts of wrong,
and precious memories, fish excel.

Today, we'll hear a tale or two,
of how the Daddy set aside,
the moment's goal he had in view,
to give his girl a horsie ride.

To tell his son what would be right,
when the rewards seemed selfishly,
aimed at pleasure, fame and might,
but help a better world to see.

It isn't just what Daddy says,
but the way his life he lives.
What wondrous things a father's ways,
A better world for what he gives.

So, let us always bolster him,
in living out as best he can,
cheer the life lived to the brim,
a loving, good and Godly man.

Truly, True Value

There are houses, feeders, bird seed and maize,
making "for the birds" a positive phrase,
saws, all kinds of hammers and drills to bore holes,
traps and repellents for gophers and moles.

Repair and advice when use makes us nervous,
replacement parts, new features, and service,
kitchen appliances, bathroom plumbing too;
kitchen utensils that bring fame to you.

To greet you is Carol or other nice gals,
who, in her absence, know products' locales.
If your bicycle's jimmied. there's a young fellow too,
If not totally shot, will its functions renew.

In your lawn we major, healthy and neat,
with flowers from the green house picture complete.
With sprinklers and hoses, watering is a breeze;
mowers and trimmers declare your expertise.

When snow comes again, the blower or scoop,
and service--think--use power don't get pooped.
Experience the byword, Earl and his boys,
and each of the crew, emulate, skill employs.

Many a fine hardware has come here and gone;
some moved or retired, but good they have done.
But True Value endures, though its name is changed,
courtesy and quality are not rearranged.

Now, out in the mall, True Value we find,
hometown shopping value efficient and kind.
the right tool or process from damage preserve us
replace or repair, in any case, get--Service.

Gray Funk

Things I see as good,
I feel bad about.
If I'd try, I could,
get up, gad about.

So far, I just kick me,
for not coming forth,
letting feelings trick me,
hiding any worth.

It's time to arise,
feel like it or not,
hopeless invalid?
Oh, no, I am not.

Yesterday is gone,
except for amends.
Then, onward, forward,
and straight with our friends.

The Father of love,
sees when we fall down,
from His throne above,
grace, traded for frown.

A Travel Farewell

Despite much dropped connection, still she spoke
to let me know she deeply , fondly cared.
We laughed about how flighty New York is,
especially the airports. Ha! Ha! Ha!

A month, four weeks, they will fill, how, who knows?
Day at a time, the travel will unfold.
Will there be moors with ponies running wild?
Vast Prince's land with foxglove decorate?

Stone bridges spanning streams and rugged rocks;
Old castles topping hills and craggy mounts.
Now, fishing villages like sirens call,
bright hues and noisy sea birds dot the shore.

Stationed high in the Alps, the Matterhorn,
epitome of grandeur long holds sway.
Riviera's unconfined extravagance,
before the pomp, Vatican's dignity.

Not even having been there, still, I know
before long , four weeks will be much too short,
so much that was not done or seen still calls,
as you again touch down that flighty place.

Stream of Observation

It may have been rhyme led me to express;
I've vowed to let the language stand alone,
to let the leafy ,green glade tell its tale,
allow the verdant valley breathe its charm.

Meander river with its tributaries;
disclose, as you pull me along your tales,
bright flash of fish, the predator or prey,
leap as the mayfly its brief life fulfills .

Watch watery reflections mirror leaves,
the open spaces shifting, blue, the sky.
As imagination leads the progress,
how changed the moving image we observe.

A jolt as floating twig encounters rock,
then yields its pathway to accept detour,
then swirls swiftly in a surging eddy,
its destiny as random as these words.

Bird Coloration

Appearing on my bird feeder today,
at least six species, seven, possibly ,
the scientific title of the nuthatch, known?
black-capped chickadee, though similar, no kin.

Bright cardinal, by color aptly named,
though spouse an olive-hued caricature,
So bluebird spouse is gray and beige, and why?
No predator will likely spot the nest.

Woodpecker, downy, only a red spot,
among its black and white striped, wedged plumage,
would that distinction disinterest hunt,
and leave the small un-red-specked bird in peace?

Gold finch, purple finch seem to follow rule,
dull female hue of olive brown, not gold,
or red on head and shoulders nearly nil,
while colorful counterparts attract the eye.

Black bird or grackle, though their color dark,
follow pattern with irridescent male,
dull brown-black the spouse's nondescript plumage ,
so safety over beauty wins the day.

Farming in Summer

Hay dry yet? Later, daylight saving time;
if lunch is served on time, it throws us off.
Cows were all ready to be milked at six.
Well. afternoon, is shorter by the sun.

Clothes drying on the clothesline unconcerned.
Someone will smooth out their sweet smelling folds.
Hay, however must en masse be gathered,
before the dew undoes the drying time.

So, family is allotted teamwork plan;
milking on time while hay on time is stored.
A cheer goes up if no rain harmed the hay,
and boys go whooping to the creek to bathe.

For some, it's looking back fondly holding,
shadows of a past with colors fleeting,
for others, gladness for a bright, new way.
In summer ,though, farms still bring food and view.

Redeeming the Rotten

A rotten apple, it is aptly said,
can defile the barrel where it is stored.
Can a sound apple likewise freshness bring?
How sad it seems unsoundness should prevail.

A way prescribed by wiser Mind than ours,
says , "Let the old life die, and start anew."
And who but One who has power supreme,
can risk--it is no risk--to let it die.

What miracle, when it is cast, one sees light,
and follows it unceasingly , 'til grasped.
The seed has sprouted, fish by love is hooked,
and new life then can come forth undefiled.

Now, how the soul is nurtured and is taught,
when willing by that Power, heed the call,
and changed to welcoming the guiding force,
to bid us grow and reach for Father's hand.

When moved to see and to desire, with hope
we realize, short of divine interpose,
our lack of power to our brother change,
trust the Spirit to cast the bait again

Playing For a Blind Friend

I want to play a tune to lift your heart,
instrument compensating for my lack.
Its tone so sweet if I should only stroke
the chord indicated in the shown array.

As you sit quiet, attending to the sound,
your responsive smile glows, an aura warm,
that rewards the effort, pleasure swapped,
my inept fingers give your ears a gift.

If I could restore the sense you have lost,
and you could see again the lovely farm,
split stone foundation of the dairy barn,
white siding of the neat two story house.

Bounded by shady trees, a wreath of flowers,
the driveway curving up to say hello.
May the faltering tones I play for you,
refresh your mind's eye just a little bit.

July 5

The last skyrocket has faded from the sky;
we celebrate we're free, but free to what?
To walk the path we've always walked before,
to see, perhaps, an angle that is new?
So, step and step again a forward way;
see stepping stone or stumbling block ahead?

Remembering that Freedom isn't free,
and living in it has a cost as well,
we make the choices, take the forward step.
To celebrate light-hearted, freedom's flight,
or diligently hold to its intent,
To see the last skyrocket slice the sky,
its trailing sparkles brightly cascade down,
we grasp the soul of freedom once again.
We step and step again a forward way.

Fair for 4-H Members

Time to groom and train and trim,
practice was begun months before,
for children whose farm experience,
thanks to farmers who livestock share

The outcome worked for at the fair,
result of kindly mentoring;
farmers reap a double yield,
fine animals, boost those entering.

Hats off to leaders who guide a seam,
who teach of recipes, baking time,
some oversee the gardens' growth,
master horseman's turn on a dime.

Fine crops are grown and livestock too,
as leaders share their expertise;
another generation grows,
helped to find success's keys.

Late Summer at the Bird Feeder

Oh, the squirrels they leap,
and the chipmunks creep,
and crows come grabbing their share.
How we try, it's absurd,
to save seeds for the birds;
it's a near-losing battle we bear.

But the woodpeckers' tap,
and orioles sipping sap,
colorful cardinals gather around.
The finches tilt and hop,
grosbeaks light on top;
nuthatches approach upside down.

When the young birds join in ,
from the nests where they've been,
their colors gradually change.
The Lord made them that way,
so, when comes the big day,
girls and boys new nests will arrange.

For now, we'll enjoy,
each bird girl and boy,
as they hop, fly a little, and skip.
On our bird feeder filling,
eager and willing,
they fill up for the cold or fall trip.

After-bloom

From some angles, the half-wilted bloom
held a certain charm.
It was, perhaps, attention centered there.
Or, was it movement, responding to the stir,
the air, however briefly turned that way?

One moment passing quickly in time's span,
when the half-faded blossom shows its grace,
and passes, bowing to the stem that held it high.
It's but a moment in the path of life
where fading, like the twilight afterglow,
holds charm, in part, the past and part, the now.

Lily Lost
stepped into a lily ready to bloom;
was only one of the two of its kind.
I vainly hoped it was only bent,
with its seven full buds promising.

But, no, the severed base of its stem
showed the fact that I hated to face.
This promising beauty now was no more,
though placed in a large water-filled jar

The hours passing by revealed its demise;
it turned brown and shriveled; it was dead.
Now, why would I hope at all for this plant,
with the evidence so obviously shown?

Well, would you believe this? Two years ago,
this very same plant, broken to the ground,
disappeared, believed just totally dead,
emerged the next spring, a new plant

So, I don't say it will, or that it won't,
but won't grieve as I would have before.
I'll treasure the remaining lily more,
and have hope for a surprise next spring.

The remaining lily plant has twelve buds,
as large as the seven beauties I lost.
"It could have been worse," often is said,
so I'll just treasure that which I have.

A old playmates birthday

Her birthday would have been today,
playmate of years ago.
It seems like only yesterday,
as summer winds would blow,

we giggled, not watching the time,
shelling garden peas,
or picking low blueberries;
her daddy would kindly tease.

While I would chat, and she would laugh,
trouble would sometimes find us,
though only of the minor kind,
our deadline far behind us.

Though growing years, with smiles and tears,
rifts in playmates' connection,
looking back through passing years,
there's admiring affection.

Playmates, yes, that we have been,
candles would be lit today.
We'd eagerly open presents,
and laugh along the way.

It's thanking her for all those laughs,
and lessons that came along.
Today would have been her birthday.
This is my birthday song.

Help To Order My Time

To use the energy I have in scant supply,
I'll have to try to pin point when it comes.
When morning fog with lethargy drifts off,
it's then, if ever, progress wakes and hums.

As morning holds the hours that lie ahead,
Imperative duties can not be ignored,
or obstacles to accomplish anything,
will leave the day devoid of its reward.

So, while it is, creative juices flow,
or drip or must be squeezed just to appear,
assess what lies ahead, can be, or should,
and mark down the idea while it is clear.

Sidetracking is the nemesis I face,
and so, since those issues are valid too,
I'll jot them down and try to set aside,
return to them when outlook clears the view.

Assuming that morning shall be the key,
I will apply or note each move to make.
Appointments made for later in the day,
Let others' expertise give me a break.

Spoken in words more sure and wise than mine,
"Teach me how to order my precious days",
so one by one I can look back and see,
that the plan in place has lifted up my ways..

August Lace

Oh, August with earlier sunset times,
hailing us with gold roadsides to grace,
and cornfields sport tassels as woodbine climbs;
Slender stems are trimmed with Queen Anne's lace.

Rich gardens overflow with produce yield,
vibrant display of color light the space.
Farmers' market with crops, orchard and field,
incidentally, matured with Queen Anne's Lace.

Wild carrot, seldom thought of in that way,
but when blooming, late summer time we face.
Before the snowy blooms clutch to a knot,
enjoy the intricacy, Queen Anne's Lace..

Your appearance joins with aster, goldenrod,
precursors of the coming school bus days.
Your closing predicts harvest from the sod,
nostalgic parting with white Queen Anne's Lace.

Deadhead and Prune

Do you dead head this flower?
Just ask Wikipedia,
It takes way less than an hour;
nothing could be speedier.

As well as this specific fact,
related subjects sought:
pruning fruit twigs, nurturing act,
applies to living as it ought.

Just when progress is brought forth
a faulty aspect is detected;
a snip can bring about new growth,
more verdant than expected.

So follow Wikipedia;
the flower we will dead head.
Not losing vibrant beauty.
see abundant blooms instead

To Fostering of the Arts

Of all things of commercial worth,
of politics and power inclined,
a different view of life on earth,
expressed in beauty, we can find.

Attuned to nature's treasure store,
heart, mind aesthetically inclined,
aside of competition's war,
within, the spark of dawn enshrined.

And so, to those who nurture this,
encourage opportunity,
how much enriched the atmosphere,
of culture and community.

The work-a-day, the living earned,
only increased by the bringing forth,
the appreciation, depth that's learned,
potential talent realizing worth.

Unpredictable Summer Day

Dampening my mood, rocking morning peace,
thunder claps reverberate the sky;
plans for our feasting outdoors, in the sun,
looked like a wash, we conceded with a sigh..

It's time to hit the floor; all is not lost;
inside work is an option when it rains.
What's that, a tiny break among the clouds?
Act on the surprise, enjoy the gains.

Now, will the glow of sunshine last a while,
as we fix the food, set up the games?
Wisconsin summer days bring frown or smile,
We learn to laugh and modify our aims.

"Go with the flow," it's said, and have some peace,
so when big, sloppy raindrops start to fall,
We'll play inside games, nice as you please,
til clouds part, and sun shines over all.

Blessed are the flexible, not bent out of shape,
although rain or shine should be their lot.
Ills of discontent happily escape,
thinking of what they can and not" cannot."

Musical Gift

You helped my unskilled fingers bring
a song of praise delighting me,
and hope it would delight my God,
instrument lends ability.

So, thanks for your assistance, Dear,
in bringing tunes to hands of mine
giving provides for day or year,
lasting fulfilling music's incline.

And, so inclined, you saw the need,
that I perform with my own hand,
supplying vehicle and deed,
gave me way to praise God and land.

Hold Onto the Music

On the River, music will once more sound;
This time I will not miss the winsome chance.
Before the autumn comes with laud abound,
if they do or do not, we still will dance.

The summer with its market, fairs and sun,
may not bow to the news of season change.
Though red leaves or green, it is not done.
A few more weeks in up and down, will range.

At photos of cute babies, now grown, look.
to vie for place as Amery's new queen,
viewed on float, in person, annals, book
culmination of years that came between.

So, jauntily wave back at candidate,
be it new queen or public office sought.
As children scramble for candy, chocolate,
reminding parents of ride tickets bought.

The music does not end; though river flows;
Red leaves, fallen leaves, wait many a day,
The music hear, wave at floats, smell the rose.
While it plays, dance the mild night away.

Finding Truth

Scarce truth, we search for it in dabs and bits
in a contradictory atmosphere.
When promise or accusation test our wits,
our hopes are for redeeming truth to hear.

Is forward progress the order of the day?
Or, do we drag yesterday's faults behind;
will answers with firm substance guide the way?
Confusing and vague reasons fog the mind.

Clear facts, elusive as deer in the wood,
reflect on words that rightly do endure.
When we revered divine word regarding good,
self evident truths that justice may assure.

In atmosphere when to achieve is prime,
each citizen, whether mature, and youth,
needs an anchor to establish, place or time,
and base decisions on what is seen of truth.

Party Mascots

The donkey and the elephant , it's thought, are enemies,
Though they're simply symbols of each paradigm.
They might object, if they could only sort with expertise,
what varies with each candidate, issue, time

Back to jungle or back pasture, each a safer choice,
so scary if our supposed views are quoted,
best expressed in trumpeting or a hee-haw voice.
It gives a new excuse for how you voted.

If we agonize or laugh, the outcome is the same;
a donkey still hee-haws, elephants trumpet still.
A clear and honest message might confusion tame,
each side would choose for Congress or Capitol Hill.

Your time spent, dear elephant, states how bad donkeys are;
What remedies are possessed within your trunk?
With a bright, consistent thought, Donkey, you'd be a star,
if you could present your thoughts with sense and spunk
.
Despite your efforts, beg your pardon, I just haven't seen,
the positive, dynamic plan we're looking for;
"God bless America," could bring reason in between,
with the hope of seeing truth, decisions wise in store.

If we remain like elephant, trumpeting the wrong,
or hee-hawing like the donkey in ridicule,
to the barnyard or the jungle, with the same old song,
'Til we learn of Golden, or of law, the rule.

Flighty Fall Fellow

A little less daylight, Miranda,
a little less time 'til the moon
will shed its light on the veranda;
We'll have to say goodnight soon.

An earlier dusk, my dear Sally,
less time until twinkling stars,
sparkle brightly over the valley,
revealing the red sphere of mars.

The moon's on the rise, my sweet Mary,
a soft, misty light fills the air.
Early fall breeze will carry,
bonfire scent everywhere.

Though it's getting dark, my dear Willy,
you may spend your evening elsewhere.
To be so fickle is silly;
we may all just give you the air.

Portraits of Living

She saw them in prayer at supper,
close to the end of the day,
their lives from early recorded,
when romance and attraction held sway.

Their portraits reflected a family;
she saw the swirl of their life.
Dinner under the chandelier's twinkle,
a cheerful time for husband and wife.

Each partner in solitude dreaming,
a child being held on a knee.
Who would think of grandparent-hood coming,
the heads bowed in prayer gratefully.

The times in between she would picture,
their hopes and their dreams coming true.
She saw in their portraits a life lived,
as she kindly wishes for all of you.

Hidden Peril

Oh the crocodile has a splendorous smile,
But, in his bright eye, there's a wink
Would he dine with you, or upon you with style?
A good plan is quickly to think.

Oh, the shiny black bull has such strength to admire;
as he paws the ground dramatically.
Is it a show as he demonstrates fire?
A good plan is to stay clear or flee.

Oh, the lion whose mane declares him the king;
How the sun shines on his tawny coat.
Would you think he would loll or think he would spring?
To take such a chance, no! You may quote.

Should you see the spider's web shine in the sun,
and you are a dainty small fly.
However attractive, your flight has begun,
though life's short, don't too quickly die.

So, be it be horns with a black pointed shine,
or a smile hiding razor sharp teeth,
or claws or a web, with beauty so fine,
Take care, and with wisdom, still breathe.

Temptation, so fetching, the wrong thing to do,
could make you feel richer to steal,
Could make you feel favored to say what's not true,
but shame quickly trumps its appeal.

Discretion not only saves conscience and soul,
it may also rescue your skin.
Some forethought, remembering, too, self-control,
Instead of disaster, a grin.

Conundrum Remedied

It's a conundrum; the very anger he abhors,
is aroused by contradictory premises.
The piqued reactions he declares that he adores
are the same and self, identified as nemesis.

Could it be that each of us possess the special knack,
to irritate someone with our persistent leaning,
to do or say the very thing takes them aback?
Is it in fun or has a deeper meaning?

May be that contradictory premise when laughed off,
may be material for knee-slapping private joke.
The temperance, then practiced, a handy skill,
to lessen or remove exasperation's yoke.

Solitary Spectator

The procession of wild turkeys on my lawn,
the wonder and the pleasure I would share,
but I dare not disturb you in the dawn,
when the work of the long day you still must bear

But, oh how sweet to see the birds come forth,
venturing to see if it is there,
the bird seed I put out, while they, still north,
their season in our temperate climate fare.

I'd like to have you see with me the young
Tom turkey try his ability to display,
a brief fanning of his tail, wings shyly flung,
I giggle, "His immaturity has made my day."

The chipmunk, quizzically, around a rock,
checks out the safety of his venture bold,
to appear; a stealthy neighbor cat brings shock,
as she seizes him in an energetic hold.

The resulting dance, were it not so perilous,
displays the grace of feline leap and twist.
A playful kitten? Toying with him like a mouse,
she becomes skilled hunter, executionist.

So, in the early hours my hillside home,
makes me a spectator of life and death,
so beautifully portrayed, but shared with me alone,
not to disturb you with my phone or noisy step

Outlook

You think you're wetting down my outlook;
again, please look; oh, rain, you're gentle. kind.
Each green leaf your care appreciates,
and growing things bring peace into my mind.

A morning softened by the gentle drop,
of moisture allows for growing thought,
accepting of the necessary clouds,
sunshine's rays brighter, when a glimpse is caught.

Oh, glimpse of warm enlightenment displayed,
within the mind or the environment,
much more appreciated with a backdrop,
of somber hue, its greater glow is lent.

Here I sit in darkness; shortly to come,
disclosure of the manner of the day.
Forecasts intimated what is to come;
still, when we see it, we concede the way.

So, come, with light I have, I can decide,
perceive the brightness, or walk in the gloom.
A step, the angle of my progress guide,
proceed to battle weeds or savor light and bloom.

Choosing Begins with Grass Roots

Our dramatic, potential leaders speak,
like arrows flying, forceful, in our midst.
Is substance there, apparent, rhetoric,
idea, supported or words of mockery?

Calm voice with salient facts may lift the tone;
Words powerful and fervent, sway a foe,
if filled with reason, may be of effect,
with inner strength, expressing confidence.

An individual, one who widely learns
what drives the mass, persons of each walk,
what influence, what impact one must have,
to move the multitude in any way.

To find the way that's mostly good and right,
and have the influence to achieve a goal.
What trust we must put in democracy,
to leave all these decisions to a vote.

Many look for guidance and its result,
Supreme Creator, Sovereign over all.
To education, knowledge taken in,
then broadcast to society at large.

All said and done, those who are in charge,
and represent us will affect the way.
The ones we chose or didn't choose hold forth;
good citizens cooperate or move for change.

When grass roots activity takes place,
our choice is to take part or just accept.
Still we regret the personnel 'they' chose;
our option now, convey what we prefer.

Clinging and Freeing

The crunch of leaves: I really liked them on the trees.
My grown up kids: they were so cute when they were small.
Computer with its online capabilities:
a letter in the mail, a visit trumps them all.

The nip of frost that prompts the leaves turn bright,
the wispy morning fog that hails a warmer day,
the forecast that reminds us autumn comes;
its time to put the summer gear and garb away.

Reminders that I cannot cling perpetually,
to yesterday and still see the horizons new.
Salute today, and live in it as it unfolds.
Tomorrow is an unmapped route,an unknown hue.

So, should the advancement of technology,
seem less to me than former treasured deeds and days,
savor life's convenience, self reliant young adults.
gratitude for memories, freedom to learn new ways.

Day by Day

Day by day , darling children,
walk, grow, and learn;
grandparents though you now are,
go gently, dear children; see the days turn.
Let the sun rise, and gaze at the star

Each day, many minutes,
the clock ticks away,
to savor, discover, and hold,
seeing, with eyes wide open at day,
in common soil, finding nuggets of gold.

Finding Fault

I see he ate or drank or used,
what I have planned on using.
So. what's imperative to me,
was the object of his choosing.

Wouldn't you know, just when I saved
a morsel to enjoy later,
or to complete a recipe,
sure enough, he ate 'er.

With ruffled feathers, look again:
oh, here , with care he set it,
in a handy place for me to find.
With remorse , I'll not forget it.

What's that I hear, 'Where is the pliers?
I wish that when you use it,
you would put it back again,
keep track, so you don't lose it.'

It may be in the usual place,
where easily, you could find it,
but, if not, 'egg on my face'
I hope that you won't mind it.

Now, I remember having heard,
whether it be you or me,
the best construction try to put,
until the answer we can see.

Recovery Halloween Party

It's amazing that some grease paint could render you a ghoul,
some gathered pants and ruffled color into a comic fool.
How you guessed with such naivete what character you were;
how we laughed at the obvious, though we really were not sure.

The way the tissue white and soft, a mummy made of you,
the queenly dress and carriage suited a lady we all knew.
The gallant soldier, uniformed, with fancy helmet, sword,
laughed with all the rest of us; then we heard an inspiring word.

Wearing blindfold, finish a pumpkin, finding where to put its eyes,
its funny, jagged cut out mouth, not looking very wise,
nose and eyes all on one corner, we laughed and tried again,
though admitting to some cheating, feeling where parts go then.

It wasn't celebrating evil, though some, as depicted, seemed,
but blessings of recovery, on this family, freedom beamed.
with mixers, that we got to know others who walked our road.
with laughter, ingenuity lightened was many a load.

A holiday of laughter, a joining in the fun,
a point of view,.enjoyment, sharing it with everyone.
Taking time to just be funny, from morbid things to flee,
what a celebration, making it fun because we're free.

Taut Strings

With bowstring taut, the hunt is sure,
the aim steady, eye keen and apt,
the walk practiced, learned, mature,
in eager motivation wrapped.

but, if in the soul, the tautness reigns,
no quarry, however unprepared,
will yield unto your drive and pains,
until you forget that you have cared.

So, let the tautness break its hold;
no hunt matters as you softly move.
Some slack for you and loose the mold,
on life and those you see with love.

From Little Molehills

Confusion rears its head; a little doubt
grows quickly as we think about the worst.
If fed, it expands before thought out,
with calm reason or some fact finding first.

A molehill? Oh, no, it couldn't be,
and still loom so large, engrossing thought.
A mountain, an impossibility.
In a dilemma huge, it seems we're caught.

But, take a look, with drama set aside,
even, for a smile, search if you can.
It might not be such a bumpy ride,
or tragedy, if fantasy we ban.

Just stand back and look, not quite so high,
without the benefit of more expanse,
of clearing of the bias of the eye,
instead of blocked behind, maybe advance.

Think, if all the molehills were so large,
and grew up with such rapidity.
If terrain, like our minds, would then take charge,
what a mountainous country this would be.

Moving Mountains

Faith to move a mountain, what a claim;
we're looking at improbability.
We trust the very power of the Name,
that changed the unbelievable in history.

Remember those small molehills that we made,
so large we couldn't think how to surmount,
and wisdom came without our conscious aid,
and, sure enough, came wisdom to recount.

Could it be, a mountain that we see,
when in its parts is changed we know not how,
either in a manner not observed by me,
or in action, dynamic, rearrange just now.

Or could it be, the mountain built inside,
as we exaggerate the wrong that's done,
or lift the deed we do in private pride,
when freed in us, a mountain move is done.

Standard Time--Fall Back

Don't know about this falling back;
I guess the morning will be light,
though evening time light hours will lack.
It's standard time, not a new rite.

I'll surely be to church on time,
perhaps awake more hours before,
hope I have set the alarm to chime,
and not confused, sleep one hour more.

And, could it be, my wakeful hour,
that sometimes has occurred at four,
now will be three, suggestion's power,
will give me leave-- no guilt-- to snore.

If I lose some sleep that I should gain
because the change makes me confused.
I'll just accept and not complain,
when in the afternoon I've snoozed.

Deer Hunting From the Past

I see them go, each armed with bow
these stalwarts on their hunting bold foray,
quite early, as yet, for tracking snow,
but it brings thoughts of a bygone day.

My Dad and my uncles took their leave,
from their chores, to bag the mighty buck.
Deer widows filled in, and didn't grieve,
a break and winter's meat, with any luck.

There was tracking snow that first day out,
Dad and uncles claimed, like carefree boys,
boys for the few days of hunting bout,
buddies roughing it, nature's hearty joys

Although there was tracking snow for sure,
not a single deer track could be seen;
the snow was so white, pristine and pure,
hopes were high, sights tested, rifles clean.

They spread out to increase their strategy,
a view of numerous, various forked trails,
in hopes of spotting any antler rack,
or wide ears, and white and flag-like tails.

The noonday sun, when long hours had passed,
prompted eagerness for that lunch bag time,
and thermos whose promised warmth was welcome.
Hours with no sign of deer, almost a crime.

From confident eagerness, the mood,
changed from intense to recollections.
They shared old experiences renewed,
and began to laugh at their reflections.

Still, hours passed without a sign of deer;
legal hunting hours had diminished,
so their route was back to hunting camp;
they saw now that their day was finished.

The stands, surveying site, established,
the limited and temporary drives,
had brought no slim hope of satisfaction
for guys who had gone hunting all their lives.

Well, there still were two more tomorrows,
for farmers who'd arranged help for each chore.
Good fellowship did not have any sorrows,
New strategy, initiated, at the fore.

Slogging home with just two days to go,
Surprised, by seeing signs along their route
that deer had tracked their progress through the snow
and tables turned had nicely faked them out

The hunt was not as dismal as it started;
before the days off had come to an end.
Their next days' conquests left them all glad-hearted,
with stories and venison to share with friends.

Thanks My Gentleman

Kind and gracious, I must say,
though you, yourself are orderly,
You tolerate and let them stay,
where project parts you random see.

Thoughtful, granting that the other one
may have some purpose in this array,
you leave it so it can be done,
although not always done your way.

I call that a gentleman,
allowing for the bents of spouse,
and still proceed in what you can,
to do your part around the house.

Most things you touch are much improved;
appreciation sometimes slips by.
These words to show that you are loved,
the way to show, again I try.

Light the Truth

Another day, from dark to light,
sees tangled problems brought to view.
What was solved in dark of night,
was it in minds, perspective new?

Is the truth, warped now by law,
distorted to amorphous mass?
That virtue now is counted flaw,
pristine and humane, declared crass.

Another day has dawned for sure,
of seeing truth, has missed the mark.
Forbidding goodness, what is pure,
unless God bars, is light to dark.

Where are the heroes of the truth,
the ones to lead us valiantly,
who pursuing Father from their youth,
will seek the truth that sets us free?

Gift of Encouragement

A gift that's given in the game of "grasp the day."
That hints that "have' and not 'have not' may rule,
that says, "Take up the tools, and try again,"
when lilting laughter lightly lifts the lagging fuel.
Encouragement.

It's the brother-sisterhood of truth,
chooses to view the stumbling block as stepping-stone,
that makes the weariness of age seem youth,
a firm and friendly, "You are not alone."
Encouragement.

It's modeled by the Son of God Himself,
Who shared in human overcoming gallantly,
who didn't stay detached upon the shelf,
but faced all and overcame for such as we.
Encouragement.

And so, He places in some hearts the gift,
with friendship to help their neighbor overcome.
With actions and their words, they give a lift,
a heavy heart made light sees courage come.
Encouragement

Christmas Dreams and Gift

Oh, holiday, with dreams of glistening snow,
in thought, we would forego the tropics ease.
When our arms pull in our coats to hold the warmth,
our noses turned bright pink from the nipping breeze.
We'd brace against the chilly, piercing wind,
for just a glimpse, snow's sparkle on the trees.

Aglow,street lights emit a festive gleam,
so like the radiance we have felt years past.
With or without the snow, conveys the dream,
a deeper image, perception that will last.
Whatever clime, city, or country place.
upon the earth a meaning deep is cast.

And, " I don't care." we shout or whisper tenderly,
"where on this earth the wondrous light would shine."
Aglow, the essence, the gift that we receive,
the ember of the hoped for promise we enshrine,
breaks forth in hearts awaiting to receive.
The dream, reality, from God, the gift is mine.

Tribute To A Generous Technician

"I only tried to help, inept, it's true;"
how much better than to crassly say,
"I could have done it, but I didn't care."
Where is the in-between, the remedy?

The rare, sought after, individual,
who, if his whereabouts is only known,
would be a prize to find, beyond belief,
the answer to the need and the desire.

When willingness and skill go hand in hand,
and, so I prize you when my sense should clear,
my Dear, and realize that access, privileged,
to this unequaled value rare is mine.

Snipping Away The Wilted

With gratitude for what was given me,
I snip the wilted blooms from the bouquet,
a sparse but freshened beauty I can see,
with perky hue to last another day.

A day is given me, just one, to fill,
with loving things that I can think or do,
be open to the Father's love and will,
extend the warmth I feel to special you.

A garment or a little toy, I'd make,
if I had time to fashion it with care,
a comforting massage to soothe the ache,
a smile to say that I am glad you're there.

It's not so much, but trimmed and gently kept,
the posies last much longer than I'd guess,
though covertly droop when unaware we slept,
we preserve their beauty with a wee success.

Hope for 2017

The wrappings scrunched and in recycle bin,
the space where gifts were piled up , now is bare.
It's still too soon to leave the manger scene,
time to think and thank for why it's there.

This year, now old, totters away in dust,
though treasured memories and rued events,
either eroded or strengthened more our trust,
we go onward, hope lifting from laments.

Those who have gone before us saw the new,
and had to face and welcome it as we,
though obstacles be vast, successes few,
and found purpose and truth had made them free.

A new leadership is at the fore;
what we make of it part of what we own..
Can we as pioneers did, stand for right and more,
obey the law, make needed changes known?

An adventure awaits us once again,
as time and new developments come forth.
A resilient culture meets the hill or plain,
and in the process still seeks out true north.

Two thousand years ago, a day renowned,
when a Hero small but almighty came,
with Love and Truth the world turned around,
so as we celebrate, recall His aim.

Another year, what powers that dominate,
are lacking if their action conflict starts.
The strength of nations is not craft and hate.
Our victory when love lives in our hearts.

Two Thousand Seventeen

Today, my natal day, and all the days between,
I give my thanks for ups and downs along the way.
Now we have arrived at twenty seventeen,
time to live the present, day by day.

Not in my hands, surprises held in store,
and my imagination cannot span,
the days to come, the gain be less or more,
only seeing when I get there if I can.

And "there" only a landmark on the way,
trial or adventure lies in how I choose,
to view the world with every passing day.
My Father, show me how my time to use.

Today, today, I start out twenty seventeen;
show me the way; let no expectation block,
today, hereafter, and what lies between,
passing with the ticking of the clock.

Quiet Challenge

If my dear one could stay quiet for ten times one minute,
lines to him of poetry I'd write.
If this room was silent with no talking in it,
I would laugh and hold my sides all night.

If miracles should happen--five minutes now used up,
and ten minutes of silence would prevail,
I'd finish off my coffee and get another cup,
and not stop laughing until breath should fail.

Surprise! With no encouragement, silence takes the stand,
and two and one half minutes now have passed.
I'll lay down my pen and give the man a hand.
He kept his peace. For five minutes it could last.

The lovely chords I hear that take the quiet's place,
make up for all the nonsense I thought up.
A fine reward it was for doing my part in the race.
All right! Again I'll go and fill my cup.

Sharing a Sorrow

There are tears in your heart, my precious friend,
welled up over things you cannot alter.
My prayers and my wishes, words of love, I send,
trusting that your courage may not falter.

The world in all its strange ways, clouds the sun,
but high above the atmosphere, is light.
The path that seems so cluttered, sorrows run,
Father's presence dispels our heart's dark night.

I want to send you what only He can give;
my understanding does not hold the key.
I can only tell you, I'm so glad you live,
and are seeking for His will with me.

Crescent Moon

The Luna lady languidly
lounges on the crescent moon,
takes advantage of its supine mode,
flaunts gauzey garment, starlight strewn.

With warmth, her wanton light emits,
the lovers' light when full,
when wind is just a wafting breeze,
clouds cuddly as wool.

Or, new, from gleaming sliver peeks,
perhaps a neighboring star,
a lunar circuit, in only weeks,
as it was, seen where we are.

A Good Example--Shared Learning

I learn from you who your quiet kept,
chose not to defend the stand that you thought right,
the retort that might have come, a loss,
a confusing and a needless verbal fight.

The conviction held may prove out in the end,
or you may learn, rejecting, to your shame,
the what is right, not who is right, contend.
I, too, may find the peace, not blot my name.

And, so it is, the stand I chose to take,
may have been only fuel which to contend.
Then I've not shared, unheard my futile words;
I could quietly discern, best with my friend.

Recognizing there usually is some right,
in the view another could observe,
or in the method another one applies;
acknowledging, our mutual good would serve.

My model, when all proof and logic ends,
hand upon one who different views embraced.
If my companion shares, we remain friends,
You share we're richer for the issue faced.

Will Challenged

"Where there's a will, there also is a won't,"
was told my children with my tongue in cheek.
Long is the time that has marched on since then;
unwieldy won't is found, as well, quite weak.

Vain struggle budges a result to make;
opposing efforts strive to bend the will.
As unimportant as the issue seems,
to yield repeatedly seems worth to kill.

With people-pleasing or rigidity,
the choices, what's the attitude to be?
Could tact with steadfastness the answer be?
With humor seasoned, wisdom's victory.

Home Town

My city isn't large as cities go;
still, any time that it should come to mind,
a special aura in my being moves,
where I may be, again, to home inclined.

My house is not the largest on the street;
the road is not a major thoroughfare,
but still, the inclination of my feet,
tends ever to seek peace and wholeness there.

They smile, the people from far distant states,
when they hear me mention my town's name.
The tendency each person met relates,
to state with affection the town they claim.

As we speak of compared activities,
I share, of course, our town's propriety,
or beauty, cordiality and progress,
I say 'It's how it's done in Amery.'

Turning homeward as the season passes,
the stars and moon we share all speak to me.
So I pray each day and night that goes by,
God's blessing on the town of Amery.

So That Was the Farm

Fond memories flow to homey simple things,
boiled dinner or oven roasted stew prepared,
there in the oven of wood stove, slow cooked,
for those who do chores on family farm.

Slimy, acrid, the alley of the barn,
before the scraper left it merely moist,
exposed to drying air restoring its coarse plane,
abrasive, aid to sureness of the foot .

Commencing chores, rear of stalls scraped clear,
receive fluffed-up tawny straw, absorbs,
the damp remains, invites milker's work .
Bringers of neatness dispel grossness there.

We bring to the freshened area, sweet hay,
the pungent scent of silage, fermented feed,
oil meal, scent of anise, wholesome grain,
to top it off, the clang of pails, milk stools.

The clean scent of the sanitizer, cleaned,
the equipment, winding up the chores,
then the warmth of wood fires, water, soap.
Soon the aroma's tempting is satisfied.

Around the big oak table, the family,
gathers to enjoy the end of the farm day,
Except, of course as in every age,
young people often have an evening out.

Good Wishes, Mr. President

Dear Mr. Trump, May I call you Donald just today?
I'd like to ask if deep empathy
lies beneath your bold, bombastic way.
I want to wish you--and believe for--
gentle strength fortifying
your outward forcefulness.
With perception keen, to underlying intent,
your hearers bless.

And you, with wisdom of your chosen
company, enabled to enact,
good for all--what a laborious task,
to uphold your followers, opponents too,
the national respect that we all ask.

Just for today--Dear Donald,--after that,
Mr. President, a hand.
All God's blessing to enable you
to lead this great, vast land.

To Advise Or

Resisting the rampaging urge to chide,
loved ones consuming less than healthy fare,
or entertaining habits deemed hazardous,
resigned to tangling with foibles of my own.

Amazingly, they seem no worse for wear,
without my wise, well-meant words to contend.
Conditions of my own, too, seem improved,
perceiving need for progress focused there.

To name a few, though, centered on themselves,
not aware that we are not the hub of all,
Know I can't always be the central point,
except, thank God, that birthdays roll around.

Now, mentioning consuming frivolous fare,
again, birthday time is ample rationale;
for sweets, rich entrees not so well advised,
that's enough to make us glad we checked the urge.

Inauguration 2017

"The nations rage," was said, while some rejoice.
Even within, double-side vibes arise,
parties on each side heed every voice.

What high goals aspired, honoring each choice,
with contest intense waged to gain the prize.
"The nations rage," was said, while some rejoice.

Near cheers of congratulations, angry noise,
glass breaks, burned car sends flames into the skies;
parties on each side heed every voice.

Does Lady Liberty stand high with awesome poise?
Passions discordant, protest and support comprise.
"The nations rage," was said, while some rejoice.

Children and grandchildren proud to see the choice,
peaceful, changed administration, wise,
Parties on each side heed every voice.

Inauguration launches what is new;
we pray the healing and the nation's rise.
As nations rage, inevitable, rejoice;
A Nation Under God; We'll heed His voice.

Projects

To initiate a project,
we're willing to perform,
let's look at our resources;
what was left here by the storm?

That could be a visual cue,
for the subject of the scheme,
an inexpensive answer,
for the details and the theme.

Do we have the money needed?
Are components in our stock?
Are there instructions to be heeded,
or reputation on the block?

An outline of steps in process,
mental sketch or visual print,
will it someone's life or mine bless;
will stamina bear the stint?

This has changed from ours to mine now;
definitely, no surprise.
with general cooperation,
all the planning may comprise.

Now, I'll just pick up the seashells,
or the plywood I have found.
Adhesive bought from Marshall Wells,
if there still is one around.

Again, the condition, blessing,
to make effort all worthwhile,
or else just aimless messing,
best likely end, a smile.

Father, I'll put it in Your hands,
Your design or on the shelf,
The One Who can and understands
what I can't do by myself.

Now, in the lives of others,
even in my very own,
I cannot fix my brothers;
You can do both and You alone.

A Valentine For Him

What can I give my Valentine?
A lovely card, all floral and lace?
A humorous cartoon design,
to put a smile upon his face?

How will I let my loved one know,
appreciation for thoughtfulness?
When Cupid again loads loving bow,
a cue, now what would truly bless?

A lovely meal? He's trying to diet.
A gadget to put in his car?
When he's concentrating, a little quiet?
Maybe a gift card would go far.

To let him know the love is there,
try to hear and understand.
Let his man cave be his lair.
For his efforts give a hand.

Not only a hand to give him aid,
a more expressive hand because,
for all the effort he has made,
he deserves ringing loud applause.

Canine Companion

Little furry one of companionship,
hunter's helper, keeper of the herd,
through training and developing breeds,
four-footed pets obey sign and word.

Discovering the usefulness,
living aids for the deaf and the blind,
their acute senses compensate,
skills gone or become declined.

Besides replacing what we've lost,
their skill that we do not possess,
sound or scent, they can crime accost.
By protection, owners they bless.

Pointed nose or pushed-in, wrinkled face,
with their company they can attain,
needed relaxing peacefulness,
for those distressed by trauma and pain.

You cutie-pie or lively playmate,
if you're cared for and well trained.
Besides your personality,
a furry four-footed friend we've gained.

Conveying a Thought

A friend now seen wise once told me,
the time I take to explain,
though expressing depth of subject,
lost on hearer's boredom, pain.

The wise friend listened for a bit,
said, "Instead of your tedious climb,
chances are, if he's to get it,
it's when he hears it the first time."

I, too, if not the first time,
at least, grasp its relevance,
I'll regret it drifted by me.
perhaps, alone, I'll make the sense.

It can be a trying frustration,
to deeply explain and repeat,
and see attention slipping,
the idea risks defeat.

All attempts of explanation,
repeating each salient fact,
are lost in the duration.
Say it. See it's heard, and act.

The Biggest Thrills

Thank you, my dear, for lending an ear,
to each thrill or minor, sad woe,
for instance, finding that one lost earring,
or the misplaced gift or its bow.

For the shampoo that disappointed me so;
just look at these dried-out split ends!
Your advice on the products you know,
makes me so glad I have friends.

Finding the right cover for containers,
budding flowers that comfort small grief,
your attention when I say again,
"All my biggest thrills are relief."

The uniqueness of the lotion bottle;
when bottom with top is inverted,
that when stored upright, will not shake out,
but, bottom up, easily squirted.

When I notice the dry plant I thought dead,
has sprouted, much to my surprise.
I say, "May I share?" You say, "Go ahead.",
pleasing my heart as well as my eyes.

Or, the dress that just didn't fit,
and I noticed, took out, more than one tuck.
You listened as though you were thrilled too,
when I shared with you my good luck.

A plethora of things hopelessly lost,
that were found with a glad gasp of glee;
not only finding, a thrill and a joy,
but that you would hear it from me.

Imagine, my friend, the thrill for me,
a warm tingle all through and through,
in my small pantomine of a drill,
you hear from me, "Am I boring you?"

Ant as Teacher

Gleaming, glossy back, and shining eyes as well,
little ant, you're sent to me to teach,
steadfast attention to task purposefully.
The little bit right now prepares for future day.

Legs like intricate clicking robot limbs,
in your precise, purposeful column go.
As you proceed, no distraction turns your path,
Not ruled by goal, but progress of the day,

Strife will not detract, will not fragment your cause.
Click, click, the process winds to ordered way.
Your antennae your guide through seemingly,
you simply follow column that is formed.

Relentlessly, around the twig or blade of grass,
your destination in moving pattern set.
When drought should come or deluge fierce and cold,
your stored supply within your cache is safe.

May I learn from you that, day by day,
I. undeterred, may follow Father's will,
and obstacle will be but bump or turn,
and I will follow peacefully His way.

Live and let----

Perhaps perceptions from a yesterday,
clinging, may a tender place abrade,
and even word of fond care can affray,
perceived as unintended challenge laid.

The morning mood, who can affirm or fix,
best leave it in its own or Father's hand.
External, though caring. input in the mix,
Well meant words, stress may misunderstand.

So, let the operator of his own,
although your caring somehow may offend,
proceed with efforts known or making known[
just think kind thoughts of your beloved friend.

Breakfast in the Park

Three ducks upended in the quiet pond,
skittering squirrel crossing the wet road,
chir-chirring bird beneath hibiscus bush,
the gecko scrambling around my steps.

Morning activity all around,
bent on one purpose, quickly to be seen,
bills raised to swallow tasty bites,
beaks snatching bugs among the grass.

Rocks around my steps hide moving snacks,
I must say would not appeal to me,
but geckos leaping, sliding, capture them,
unanimous, their aim is satisfied.

Still to come, anhinga, neck like snake,
will slither on the water, raise to dry.
All that effort to get nourishment,
reminds me, it's breakfast time for me.

Today's Moves

Each step, one foot ahead, is a success,
over apathy that could in bondage hold,
fear that effort fail to move or bless;
lack of motion contributes to the cold

Praise to Him Who can what we cannot:
energize our inner force to move,
to brighten up the present time and spot,
and generate some needed warmth and love.

Then, let the step's purposed direction be,
to where the need, concealed or seen, should lie,
and open eyes of mine to care and see,
action that betters things as days go by.

The heart, oh let it be, that warmly feels,
both appreciation and a fond concern,
that lubricates kindly action's wheels,
gratefully receive or help them turn.

Daylight Time 2017
t's surely coming, weeks plod by or skip,
when we'll have one more hour after work,
or, after school, if we are young and 'hip',
though a darker morning hour may lurk.

Off to the beach if in a warmer clime.
or hanging out with buddies at the park,
stopping at a cafe to pass the time,
even if we must be home before it's dark.

The golf course with its challenge if day is nice,
evening family cook out on the lawn
knowing it was dark yesterday adds spice.
rejoicing now that winter days are gone.

A couple of weeks, dark mornings meeting bus,
anxious minutes for parents 'til they hear,
the bus has stopped and on its way, no fuss,
a day that's safe for those that they hold dear.

Some wonder, "Is all this change worth while?"
" Could we not change our individual plans?"
The grumbling or rejoicing brings a smile,
to those who scorn official leave or bans.

The sun shines the same amount of hours,
which ever end of day we might like best
Those who have authority and powers,
take the lead, and we arrange the rest.

Holding Hope

And, 'tis a jig, you say, we'll dance,
with March winds blowing boldly?
Spring, we've heard, has brought romance,
though April's rains drip coldly.

Our government the answers seeks,
for a world of contradictions;
new scandals are exposed by weeks,
pessimistic the predictions.

The time has changed, a forward spring,
getting up still filled with choices.
In the midst of chaos, do we sing,
or give in to warlike voices?

'Tis spring, and soon the world, in green,
will welcome growth unfolding;
then, in the newness can be seen,
the promise life is holding.

Day follows night, and seasons come,
move on as they will and must.
So, dance the jig to strings and drum,
the Maker of all to trust.

Man at the Helm

Some days and some spans, all life seems at sea;
bright goal made up of mostly steep climbs;
still the journey begun productive can be,
when observing the signs of the times.

The vessel to guide, hands tested have won,
inspired and shored up stoutly with zeal;
reflection and rest before all is done,
solid plans, steady, strong at the wheel.

When there come shakes, result of past quakes,
then a powerful remembered hand,
will steady the keel and confidence feel,
vision cleared and proactively stand.

The man at the helm, doubt will not overwhelm;
he's been tested, on this route before.
Strong within is his guide, for he knows the tide,
and the One who rules both sea and shore.

Just Different

He has some eccentricities, differing from the norm,
though he diligently attempts to get in step,
it isn't very likely he will fit into the form,
because he is out of order in his prep

Irregular in appearance and behavior too,
it may be impossible to get it right.
Though it brings no unhappiness, an overhaul is due;
or just to be so different, does he delight?

Surprise, I may have hit upon just the very thing,
that, while it makes him smile, makes others frown.
With feet that smell and nose that runs, the answer now we bring:
he's simply put together upside down.

Turn to Truth

What fear and weakness wreak upon our realizing,
when what is actual has seemed so wrong or pale,
a slip into embellishing or minimizing,
may be as much a bondage as a jail.

A little slip into deceit, not recognized,
may prime the well of harmless tales just to amuse,
and any credit given the charade, be prized,
while inaccurate disbelief rightly refused.

Oh, what a tangled web was this way woven,
and how to free ones self from unintended jumble,
covert as entanglement with forbidden coven,
only escape, to admit it, meek and humble.

Oh, freedom from deception, what release,
better to face the knotty truth and turn away,
than succumb to fears of those you will not please,
Cast off the deception, and live a new, free day.

But, what, when comes temptation to deny,
the uncomfortable details of a situation?
A deep breath preceding the explaining why,
remembering the truth's brave exultation

Was there perhaps a reasonable explanation?
Still, it's only that which actually was the case,
so, no departing to creative affectation,
lest return to bondage should the firm resolve abase.

Bare Hills Euphoria

Euphoria; how strange, born of gray hills and ragged grass,
like times, long years ago, when skinny, childish feet
stood on like elevation with neighbor farms in view,
of all surveyed, her realm, as clouds thoughtlessly pass.
Only today, not tomorrow with blooms-to-be, the present sweet,
and mellow. "I don't need tomorrow," to make my world new.

Another crossing, children moving on their way,
and there's no holding back, but dry with blowing grass,
who'd think across a gray, blanched hill, a bit before real spring,
when still bare trees expose the rustic scene near and away,
I'd stand tall, see vanquished winter hold its peace and pass?
Only when ready, poised, own the realm where birds will sing.

Euphoria--the inner sense of skinny feet skipping the grass,
the sense of holding, what never will be exactly so,
the sky looks down at just today, not passing time.
Shall I return? I'd never have thought while grass may blow,
but pre-spring and post-fall, special, freed from life's morass,
an, "I don't care" if scenery is drab in growth and hue,
the scene I some time would not have thought sublime.
But what it leaves with me, a realm of view,
it may be, that no one else would really know.

Versatile Birds

Along the road, I take my morning walk;
a call so sweet and, yet, insistent, sounds.
Amazed, I see, attention turned above,
a sight as captivating as the tone.
bright red, atop an ordinary post,
supporting cables of utilities.

Not only ears and eyes are captive held,
but thoughts of such a striking, brilliant one,
as much at home in Florida's gentle clime,
as in the frigid winter time at home.
The cardinal, sometimes "red bird" he's called,
his mate with lesser brightness crisply plumed.

With crest, a mark of either gender owned,
among the mockingbird or phoebes dwell,
contrast to long-legged water birds nearby,
surprise us with bright songs on quiet trails.
Return to their home state, seasons influenced,
meet welcome of the faithful cardinal friends.

My thoughts remark, "You've stayed here all the year."
while robin, bluebird, blackbird, finch and goose,
have bravely traversed country far and wide,
to seek a climate suited to their needs,
but modest chickadee, woodpecker, and nut hatch,
keep proverbial home fires for snow birds.

Playing an Old Instrument

I touch these notes;
I strum these chords,
and know that hands before
mine, ever heard tones come forth,
deftly ordered, plucked, voice sang,
brought comfort, thrill, and more.

I'll not compare nor strive to pass,
that which was heard and dear,
nor make the blessed tone seem crass,
their purpose kind and clear.

So, should the notes that proceed forth,
happen to touch a heart,
It's thankfulness for trace of worth,
that I have shared a part.

So, music comes, though basic be,
from strum and pause and stress,
a touch, a note that comes of me,
may it, its purpose bless.

Creeping Attitude

Her wonderful performance
kind of made mine look bad;
she must have a few faults of her own.
If I focus on them, seeing a chance,
the ones that I have had,
seem to fade; I just condone.

This action can be habit;
we see it all the time.
Those around us seem to be to blame,
our missed chances, hard to grab it,
easier to point than climb,
to think them wrong than to own the shame.

Does this attitude have future?
Any good accomplished here?
Is there an escape route anywhere?
How about some kindness nurture,
see and try affirm what is dear?
May be possible, if erase I dare.

So, all of their demerits,
not doing things our way,
or better-- God forbid-- can we endure?
Good Dale Carnegie, his way inherit,
practice every day:
to criticize, condemn, complain--- omit and cure

On Second Thought

It's hard to leave the rosebuds not quite open.
They bob in the breeze, invite me to stay on.
I know that in days those petals will unfold,
to greet others cheerily when I am gone.

They cluster eagerly on new branch tips,
ready to excel those now in bloom.
My mind's eye will view them white and fair,
when I am in another clime and room.

But, ah! The picture has another side;
my destination also bids me view,
the fluffy pussy willows in the marsh,
and tulips bursting forth with life anew.

Just look again; how nice to meet the day,
with all the warmth and beauty at both ends.
How blessed I am, attended either way,
flowers of the season and steadfast friends.

A Heart Art Commentary

I recall her suddenly stricken,
vitality and strength taken away.
A heart full of love and compassion,
bright, active mind found meaning each day.

See the portrait, they prayed over supper,
the scene close to the end of the day;
Their lives from early she imagined,
when romance and attraction held sway.

Then the portraits reflected a family;
she saw the lively swirl of their life,
dinner under the chandelier's twinkle,
a happy, fulfilled husband and wife.

Each partner in solitude dreaming,
a child with love being held on a knee,
who would think of grandparent hood coming,
and the heads bowed in prayer gratefully.

The times in between she would picture,
their hopes and their dreams coming true.
She saw in their portraits the lives lived,
as she kindly wished for me and you.

Though bound by the physical illness,
in the art she beheld, she composed.
In her difficult script she attempted to share,
a sweet fragrance before her life closed.

A friend leaves a warm spot that time cherishes.

A Jeweled Aid

Grant to her a jeweled cane,
sparkling steady aid, not seeming less,
who walks in weakness, bears the pain;
may confidence her walking bless.

Keeping in mind how many times,
her hand has steadied faltering feet,
and eased the toil of strenuous climbs,
with encouragement and smile so sweet.

It's difficult to acknowledge loss
of strength and bright agility,
the drive to see it through exhaust,
encourager and bulwark be.

But there is Someone to provide,
the steadiness and strength required,
Who has our back, is by our side.
She can display the jewels when tired.

The grace to do one's part through all,
with skill and wisdom, now the tools.
Caring, with His help, the sheltering wall.
Wear with her walk the shining jewels.

A Gift Acknowledged

A gift? So you are calling this a gift?
It's pain; it wasn't planned; it will not move.
Ingratitude now nags me. Where's the lift?
Deep down, doubt says, "Is this a work of love?"

"Be gone," I've said again, shot in the foot;
reprieve, though hoped for, beyond me, slips away.
"In all give thanks." Was this seriously put?
Will light perspective move the dark away?

A situation that says, "Failed."You're crushed.
Dim future, if at all, anticipate.
Because of shame, feelings then subtly hushed,
thus never hostile thoughts may we. relate.

Ordained, perhaps,the last straw hits the load,
askew view forbids possibilities.
unexpected complications on the road,
appalled, then opened, vanquished eyes to see.,

So, breaking, stretching, sharing light revealed,
these new paths that so far had not been trod ,
bid guidance to a heart prepared to yield,
ready to release the case to loving God.

Why, just in current days it has occurred,
that painful symptoms reminded tenderly,
That though relief was not confirmed in word,
reassurance of a Father close to me.

Endurance, though accompanied by crying out,
relief so sweet when it was much desired,
new motivation with Eureka! shout.
A heart at peace can be a heart inspired.

So, thanks for the gift, the strengthening;
Thanks for companionship I may not have known,
without the need and presence, Father God,
I may have faced the pain, unchanged, alone.

Symphony of Tongue and Ear

The tone that echoes tuneful in the ear,
is this the tone that trills upon the tongue?
Tune, human, filled with pathos or bright joy,
or of the bird whose message he pours out,
possessive of his realm, or wins his mate,
small tones announce the young awaiting food.

Another throat that in the marsh sends forth
a message of the coming of the spring.
May dawns, when newness lifts the waiting heart,
a smile as tadpoles wiggle in their pool.
Sweet love songs issued from young human throats,
are treasured as they fall on waiting ears.

A gift, divine and human, shared as well,
an echo of the angels song on high.
The ears, so blessed as melodies speak there,
the tongues who trill with praises so inspired,
hearts touched by creation's music thus performed,
beyond what polished skill could scarce produce.

Gifts From Father

Like the well known country song says,
"My heart skips a beat."
On a lacy, green May morning,
can they keep up, my skipping feet?

The mailbox had cards in it,
telephone rang off the wall,
or vibrated in my pocket,
causing an inner-being ball.

Just let my thoughts go whirling,
the son who is living near,
putting feet on all those wishes,
taking us to dinner, with grandchild dear.

They were a gift to me in bundles,
that I waited for with joy.
My eager anticipation
brought me a precious girl or boy.

Inexperienced, I attempted,
with joined efforts of my spouse,
to teach them, feed them, love them,
as they messed up---picked up--the house.

Now, the morning goes a-whirling.
What dress shall I put on,
after inspiring devotion, for the dinner
planned for me by that dear son?

Though, "Ma Bell," I guess you are passe,
with their apps, they now convey,
to the happy ears and dancing heart:
can I rate it?--Mothers' Day

The treasures that they sent or brought,
now displayed in grand array,
eaten up or planted,
bless them, near or far away.

How can I fail to thank the Lord,
for the gifts he's sent my way?
blessed far beyond what I deserve:
Thanks for love, life, and Mothers' Day.

Day of Memory and Honor

The time is rolling around again,
in spite of long days of dreary clouds,
when we will hail heroes' bravery,
gathering in cheering, marching crowds.

For those of us, in safety's shield,
who never faced gun nor deadly bomb,
because of defense of servicemen,
who risked all to keep homeland calm.

We'll fly the flags of stars and stripes,
Fire a salute over honored graves.
We'll deck with flowers those who passed,
whose bravery our nation saves.

Remember to say, "Thanks for serving,"
to those in uniform, who protect,
a way of life with many freedoms,
as sunshine returns, honor and respect.

Farewell, Bob Williamson

A fond farewell more meaningful reflects
the life that was so celebrated and in mind,
when hearts are shared in understanding care,
considering the family left behind.

What gift is possessed when the skill and way,
are joined with warmth and recollections shared.
How blessed we are when on that painful day,
both kindness and knowledge of us are paired.

Now comes the day when grace and kind respect,
return to bless the man whose life has blessed,
those who his kindly thoughtfulness recollect,
when their loved ones met their final rest.

A gift to us of his family is shared,
admiring them and taking part as well.
May they all know how their town has cared,
and lovingly honor in this farewell.

Love to Marie and all the Williamson family.

Today's Slate

Blank slate, well, thanks, I start a brand new day;
well, maybe some chalk dust says I've been here.
Gathering some experience on the way,
there may be indent on the pad unclear.

I'll take a new step, appropriate for this time,
inclined by higher guidance I have sought.
Let wisdom of the nighttime sleep made prime,
erase or rearrange the anxious thought.

Now, let the next step be directed rightly,
and let the focus forward, now the time,
be the best possible today or nightly,
that, not in shame, effects of efforts shine.

The slate, that though maybe smudged, ends the day,
is held in hands more wise and good than mine ,
to commit my doings, efforts on the way,
what I could not, He could; bring sleep, realign.

My Will or My Best

It seems that I've been bested yet again,
by sovereign wisdom of reality.
That which I willed away will still remain,
that which I wished for, not a choice for me.

Today I see the status quo has worth,
and question, "Who am I to change the way,
that which may fall or rise on this green earth,
or dictate all the outcome of the day."

I yield, yes, I surrender to the will.
of the One who ordains work and rest,
admitting that another way may still
work out ultimately for my best.

Another Fathers' Day

The day draws near; I inwardly reflect,
how many sides of fatherhood I view,
mixed view of dazed affection and respect,
some fear of disapproval that is due.

A clever crack I did or did not get,
do you supposed I'd ever think of that?
Covert, the wink that meant 'just us', and yet,
how much I wished to share it, be 'high hat.'

My sons, now men, and even grandsons too,
bring giggles and awed wonder to the mix.
I recall my part with the Dad of you;
What Mother can't, you might say, "Daddy fix."

Fathers' Day, we salute you with the rest;
may you impart to younger lives your best.

Exercising the Body and Eyes

As often planned on, to the gym,
to strengthen muscles, loosen joints,
I'd use the apparatus and swim,
to which frailty and stiffness points.

But, really, dress and take the car,
though grateful for convenience,
to make the best of things that are,
to my inertia state, makes sense.

So, now recalling exercise,
that I can simply do at home,
I checked my chart, prepared my eyes,
ready to stretch and not to roam.

Out of my window to the east,
a yellow goldfinch hopped and flew,
rose-breasted grosbeak, grand, at least,
flaunted his colors, brilliant hue.

Woodpeckers, various, black and white,
flashes red, large, tiny, in-between,
petite, the downy, red-bellied, bright,
and--thrill--pileated made the scene.

As parts I stretched, I saw the view;
to the south the frisky squirrels played.
My body benefiting in this use,
surroundings a panorama made..

Another thrill, graceful, shy doe,
gazed at my antics from the north.
While I felt better head to toe,
my heart and soul shared in the worth.

Another time, with others share,
the advantages of exercise,
communication and action there,
but, today, alone, toned heart and eyes.

Table of Contents

All These Dear Things
Holding That Thought
Perseverance
Never, Never Land
"Bearing" All Things
Ideas Shared
Four Year Old's Lesson
Fairy Garden
Spring Change
Together For Us
An Orderly Appearance
Fowl Invasion
Making The Best of It
A Facebook Funk
Sumac
Fathers' Loving Patience
Truly, True Value
Gray Funk
A Travel Farewell
Stream of Observation
Bird Coloration
Farming in Summer
Redeeming the Rotten
July 5
Fair for 4-H Members
Late Summer at the Bird Feeder
After-bloom
Lily Lost
An old playmates birthday
Help To Order My Time
August Lace
Deadhead and Prune
To Fostering of the Arts
Unpredictable Summer Day
Musical Gift
Hold Onto the Music
Finding Truth
Party Mascots
Flighty Fall Fellow
Portraits of Living
Hidden Peril
Conundrum Remedied
Solitary Spectator
Outlook
Choosing Begins with Grass Roots
Clinging and Freeing
Day by Day
Finding Fault
Recovery Halloween Party
Taut Strings
From Little Molehills
Moving Mountains
Standard Time--Fall Back
Deer Hunting From the Past
Thanks My Gentleman
Light the Truth
Gift of Encouragement
Christmas Dreams and Gift
Tribute To A Generous Technician
Snipping Away The Wilted
Hope for 2017
Two Thousand Seventeen
Quiet Challenge
Sharing a Sorrow
Crescent Moon
A Good Example--Shared Learning
Will Challenged
Home Town
So That Was the Farm
Good Wishes, Mr. President
To Advise Or
Inauguration 2017
Projects
A Valentine For Him
Canine Companion
Conveying a Thought
The Biggest Thrills
Ant as Teacher
Live and let----
Breakfast in the Park
Today's Moves
Daylight Time 2017
Holding Hope
Man at the Helm
Just Different
Turn to Truth
Bare Hills Euphoria
Versatile Birds
Playing an Old Instrument
Creeping Attitude
On Second Thought
A Heart Art Commentary
A Jeweled Aid
A Gift Acknowledged
Symphony of Tongue and Ear
Gifts From Father
Day of Memory and Honor
Farewell, Bob Williamson
Today's Slate
My Will or My Best
Another Fathers' Day
Exercising the Body and Eyes