Ann's Choice
 Ann's Choice 

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1:30  Schmaltz Oldies: A

          Song to Remember

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Poetry

The following is a list of the poems in this section, with their author's name.

This is the sequence in which they appear.

 

MY GOLF STORY - Herb Kravitz 

MY OLD AGE - Herb Kravitz

 BRIDGE AT ANN'S CHOICE - Rhoda Simon

 A HARRIED HOUSEWIFE'S PROMISE - Tootsie Drucker

  THE TIE - David Jones

  WEATHERING LIFE - Eleanor Mueller

  SKY DANCE - Eleanor Mueller

  THE MOURNING DOVE - Eleanor Mueller

  REMEMBERING - Eleanor Mueller

  THE LONG ROAD - Eleanor Mueller

  HOME - Doris McCullough

  THE CAPE - Eleanor Mueller

  A FRIEND - Stan Schwartzman

  A SNOWY MEMORY - Stan Schwartzman

  APRIL FOOL - Stan Schwartzman

  TO SCHOOL - Doris McCullough

  A MOTHER'S SOLACE - Doris McCullough

  A LEAF - Stan Schwartzman

                    My Golf Story

In my hand I hold a ball.

White & dimpled kind of small.

Oh how bland it does appear.

This harmless looking little sphere

But since I’m possessed by this great spell.

I’m going through the fires of Hell.

It made me curse & made me cry.

I hate myself & want to die.

But with my wants the ball refuses.

It does exactly what it chooses.

Often it chooses to take a whim.

It hits a tree or tries to swim.

Then has me offering with my soul.

If only it would find a hole.

It made me whimper like a pup.

I’ll swear to heaven, I’ll give it up.

I’ll take to drink to ease my sorrow>

But this ball knows, I’ll be back tomorrow.

           My Old Age

Today I’m still living.

I’m not among the dead.

Though I’m getting more forgetful.

And mixed up in my head.

Old age is golden, that is what is said.

But that is what I wonder when I get in bed.

I feel young & full of pep.

Rushing here & there.

Enjoying every passing day.

But really I don’t know where.

I got used to my diabetes.

Taking insulin I don’t mind.

But keeping my sweetness from too much sugar.

That’s to what I’m resigned.

So I wake in the morning, & dust off my wits.

Pick up the paper & read the obits.

My name is missing so I know I’m not dead.

So I have a healthy breakfast & go back to bed.

      by Herb Kravitz

 

 

BRIDGE AT ANN’S CHOICE

 

In Warminster PA

Day after day

Seniors gather to play

They happily say

Their favorite game

Is Bridge they exclaim

No canasta for them

A game for the weak

Maj Jong the same

So many tiles to seek

Puzzles are boring

Too many pieces to find

And scrabble requires an inquisitive mind

So it’s Bridge for more fun

Back to the tables they come

 

By Rhoda Simon 7/27/2016

 

A HARRIED HOUSEWIFE’S PROMISE

 

 

My interests are so very varied

That’s why I often seem so hurried

Rushing here, rushing there

Busy, busy everywhere.

While my first choice is to dance

I’m often busy with garden and plants,

Or with sewing or my knitting

Not much time for quiet sitting.

Laundry, cleaning, cooking, baking

No wonder my poor back is aching

Need time for telephone conversations

That cover so many situations

Also time for volunteering

Days so quickly disappearing

“You have to slow down,” many have said.

I promise I will when I am dead.

 

By Tootsie Drucker

 The Tie

 

 

He bought a tie that he saved for best,

    Which he hung on his tie rack away from the rest.

He treasured that tie and awaited the day

    When he would treat his friends to a resplendent display.

 

He oft wore his suit but never his tie,

    Which stayed in the closet as the years sped by.

It hung in his closet unused and unsung,

    Astride his tie rack on the highest rung.

 

He would save that tie for his retirement day,

    An event that would happen the following May.

He could see himself standing tall and proud,

    Wearing that tie before an adoring crowd.

 

Alas, that wonderful day never came,

    For he suffered a fall that made him lame.

The following week he passed away,

    He was never feted on his retirement day.

 

That beautiful tie he was so reluctant to wear,

    Which would cause some to smile and others to stare,

Would have only one use that he wouldn’t have guessed,

    It adorned his shirt when they laid him to rest.

 

 

                                                             David D. Jones copyright 2014

Some Poems by Eleanor Mueller

Weathering Life                                                                                               
It is snowing. A gentle white dancing to the ground.
I listen.  It is quiet.  I hear not a sound.
It is a restful scene before me.  Beauty my eyes behold.
I sit back, relax, and let my thoughts unfold.
 
I remember all the yesterdays.
Memories they have become.
Family, friends - some rough times. 
Some quite worrisome.
 
That's what forms a life.  Good times and bad.
Sometimes happy as a lark.  Other times quite sad.
The strength we gather through the years serves us in the end.
The Snow.  The rain.  The sunshine.
 
Most of all,  God, our very best friend.

Sky Dance

 

I watched a flock of Starlings

One cold January day,

As they flew in unison with

A graceful swing and sway.

 

It was a wonder to behold

They all flew as one.

No command was given

The ballet had begun. 

 

I watched a perfect Pirouette

The background was the sky.

Then, as in a duel,

Toward each other they did fly.

 

Then the ballet ended

Time and hunger did decide.

And all flew to the ground

Where so many goodies hide.

 

On the ground, they formed a blanket,

There were Starlings everywhere.

Oh, what a wonderful bird's life

With the air of the world to share.

 

Eleanor M. Mueller

 

 
 The Mourning Dove
 
What do you say as you fly away,  I hear your cry, little Dove.
Your coo is so sad.  I wish I had a clue about you little Dove.
Your heart seems to break.  I sense that you take
All the cares of this life as your own.
 
Yet, remember, my Dove, for you there is love.
You never travel alone.
Your mate is always there with you, as a pair,
You share the great unknown.
 
I wish I could be high in a tree with my love
As you are with yours, oh my Dove.
But I go my way, alone day by day,
Thinking of what used to be.
 
So, little Dove, as you soar above,
 
Maybe your cry is for me.
 
As I hear your coo,  I'll know that you,
 
Are sharing your sadness with me.
 
 
Eleanor M. Mueller

 

Remembering

 

Come with me.

We'll follow the trail through the fields up the hill

And let the view give our souls a thrill.

We need to give life a respite from strife.

Escape from the world, so to speak.

Here, for awhile, we relax and we smile,

And enjoy the freedom we seek.

The sight and the sound of nature abound.

We catch a whiff of new mown hay.

What a delight when a deer comes into sight

And gracefully leaps away.

The world is in hush and we really must

Remember this wonderful time.

Then, blessing of blessings, what comes to our ears---

The rapture of a church bell chime,.

These moments together, high on our hill,

Are a treasure we'll never forget.

As life has its way, maybe, some day,

We will return and remember.

 

Eleanor M. Mueller

 

The Long Road

 

Before I started on my journey, My Father said to me:

It is time for you to leave for awhile, For there is a form of life you must see.

I replied: But, Oh, my Father, Why must I from you go?

What other life can this surpass?  And Oh, I love You so.

 

He but smiled and said:  Now listen to what I'm going to say.

You will live as a mortal for awhile.   But, you'll be back some day.

Remember as you travel, For however long it takes,

Only I am the giver of life and the forgiver of all mistakes.

 

And so, I began my sojourn In this distant, unknown place.

Not entirely willing,  But, by my Father's grace.

Oh , how very difficult I found the way to be.

So many influencing my new life.  Their mortal wills troubling me.

 

Then one day I met a man who sailed upon the sea.

He said:  If only I could share a night watch with thee.

We would stand on the bridge together, and the sound of the sea we would hear.

And we would look at the starry heaven, and our Father's house would seem

So near.

 

Then our paths took a different direction.  I had to find my own way home.

Oh, I walked along with others, but, still, quite alone.

Until one day I met a woman who acted on the stage.

She taught me how to read myself, as a book, and to relish every page.

 

Loosen all the shackles, she said.  Plunge into your very own soul.

Study yourself and know you. Only then will you understand your goal.

How good were the hours with her. As we entered the depths of our 

Thoughts.

 

For she brought again to my memory, The wisdom our Father had taught.

I went again down my road. She, with a "God Bless", went on hers

Oh, wherever she is she is singing.  What joy my recalling her stirs.

 

Then there was a man, a pilot, who flew planes high in the sky.

On day I asked him what he thought it was like to die.

Well, he said, I've thought of it. Oh yes, again and again.

It matters not how it happens or even where or when

 

Now remember, we must live this life for as long as we are meant

to survive.  But, our goal is to be with our Father.  And we can't leave

this would alive.  For we are only mortals and must suffer the transition

Of death.  Then, the Father will look upon us. And give us new life with 

His breath.

 

Oh, all the good, dear loved ones who have traveled a great distance

With me.  Have listened and endured my rantings of where my journey

through life has brought me.   And as we continue to travel together

And share our experiences of the road; May we never detour one another

But only help to lighten the load.

 

When we reach that final round-about where all paths and roads combine

Our dear Father will open His arms and offer us welcome sublime.

 

Eleanor M. Mueller

 

HOME

 

There is something in the word ‘Home’ that wakes the

Kindliest feelings of the heart and brings back to us the

scenes of our childhood.

There is the place where we have spent so many happy

hours with Father, Mother, Sister, and Brother.

But it is not merely friends that render this place so

dear but even the rocks and hills which surround the place

of our nativity seem to speak of other days that are now

past and gone. No songs so sweet as those shed around

a parent’s dwelling filling every heart with joy and gladness.

We may wander away and mingle with and form new friends

and associates and fancy we have almost forgotten the land

of our birth. Yet it will not be so, we shall not so soon forget

the friends we have left behind us, and memory will often

love to linger around those hallowed hours. And when leisure

moments at twilight leave, we shall think of those lost friends,

never to be forgotten by us.

 

By: Emily A Smith

February 10, 1855

 

 

 

The Cape

 
The cape is sun and sand and sea
And harbor for the soul of me.
The wind blows through the mist and spray,
Taking all my cares away.
The dunes show to the golden sun,
Each grain of sand from ocean spun.
And as I stay and keep the beat
Of salt waves breaking at my feet,
I wish to stay forever where,
The sand and sea forever share,
A motion that forevermore,
Returns the ebb-tide to the shore.
 
Eleanor M. Mueller

    A Friend

 
A little bit of kindness,
A little bit of cheer,
A smile of understanding,
To take away that tear.
 
Try to understand another’s pain,
And with them empathize,
And try to make life easier,
To help their spirits rise.
 
For each and every one of us,
At some time in our lives,
Will need someone to help us cope,
And help us to survive.
 
The kindness shown by others,
In times of our despair,
Shows, there is no loneliness,
When a friend is standing there.
 

                                                          Stan Shwartzman

                       A Snowy Memory
 
A childhood memory I'll always remember,
Is of a cold winter day late in December,
When quietly snow fell all through the night,
And covered my world with a blanket of white.
 
In the morning through crystals of frost on my window,
I could see snowflakes still swirling below,
Though the sky up above was still very gray,
I wanted so much to go out and play.

 

So I quickly jumped into my warm winter suit,
And hurried and put on my favorite boots,
And with excitement that I could not hide,
I found my old sled and ran right outside.
 
What a picture I made with red ears and red nose,
Wind blowing briskly; cheeks red as a rose,
And snow brightened eyes open wide and aglow,
On that cold winter day so long, long ago.
 

                                                   Stanley Shwartzman

    April Fool

 
                  The first of April every year,
Is the day for fools I fear,
 
 The gullible are easy prey,
For those who get their fun that way.
A story told, though only fiction,
But expressed to all with much conviction,
Will positively be believed,
Though strange and often ill conceived.
It seems that those that take the bait,
Oft forget that April date,
Used by jokers as a tool,
To lure the naive April Fool.
 
                                        Stan Shwartzman
 
                                        TO SCHOOL
 
                                        They're off to school on hurrying feet
                                      so vital, so young, the trap of their mind
                                                    so easily sprung
                                by  questions they've heard or pictures they've seen
                                      they are always asking, what does it mean?
                                    These questions we figure are part of the plan
                                                    for gaining knowledge
                                                   as boy grows to man
 
                                                            by Doris King McCullough
                                                 A MOTHER'S SOLACE
                                        I stooped to pick him up
                                        his eyes brimming tears
 
                                        Would I have the power
                                        when he's grown and tall
                                        to ease his hurts as easily
                                       as now he's an armfull small
 
                                                     by Doris King McCullough
                  A Leaf
   A dying leaf fell from a tree,
   All dressed in red and gold,
    It whirled and twirled upon the wind,
    And fell to mother earth.
 
    No more to wave in shades of green,
    In spring or summer sun,
    And as autumn fades to winter,
    All the leaves will soon be gone.
 
    But, mother nature has a way to save all of her vigor,
    And once again in the warmth of spring,
    New growth and leaves upon the trees,
    Look upward to the sun.
                                     Stan Shwartzman

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