Straight From The Hart

Dinosaur Bones & Other Childish Dreams - original poem about Lorna Dinosaur Bones and Other Childish DreamsI threw away an old bone my granddaughters found while visiting last week. When mommy and daddy came to get them, little Lorna couldn’t wait to show them her dinosaur bone. The look on her little face when I told her I had thrown it away will haunt me forever. I learned my lesson that day. I will never destroy a child’s dream again, even if my coffee table gets covered with “dinosaur bones”. The Dinosaur Bone While playing in the yard last week she found an old bleached bone; She brought it to me, so excited her little eyes just shone “This came from a dinosaur” she said. You’ve never seen such pride; It was the find of her life for a four year old, her brown eyes open wide. As the day wore on she laid it down; Other things got her attention. I found it on my coffee table and decided not to mention That it was left over from table scraps we'd ha

To My Precious Granddaughters - original poem for my granddaughters TO MIKAYLA AND LORNA   Mikayla, our first born, with color so bright, Long reddish blond hair, your pride and delight; Fair skin, bright blue eyes, so much like your mother; Your little girl pictures look just like each other. Mikayla JoAnne, with my name and my genes Expressing yourself with such dramatic scenes; Opinionated, creative, intelligent one; Artistic, persistent, you’ll work til it’s done. My ice-skating grandchild, through many a fall You get up and get going again strong and tall. You love Barbies, and horses, and books of all kind; With your beautiful body and quick to learn mind. Little Lorna, our ladybug, with mischievous grin With Momma’s curly hair, and Daddy’s strong chin; With dark eyes full of twinkles, and laughter so giggly; Never still for a moment, all playful and wiggly.   Lorna Delle, you’re your daddy and papa put together Stayi

Memorial Day Memories -original poem for Memorial Day MEMORIES OF MEMORIAL DAY It was just an everyday phone call, It was just a simple request; But, oh, the memories it triggered, Memories so precious and blessed. My grandmother’s beautiful flowers, peonies and lilacs and flags, We picked them and handled them gently, laid in baskets and boxes and bags. Through April and May she would tend them, as they grew with bright buds and full blooms We children were not allowed near them, we were tantalized by their perfume. Eagerly, we would wait for that morning that she called Decoration Day; That’s what her flowers were grown for as April came, and turned into May. We usually walked to the cemetery carrying baskets and bags filled with flowers; We looked at all the gravestones with interest, sometimes we would stay there for hours While all of the adults were visiting with friends they had not seen for years. We never really comprehended the me

Just Picking Sage, an original poem Just Picking Sage   Sitting on my porch on an autumn afternoon; Picking from the herbs that had been growing there since June; Listening to the radio, they were playing my favorite tune; But I was doing more than picking sage.   Memories of my Grandma over 30 years ago Picking from my sage plants, when I didn’t even know They were growing in my garden, right next to my fence row I didn’t know a thing about picking sage   She brought the sage leaves in and carefully laid them out; She assumed I wouldn’t bother them, never had a doubt That I would know what to do with them, but I threw them out Didn’t dream she would want the dried-up sage.   I never have forgotten the lesson I learned that day; I took a lot of teasing about the sage I threw away “It’s supposed to be dried out!” is what I heard her say As she went out to pick some more sage.   So it wasn’t just the harvesting of the herbs that made me