Straight From The Hart

  This weekend our nation is called to remember the ultimate sacrifices made by so many men and women who have fought for our freedom over the years of our history. We are called to remember all those who went before us, the men who fought the Revolutionary War and those who died while walking through the snows of Valley Forge. We are called to remember those whose lives were lost during the War of 1812 when Frances Scott Key wrote his poem while watching the British bombardment of Fort McHenry..... how the “star-spangled banner” continued to wave as he watched it through the “rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air”, giving “proof through the night that our flag was still there.” We are called to remember those who fought and left their blood on the soil of foreign lands in World Wars I and II, in Korea and Viet Nam, and in the Middle East and continue to do so today. We are called to remember other sacrifices made by those who did not pay the ultimate price but who suffer...

  Cemetery Winds (Copyright by Joan Hart 2003) I enter the cemetery, and it lies silent before me; The tombstones stand as sentinels as if there is a need to protect the stories that the upright stones would tell. So I stand in the quietness of this place; And while my eyes are looking at dates and names and epitaphs, The ears of my soul are straining to hear the untold secrets of the lives of those whose bones now lie beneath this sod. The words “infant daughter” are covered with dust and gently brushed by the tall weeds as the cemetery winds move across the stone. Why is it there are always winds at the cemetery? Is it God’s say of reminding us that memories are ever present in the cemetery… That life moves on even when the bodies of those who have lived are at rest? I stand before the roughly hewed stone and wonder about the infant daughter. Was she the much desired baby of a couple who waited years to conceive, only to deliver the tiny lifeless form to be carried to ...

  Travelling Down Memory Lane What interesting roads we travel When we head down memory lane; What images of life fill our vision As the intersections of our brain Lead off in so many directions To paths now obscured by the fog Of dates and places and people; Strange things cause our memory to jog. Our memory lane curves and meanders Round the corners, o’er the hills of our mind As the fences and posts mark the boundaries Of the places we’re trying to find Now almost lost in the days of our journeys; Days we wouldn’t bring back if we could; Yet our thoughts seem to long there to linger As the ivy entwines round the wood. In the mist we see shadows of houses; Broken tree swings where children once played; Seems like it was only yesterday When those precious memories were made. Does memory lane just make a circle; Bring us back to a time we once knew; Or does it continue to go on forever Until it ends somewhere in the blue? I think we will find the answer As our children and grandch...

  Department of Justice Not Having A Good Month May has not been a good month for the U.S. Department of Justice. First, the “Fast and Furious” scandal involving former Attorney General Eric Holder showed up in the news again, just when the media thought it was all over with. A federal judge ordered the release of thousands of emails showing how then-attorney general Eric Holder obstructed, stonewalled, and misdirected congressional investigators looking into the program. One email dated June 2011 details how lab reports from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms (ATF) were withheld from Congress, and in an email dated July 2011, senior DOJ officials were agreeing to “stay away from a representation that we’ll fully cooperate (with the Congress).” DOJ was accused of trying to impede the Congressional investigations of Holder and his staff in 2011 and 2012 by “devising strategies to redact or otherwise withhold relevant information” by manipulating media coverage and by try...

  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 meaning of their laughter and hugs, and the tears. I just knew there was something so special on...

  Ode To The Foods of Summer Written by Joan Rowden Hart ©June 2018 Nothing works better to relieve summer’s stress Than preparing the season’s first beans Sitting in a recliner with bowl on your lap Anticipating the meal of your dreams Those delicate green pods are awaiting the mantle Of bacon’s smokey goodness just right Vidalia’s sweet onions add just the right touch To whet even the least appetite Small pearls of potatoes so tender and white Are the next layer of this tasty meal They will melt in your mouth in a buttery flash Creamy sweet with just a hint of red peel. Tomatoes of red sliced thin and arranged On a plate with red florals to match With white and green onion stems artfully laid To provide a bright color contrast. Cucumbers cut neatly in quarters or slices With a rich sour cream dip on the side And a second mixture of vinegar marinade Sometimes it’s hard to decide. Yellow cobs of sweet corn steaming hot from the pot Draped with butter and pepper and salt Those glitt...

  Feeling a little melancholy and nostalgic tonight. It’s been an emotional day for many reasons. While working in the silence of my office today, I kept hearing sounds, even got up once to check and see if something was going on in my yard. But there was nothing there. So now with my husband in bed and in silence again, I felt this poem coming on. It’s probably not my final draft, but I needed to get it down on paper while the thoughts were fresh in my mind. (May 29, 2017) THE SOUNDS OF OLD HOUSES There’s something about an old house As its age begins to set in Faint sounds you barely can hear them But they speak of things that have been. Sounds of the past when you’re walking As the floorboards complain in the night; Seems like I can still hear the footsteps Of days so happy and bright. When children played, laughter still ringing; Piano surrounded by singing. The walls pick up echos of family The food and the fellowship sweet The sounds of happy communion As loved ones in the ha...