Straight From The Hart

                THE “STAGES” OF LIFE The clock of time is ticking as the New Year now awaits; We stand behind the curtain, the old year’s getting late; The footlights are just coming on as we step out on stage; Life’s past script is behind us, we prepare to turn the page That reveals the new year’s stories. What will the future hold? The playwright hasn’t told us. He lets the book unfold; No good to try to read ahead, only He knows what is there; We take the parts assigned to us, only He knows what is fair. We only know that come what may, the assigned role must be played; It’s up to us to make it work, in this life there are no trades; And so we sing and dance and cry, each day brings something new; We do the best we can, because we know when day is through We once again will take the stage to take our final bow; Surrounded by the witnesses in clouds we see them now* The trees of the field will clap their hands*...

 Memory from a year ago. As a Christian I don't believe in luck or even coincidences. I belong to a sovereign God who is in complete control of what happens to me, but He has also given me a free will, so my choices, whether good or bad, are aways also a part of what happens to me. Milan and I have gone over the events of the last 36 hours several times. Milan keeps a very close eye on our property. He knew the hickory tree had some problems but it was still budding out annually and providing beautiful shade and following the cycle of life and he had every reason to believe it still had many years. It had a sister tree of equal size standing very close to it when we moved there in 1983. After a time that tree began to show signs of inner decay and was leaning toward the house so we had it professionally removed several years ago. But this tree had withstood so many windstorms in its 100+ years of life that we never dreamed it was in that much a state of decay. (There i...

  SPRING IN THE OZARKS The spring equinox arrived weeks ago And the sun began warming the earth Alerting the trees and the shrubs to awaken Tis the season to bring forth new birth. The gardens spring up in rejoicing, The lettuce and onions come through Awaiting the gardeners first picking, Awash in the morning’s first dew. A profusion of blooms fills the hillside, Reflections of the artist Monet A mingling of colors, indescribable In one glorious pattern arrayed. There is nothing like spring in the Ozarks, There’s just no better place to live The earth has awakened with great jubilation Her resurrection treasure to give. Green is spring’s favorite color Her palette overflows with its hues It’s verdancy bathes every hillside The trees overlapping in queues. The season is pregnant with promise Of bright summer days yet to come With beaches and playgrounds and picnics And games in the ball stadium Spring doesn’t stay long in the Ozarks Its days turn to summer too soon So we treasure e...

Green beans and new potatoes traditional summer fare Green beans and mashed potatoes, I really do not care Which way you want to serve them, or even which entree Just as long as I have green beans, that’s all I’ve got to say Those tender strands of goodness cooked down in bacon grease Served whole, or broken carefully, I savor every piece Let’s talk about some cornbread heaped high upon the plate With butter melting slowly down, best stuff I ever ate. The slightest touch of onion with salt and pepper, too I tell you folks, it’s heaven’s food sent down to me and you So if you want to please my soul When my time comes to die Just fix a “mess” of summer’s beans and I’ll bid this world goodbye. Written by Joan Rowden Hart August 25, 2017 ©

  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...

  A POEM FOR FLAG DAY (June 14) This Is Why I Cry By Joan Rowden Hart I’m often asked why tears fall from my eyes When I see our flag flying high Let me tell you today, please hear what I say So you will know why I cry. That piece of cloth means so very much more Than just the colors you see And there’s a story in that glory Of how our flag came to be. There is purity in the white of that flag And valor flows from the red The blue means eternal vigilance And justice to honor the dead I cry for the pride that I feel deep inside For those who have given their all I cry for the wounded whose lives are now changed Because they answered that call They were called to fight evil that threatens our freedom Called to defend family and home They were called to serve country and honor their God On the land, in the air, o’er the foam. I cry when the Star Spangled banner is played When the roll call of veterans is read My tears make their way through God Bless America And when the Pledge of...

  My dad was married 5 times. My mother was his first wife and I am his first child. Back in the early 60’s he was married to his third wife, a really flamboyant woman, very likeable, impetuous. A buxom blonde. She had 4 boys by a previous marriage, all in the same age range as Lois and me. They didn’t live here but occasionally they came to Lebanon to visit my grandparents Rowden, and Daddy would come get us girls and we would all be together at my grandparents. One summer night in 1963 up in the night, somebody knocked on the door of our Wood St home. Mom (Grandma Dame) was sleeping downstairs. She got up – that’s what you did back in those days – and it was one of my Dad’s stepsons. He asked her if he could sleep out the rest of the night on her couch – that he had been out somewhere and was too tired and sleepy to drive back to the Jefferson City area. She told him yes and brought him a blanket and pillow. Kay and I were sleeping upstairs. (Lois was already married an...