And then they poured forth through the years
Documenting joy and tears.
Grade and high school graduation
New York Driver Certification.
Maternity Center added its plaque, as, pregnant, WE had learned the KNACK!
Three diplomas on the walls,
From Brooklyn and from Rutgers halls –
In 1970 a sterile sheet announced I could teach math-no treat!
What’s this dreary incantation? Why these paper proclamations;
That, having reached our full potentials, we’re entitled to credentials?
What I treasure above all other
Is that I’m valued by another
And that my only valid mark
Comes from within my unique spark.
MEMORIES
By: Lorraine Goldschmidt
I sit and nurse my aching legs,
Trying to coax these creaky bones
Into shape. Music helps-a jazzy tape
Plays rhythmically to spur on this crone.
But sadness descends, nostalgia too.
Where is the old me, the spunky one who
Climbed like a goat up craggy paths
And assailed mountains with vim and a laugh?
In college days with happy friends
To Harriman with its endless bends;
The Lemon Squeezer-what a thrill!
Bear Mountain trips with Milt and Bill;
White Mountains up New Hampshire way-
You beckoned and your face held sway.
With kids we climbed up little Pine
Nibbling berries on the vine,
And later-Huts with magical names;
Lonesome Lake, Madison and Mizpah of fame.
No aches back then to mar the pleasure;
Those memories I’ll eternally treasure.
Mount Washington- a great achievement;
I cry inside with this bereavement.
Trips to Boulder-more recent past;
Up Flagstaff, McClintock and Sanitas.
I ask myself with longing and pain
If these great jaunts will be done again.
Or others in Europe I’ve climbed in my 60’s-
Cliffs in Cornwall, Mont Blac-all so nifty!
Will I find a way to equal the zest
Found when reaching a summit
In East or out West?
Will I “youthen” as Montague states.
When 70 looms. Will these bands and these weights
At the “Y” fitness class
Enable me gain to approach a high mass
Of granite and trees, meadows and brooks
And exclaim to my spouse or friends with a look
So proud- “I can do it, I can!
For the next mountain high, let’s draw up a plan.”
My Wally-Poo
By: Joan Murphy
I loved him from the very start
On that cold December day
When he hopped into my car and my heart
and forever did he stay…
I can’t forget him – nor will I try
I’ll hold his memory fast
And cherish all the fun times shared
that all too quickly passed…
I’m glad I always told him
how much he really meant to me
And I know he really understood
And loved me – unconditionally…
I’ll always miss those soft brown eyes
that were focused constantly
On everything I did and said
I could do no wrong – thought he!
I held him tight and heard him sigh
It was indeed his last goodbye!
I know how hard it was for him to say
goodbye to me – but not as hard as it was for me
to set his spirit free…
So now he roams that big green field
some where so far away
And waits for me to join him
some time, some where, some day…
I do believe we’ll meet again – so
Dear Lord, I beg of you
Take good care of my sweet friend
My darling Wally-Poo…
Ode to a Closet
By: Joan Murphy
I have a closet that will not stay
Neat and Tidy from day to day…
I try so hard to keep it neat
And my reward? Complete defeat!
I try to organize and plan
So that it will truly be
A thing of beauty – a work of art
For all the world to see!
But try as I may – I just can’t win
Me thinks these really dwells within
A leprechaun – both vile and sly
Who wrecks my clothes
And makes me cry…
Should I give in to this creature’s wiles
Or should I take a stand?
And order him to quickly leave
And go back to Ireland?
Please tell me what I should do
Because I must confess
I’ve grown quite fond of this little guy
Who makes my closet such a mess…
I think I’d miss him – I really would
In spite of what he’s done
So what if my closet is a mess
He is a lot of fun…
And so, my friends, I leave you this
Consider what is right
Is neatness so important
To have – both day and night?
Life is so short – we all know that
So set your standards straight
Enjoy the real important things
Before it is too late!!
What Really is a Stranger?
By: Lori Goldschmidt
In an ad in a paper about the town of Red Bank
It tells about the Kissing Corner; is it some sort of prank
To bring strangers together, feisty or crank?
It said that our citizens were an affectionate lot.
How would I feel being caught on the spot
By a complete STRANGER? Kissed! Is this a danger?
‘Tis the season for joy, peace and manger.
Who knows what fortuitous relation
Might emerge from this unique situation?
He/she could be homeless or exceedingly rich;
A fine upright citizen or a nasty old bitch.
But the minute I’m caught neath the mistletoe tree
I submit to the charm; with freedom I’ll be
Able to handle this STRANGER with verve.
And for the precious moment, I’ve got lots of nerve.
It’ll pas in a twinkling, that brief episode,
But I find I’m the better for this Christmas mode.
Good bye, all excuses for staying apart. The corner has magic;
Its opened my heart.
I love you, you STRANGER, and wish you Godspeed.
To all other people I say “Take heed
And add to you circle of folks that you treasure.”
Let the corner being joy and plenty of pleasure.