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Joan Moos's poem

Night Sounds

11/11/2018

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by Joan Moos
 
Ka  chink, ka chink, ka chink, ka chink,
the sounds of the chains on the car tires
as they moved down the highway adjacent to my house
on a snowy, winter night.
 
Then,
the occasional clanking of a broken chain,
 breaking the silence of the night
as it banged against a fender,
halting the mesmerizing rhythm.
 
Sounds of the night, over and over
I'd hear as I tried to fall asleep.
The zap, zap, zap of ice pellets
as they'd hit the window when the snow
would occasionally turn to sleet
offered its own unusual sounds
with no particular rhythm.
 
I'd hear the motion of the electric railroad train
on the far side of the highway
as its steel wheels  moved steadily along the metal tracks,
its sounds, and the rhythm, almost hypnotizing,
while the sparks from the wet third rail sent up
flickering lights reflecting  across my bedroom wall.
 
It is interesting how the mind can so vividly recall
certain images, almost as though they’d just happened,
although there have since been a near lifetime of winters.

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The Mountains

10/15/2018

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The mountains are now
but a memory.

Pastel threads of pink, sage,
blue and lavender,
entwine into a tapestry
of majestic proportions.
Each bend in the road
produces a more awesome
treat to behold.  

The morning sunrise
casts long shadows to the west.

The bright light of noon releases some
of the mountain's mysteries,
and the mist orchestrated by the sunset
once again shrouds the landscape
in a blanket of wonders,
only to be titillated
by the soft glow of the moon on the crest,
each a testament to the touch of God. ​

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Autumn

10/1/2018

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by Joan Moos
 
As summer's heat begins to wane,
the long days give way to colder, longer nights,
setting the stage
for the year's grand finale, autumn.
It is now that the season's pas de quatre
reaches its crescendo.
Like the fireworks on the Fourth of July,
nature sends colors of every shade
reaching into the air.
 
The cool, quiet hues of green
gradually change to a palette of brilliance.
Bright red berries decorate the branches
on some of the trees, exclamation marks
remaining though the winter months.
 
Leaves swirl in rainbows of color
as they are caught in ground thermals,
coming to rest in scattered piles,
just waiting for kicking
and tossing by the children.
 
The trees of autumn
have given their final salute

to the seasons of the year
before again shedding their finery.
A light breeze whispers a lullaby
as they begin their winter's sleep,
the lingering fragrance of the leaves
a toast to both the past,
and the seasons to come.
 
More poems by Joan Moos can be found in her book,
“To Soar: Life is an Attitude”,
available in most on-line bookstores.

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Snapshot

9/30/2018

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Snapshot 
by Joan Moos

I've a snapshot in my mind
of a place so long ago . 
a cornfield in the west 
where I watched the tall corn grow.

The aroma filters in
 as I feel myself transported
 to a time back in my history
 where my memories are courted.

I can feel it all around me, 
but I know not from where
 this memory began, but
 right now, I know I'm there.
​

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Miss You

7/23/2018

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by Joan Moos
 
Blue blue sky
clouds drift by
gentle breezes touch my skin
 
Leaves rustle
no hustle
Like heaven this place I'm in
 
Birds singing
distant bells ringing
This perfect place to be
 
Air is clear
miss you dear
Won't you please rest here with me
 
 
More poems by Joan Moos can be found in her book “To Soar: Life is an Attitude” available in most online bookstores

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The American Flag

7/9/2018

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The bodies were lying all around
on the frozen, hard, cold ground,
and when the smoke began to clear,
 they saw the stars and stripes appear.

Thirteen stars a circle formed,
in a field of blue they were adorned.
Thirteen stripes of red and white,
our flag survived the gallant fight.

Many wars have come and gone
and still our nations's flag waves on.
The stars in number have changed, it's true,
but still stand proud in their field of blue.

It flies on high in distant lands,
o'er embassies on foreign sands.
In every town it leads parades,
The freedom symbol never fades.

It hangs in classrooms where children tread.
It lies across caskets of honored dead
who fought so bravely to keep us free,
to protect the freedoms for you and me.

Now when the smokes clears, near or far,
our flag will wave with its fifty stars,
and our chests will swell with the pride we share
for our flag and our serviceman, everywhere!

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Mother Nature’s Children

6/17/2018

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by Joan Moos
 
There's something about taking a walk in the quiet,
windless, still sunless hours of the morning
that relaxes, yet stimulates me.
 
With the birds beginning  to sing their way
into the daylight to begin the hustle and bustle of another day,
I greet the day with a deep breath
and a peaceful mind,
still not aware, but hopeful.
 
The heat of the rising sun
begins to warm the earth which,
in turn,
 stimulates the breeze to begin it's newest dance,
beginning with the rustle of the leaves on the trees.
 
Like a well conducted orchestra
the birds join in with their well selected tweets, and
all Mother Nature's children begin to add to  the awakening
of this new, beautiful day.
 
More poems by Joan Moos can be found in her book,
“To Soar: Life is an Attitude”
available in most online book sellers


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Time and Memories

5/16/2018

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by Joan Moos
 
Time slips by
so very fast,
but now,  like all
the ships cast
free upon the ocean,
 
memories,
the happy kind,
cast upon the
waves of mind,
to enjoy with great emotion.

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Each Day is a Gift

5/16/2018

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by Joan Moos
 
The song of a bird,
the smell of a flower,
the touch of a hand,
each minute, each hour,
 
mean so much more
when you've been to the edge,
when you've faced a  great challenge,
looked over the ledge.
 
You may have been told
you've a dreadful disease,
or faced death and returned
to live life as you please.
 
But now it's more precious,
each breath that you take,
the air that you breathe,
the sun you feel make
 
you skin warm with its rays,
the star filled nights,
the bright summer days,
the beautiful petals
on bright colored flowers,
your loved ones dear faces
you could look at for hours.
 
Life is so fragile
and each day that we live,
is a gift from God,
only His to give.
 
So take it and cherish it,
each precious minute,
and give thanks to Him,
for the love He's put in it.
 
 
 

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Listen To Your Daddy

5/4/2018

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by Joan Moos
 
The older I get the more
frustrated I become with time.
 
Daddy always said,
”The older you get, the faster time flies.”
 
I never fully understood what he meant
when I was younger,
but as each day slips away
I can see it becomes more like
a snowball rolling down a hill,
gathering more and more snow as it picks up speed,
rolling faster and faster.
There's no stopping it
until it gets to it’s final destination,
wherever that might be.
 
I can't tell you how many times I've heard
my friends say that they, too, have
heard the same thing from their dad's,
so it must be true, right?


I guess we just must go along for the ride
and hope that it’s a smooth one.
 
Now I just hear myself
utter the same words
over and over again,
in my own way –
 
“It seems like only yesterday  . . .”
 
More poems by Joan Moos can be found in her book,
“To Soar: Life is an Attitude”,
available in most online bookstores.

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    Joan Moos is the book author of “To Soar: Life is an Attitude”,
    available in most online bookstores..

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    • Betty Bleen's Poem
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