To Be or Not To Be

 To Be or Not To Be
That is the question? Ever the first person on earth there has been only two sexes, male and female. The term gender has been slipped into usage to confuse people into believing there is a difference between sex and gender. There isn’t. A person’s DNA determines whether the person is a man or a woman.
Since the birth of mankind, it has always been a man is a man and aa woman a woman. Until recently, people who believe theey have been misgendered has been treated as having a mental illness. The term was gender dysphoria. Apparently the feeling is no longer an illness and is no longer in use. If a person believes they have been misgendered, they try to force others to recognize their newly discovered gender. Their belief is theirs alone and I should not be forced to recognize their mental illness.
The Bible clearly states in Genesis 1:27 that God in creating human beings, He created “he him; male and female created he them.” He made no mistakes. I am not about to argue with God, so if you believe that I am going to backtalk to God, you are sadly mistaken.
To me this trangender movement is ridiculous. It only adds more confusion to daily liife. Trying to ascertain someone’s personal pronouns is a never ending fantasy. I have no desire to wander down that rabbit hole. And if a person can change their gender by just believing it, why can’t I change race if I want?
Why can’t I become trans-species and be a giraffe? Or an elephant? Or a cheetah? Or a horse? If that sounds foolish to you, transggenderism sounds the same way to me. Doctors who fall in line by prescribing hormone therapy to halt pubescence are invalidating their oath to preserve and protect life. Physicians who agree to mutilate children are the lowest of the low, abusing children for money. They irrevocably harm these young ones. Only abortionists are on the same level. Destroying life instead of fulfilling their Hippocratic oath,

Dried Flowers

 Dried Flowers
Memories' dried flowers pressed between two pages
Preserved safely reminders of bygone ages
First dates, funerals, weddings; flowers tucked away
Each blossom calls to mind a corsage or bouquet
Pressed flat and secure where only their colors fade
Protected from time’s passage-brittle not decayed
Flowers and memories that stay fresh in the brain
Mortals cannot stop time, yet these flowers remain
Often fertilized by laughter; watered with tears
These blooms remain the same over the many years
Memories pressed between the faded petals stay
While our lives in human thoughts tend to fade away

Classy Lassie

 Classy Lassie
Let me start out this post by saying that I have three wonderful granddaughteers. I am very proud of all of them. Their artistic and musical talents make me wonder where they got those abilities. It has to be from my wife Cindy Morrison Beck. I often tease that it is a miracle for how great they are when I look at the gene pool.
My oldest granddaughter Celine Beck has a beautiful voice and plays the violin quite well. My youngest Hannah Yoder loves to draw, sing, and act in the school plays. My middle grandchild Moriah Beck loves to draw, has a vivid imagination, and plays the violin. She is the one I will single out in today’s post. Saturday evening I attended a musical event at the MonValley for the Academy Arts in Brownsville, Pennsylvania where Moriah was the solo performer. She played a series of musical themes in many genres from classical to movie tunes and Negro spirituals and hymns as well as more rural songs written especially for fiddles. I’m sure the music was selected to show her skill with the violin. Moriah’s mother accompanied her on the piano for one of the selections.This young Scottish lassie also tosses the caber ath eth Highland Games.
The one host had Morial hold up her instrument for the audience to see. The host pointed out that the neck of the violin had no frets and said that Morial had perfect pitch or she wouldn’t have been able to play so well. I’m not particularly fond of the movie “The Sound of Music.” Her selection of music included “Eidelweiss” and “The Hills Are Alive with the Sound of Music.” I’m not sure whether they were selected tto torture Grandpa or not. My daughter Anna Prinkey shouted “Encore” and of course there was a repeat of the “Hills Are Alive with the Sound of Music.”
After the performance was over, she and Celine played several duets. Morial says he sister plays better than her. There was a “jam session” where several of the other attendees took out instruments played music.
 The hosts at the Mon Valley Academy provided refreshments. All in all, it was a very pleasant evening with my family. Thank you Morial for inviting me and thank you to the Mon Valley for the Academy Arts for providing a venue for poets, musicians, and other preforming artists.

In the Golden Sunset

 In the Golden Sunset
Sunset like a golden crown
Marks day’s end as sun goes down
Twilight’s dark fingers take hold
And bright stars fill ebon sky
Full moon stares with pale eye
Day’s warmth chased by shadows cold

Sunrise, sunset never join
Opposite sides of a coin
As far as east from the west
Exit from a mother’s womb
Then into an earthly tomb
Time on earth is but a test

She’s gone away; gone to stay
Turns to dust and clay to clay
Ashes, ashes we all fall down
Tenderness, I miss her so
Heartbroken, nothing to show
Tears almost cause me to drown

Horizons blush with morning
And night’s gloom quickly takes wing
Grave’s darkness has closed that dream
Old life withers, turning brown
I yearn for heaven’s gold crown
Where death cannot dim its gleam.

Reflections

 Reflections
I stare into a still glassy pond,
Bright stars and full faced moon float in its ink.
Each sparkle reflected on its smooth surface.
Moonlight sends roots into the murky depths.
They weaken and fade seeking bottom.
Sooty darkness surrounds.

I gaze at ebon sky overhead.
Where bright stars and full moon hang on dark hooks.
Each twinkle must escape night’s strong, chilling grasp.
Beams of soft moonlight send ladders to climb,
Fragile milky rungs extend earthward,
Night’s illusion of stairs.

I peer down the deep well of my soul,
Bright thoughts and memories shine in the gloom’
Softly shift, flickering from times long ago.
Faith and hope still live, sending new green shoots,
Fragile links from past to the present,
Reminisce and promise.

Windows of Gold

 Windows of Gold
A house with golden windows sits on a hill
Their bright morning beauty erasing the chill
The view from my windows as sun wakes from night
Each morning I’m greeted with this wondrous sight
Rising each day my soul feels drawn to that view
Grass pathway adorned with frost or sparkling dew
Always changing yet always the same to see
They sail on the green ocean and sky blue sea

As the sun rises gold windows disappear
Reflections of morning sun fading to clear
Slowly the windows lose their rich golden hue
The windows dull and lose their enticing view
Day passes, darkness falls, lights inside now burn
I’m overjoyed when the gold windows return
Not as lovely as an electrical stream
And not nearly as bright with a man-made gleam

The full moon appears with its pale ghostly face
Imparting its light with soft milky white trace
Casting deep blue shadows on tall drifts of snow
Weathered barn turns silver in the moonlight’s glow
The mundane becomes an ethereal sight
Old things become new in the magic moonlight
A crystal path shines in the dark and the chill
To silver windows in the house on the hill

Mountain silhouettes rise in the eastern sky
Subtle dim band appears as daybreak draws nigh
The horizon turns pink at the break of dawn
Waking a mother deer and her spotted fawn
The band grows stronger painting the clouds with light
First crimson, then flaxen, and finally white
The light overspills growing stronger until
It gilds the windows of the house on the hill

Winter Doldrums

 Winter Doldrums
Feeling the winter wearies is another malady that afflicts a couch potato person during the chill winter months. It’s more than “cabin fever” where a soul is sated by going outside of the home to visit a fdriend or to make a shopping run. It is more apt to appear near the end of the season, but this year the extreme cold and the continued nagging bits of snowfall seems to have affectedd me this week.
The first snowfall is often greeted with wide open arms and expectant eyes. It’s truly a welcome sight, covering the bareness of the trees and fallen brown leaves with a bright white robe of eiderdown and lace. Slowly as the shoveling snow, the intense cold, the scraping of the ice accumulates builds, the repeated sight of the pristine white drifts becomes unwelcome. I’ve grown weary of the bleak gray days that seem to blur one into another and I begin to long for the spring melt, the sunshine, and the warm breezes. I’ve grown weary of dragging my shovel out to my driveway to keep the driveway open in case I should need to leave in an emergency. The thoughts of Punxsutawney Phil does little to lift my spirits out of these dreary doldrum days of winter.Especially if he should share will be six more weeks of the winter wearies. SIGH.
I’ve grown weary of carefully waltzing my way across the icy surface of my driveway to gather the mail. I have to be extremely cautious not to fall. My slip and fall in 2015 has made me more aware of just how dangerous ice can be. I don’t want another head injury. There were two bleeds in my head at that time. The injury that occurred from the fall was more than enough.
I can’t wait until the gentle prying fingers of the vernal equinox, the gentle zephyrs, and the warmth of sunshine will chase the winter wearies away thus year. The still distant time for those dreary winter days are just a dream. I long for the snow to be replaced with bright colorful days of spring. Maybe I should rip several pages from the calendar and pretend that spring has arrived.
Alas it isn’t so. The recent icy blast and the white heaps of snow remain. Another wintery blast with its coat of white snow is predicted. It will bury my still sleeping crocuses, daffodils, and forsythia blooms beneath its chilly burden. My thoughts of spring have been dashed.  I want warm so this old bear will stay inside and hibernate.