Poems by Rick W. Cotton

My new phone is "smart." I guess that I'm not.
Amazing what all this here smart phone has got.
TV and Weather and Internet, too.
There's just no limits to what it can do.
Check my blood pressure and my temperature
Without even probing all my apertures.
I now know the time in Paris or Greece.
I can track the migration of thousands of geese
Or find Chinese food; it's here on this map.
Oops, my finger just slipped, now where was that at?
A camera...a CAMERA! Now I can take shots
Of everyone I know (who'd rather I not).
Push this here button and take me a "selfie."
(If it had a nose would this thing take a "smellfie"?)
Email to pester with, video to shoot,
Maps to drive 'round with, wow that's a hoot!
A compass to guide me home if I'm lost.
Thank God work paid for this thing (what it COSTS!).
The things that it does would amaze Mr. Bell.
What he would have thought of it, no one can tell,
But one question's still stuck in my middle-aged craw.
Despite all the gizmos that strike me with awe,
They're fun and they're useful and "techy" and all
...But how do I just simply make a phone call?

Over in the corner, 'neath the Christmas tree's green,
Are the tiny wooden figures, our Nativity scene.
Each tells a story, each plays its part.
Each holds a special place here in my heart.

Down from the attic, unwrapped with great care,
It just isn't Christmas if they're not there.
They're faded and dented, their paint chipped away,
But the love they stand for is as fresh as today.

And as the years go by and our days grow few,
Outside we grow older, inside we grow new,
And the tiny wooden figures are a symbol of love,
Of the grace and the peace of our God above.

By the side there stands Joseph, keeping watch in the night
The smile on his face, a reflection of light
In the hay kneels sweet Mary, so gentle and mild
So willing to sacrifice, all for her child.

And as the years go by and our days grow few
Outside we grow older, inside we grow new,
And the tiny wooden figures are a symbol of love
Of the grace and the peace of our God above.

In the hay, Baby Jesus, His arms opened wide.
The same way He lived, the same way He died.
Now He stands up in Heaven, and He holds the door wide,
And He says, "Welcome children! Welcome inside!"

And as the years go by and our days grow few
Outside we grow older, inside we grow new,
And the tiny wooden figures are a symbol of love,
Of the grace and the peace of our God above.

Over in the corner, 'neath the Christmas tree's green,
Are the tiny wooden figures, our Nativity scene.
Each tells a story...each plays its part.
Each holds a special place....here in my heart

What have you seen in your hundred years?
If asked, what would you say,
Of the dozen families that lived in your walls,
Of the hundreds of children at play?
Did the boys slide down the bannister rail,
To a mother’s angry scolding?
How many laughs, and how many tears
Have marked the years unfolding?
Every time a floorboard creaks,
The sound tells a story.
A hundred summers in their heat,
A hundred Christmas glories.
Here in this kitchen, a dozen mothers
Have left their stories behind.
Open the cupboards, look and see,
There a tale you’ll find.
Old recipe on yellowed paper,
Phone numbers scribbled on doors,
A catalog from ’65,
1950’s floors.
A hundred years of living,
These walls have seen each day.
A dozen families loved this place,
Then, sadly, moved away.
And now you sit, empty, forlorn.
Your dusty halls are still.
But memories linger in these walls,
And memories always will.
Do ghosts hide here, in your shadows?
Are there secrets, hidden well?
Oh, that you could only speak,
The tales that you could tell.
To walk your halls in quiet step,
Just listen, hear the story
That an old house can clearly tell,
In matchless oratory.
“I am the years gone by, and yet,
I welcome you within!
This empty house can be your home!
A new tale can begin!”

What's with this Daylight Savings Time?
It steals our sleeping, snoozing time
Roll out of bed and take a breath
And feel like microwaved-reheated death

Seven o'clock? That just can't be
It's way too dark out there to see
Coffee? Yes, I need two cups
To get my sluggish body up

And hit the road before the sun
For Monday's way-too-early "fun"
It's lunchtime? HUH? I just GOT here!
My head is just now barely clear

Afternoon meeting? How can that be?
I thought it was one...HOW IS IT THREE???
The end of day has almost come
The day flew by...it's almost done!

Five o'clock, well that's just fine!
I LIKE this daylight Savings Time!

It's cold outside, but it's warm in my heart.
And the gray fall sky is His work of art.
Laden and low, quiet and still,
November is welcome, and my eyes drink their fill

Of brown-gray grass and red-orange leaves,
Of pavement winding through the strong, stately trees.
Down the hill, past the barn, past the gate, up the lane,
The house with bright candles in each window pane.

Now I step inside; oh, it's warm! Oh, that smell!
Hot turkey roasting, potatoes done well!
Sweet, spicy cider, and warm winter wine
Cranberry sauce - Oh! - the flavors - divine!

The smiles and hugs are so warm and sweet.
In this cold gray November, a Thanksgiving treat.
I do love it all and am so thankful; yes,
For this lovely season...I am truly blessed.