Melodies of the Heart: The Life and Happenings of Charles J. Stock in Poetic Verse

By Charles J. Stock

Love Story: A fascinating story how family friends, who had not seen each other in fourteen years and only four times in forty-five years, began courting via email. In ten days with hearts aglow, she set their wedding day twenty-nine days hence. Every e-mail and phone conversation Is a glowing portrait of love. A captivating story of love, in poetic verse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 23, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452082462

Charles J. Stock

Born November 24, 1923, on a farm in western New York; early schooling was in a one-room schoolhouse. Severe migraine headaches prohibited him from reading, ending his schooling early. After WWII, he designed and sold manufactured housing. In November, 1999, the gift of poetry captured his being. Every poem is a vivid picture of his life and happenings in poetic verse. His passion for wood is seen in the many parquetry pictures using the natural colors of wood, without use of paint or stain.

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Contents

The Life and Happenings of Charles J. Stock

My Wedding Kiss

My Trophy Buck

Daddy’s Little Girl

My Loving Wife

A Few Cool Thoughts

Cindy Anne

A Quiet Day

The Beauty of Nature

All Mine

When I Was a Lad

Just Being Boys

Elliott, Oh Elliott

Down on the Farm

A Wiener Roast

A Hay Ride

Christmas as a Boy

My Dad

Remembering My Dad

A Gentle Man

Pondering

Rocking Through Time

The Day You Came

The Joy Giving Brings

The Peggy Sue Clan

When You First Came

That Eternal Sea

That Alluring Sea

Manhood

This Lady and Me

Be Content

Freedom Under Attack

Lady Liberty

My Buddies

A New Song

Stillness of the Night

The Joy of Reading

Lord Nelson

A Special Gift

The Purest Rose

Absent For Awhile

Daddy’s Special Girl

Top of the Day

Awake My Daughter

Hurry, Hurry

A God-Given Team

E-Gram

Spring

The Rhythm of the Rock

Extending My Goal

Sharing Our Lives

A Portrait of a Mother

Mother’s Day

Mother, I Never Told You

Motherhood

I Will

Face to Face

Coke, Burger and Fries

To Have and To Hold

Precious Moments

Alice

The Wife of My Youth

Time

We Have Believed

Made Whole

When I Saw My Savior

When I First Saw My Lord

His Eternal Love

Eternal Potentate

My Jesus

My Dream Last Night

Reflections:

Healing Faith

Quickened

Ransomed from the Fall

The Splendor of Eternity

Stop, Look, and Listen

Writing for a Reason

To Eric and Julie

Being Loosed

Special Friends

Friend

True Friends

Gratitude

Just One More

Precious Hope

More Than You Know

Love Story

Trophy Chuck

Our Love Story

Past Stars and the Silvery Moon

Slumbering

Tight Rope

She Bestowed Upon Me

The Bread

The Blood

Sweet Nothings

Side by Side

Gallant Steed

Listen

Collecting My Prize

A Prize I Have Won

True Love

Arabian Steed Prancing

The Language of Love

Pillow Talk

I Am So Happy

The Love of You

The Life and Happenings of Charles J. Stock

In my reclining years, I find great joy looking down memory lane. The poetry that you are about to read is a portrait of the life and happenings of a country boy growing up in a rural setting where honesty, integrity, virtue and respect was common place.

My mother was an artist and a poet. She wrote her letters in poetic verse, surrounding them with pictures that would excite your day. In the early part of WWII, the mail finally caught up to us on the front lines in Italy. Eighty-six letters were dropped in my foxhole at one time, all written in verse by my mother. It rained every day; I carried those letters until they were no longer readable. In the spring of 1944, I spent 93 days in a hospital in Naples, Italy, with my feet frozen to my knees. Being a callow farm boy, I was amazed by the boys in this 90-bed ward, telling stories about their wives and lovers. Not ever having a delicacy like that, I penned my first poem.

My Wedding Kiss

The sun is setting in the west,

The birds in the trees will soon be at rest.

The moon will shine its lovely beam,

I’ll close my eyes and start to dream,

Of when I hold you, oh, so tight.

Beneath the moon and stars so bright,

Hold me, dear, and tell me this,

When may I have, my wedding kiss?

In my first seventy-six years I had written only six poems. It was the twenty-third of November, 1999, the first day of deer season in western New York. Eleven minutes after deer season opened, I had my doe on the ground. After getting her back to camp, I again climbed the ladder to my tree stand. Keeping a close eye on the forest floor, I began thinking about my trophy buck.. Oh! How I would like to see a trophy buck! When I went back to camp that evening, I carried with me these words:

My Trophy Buck

Dedicated to all who hunt

It was five o’clock in the morning,

When my feet first hit the floor.

It was the first day of hunting, excitement like never before.

Bruce cooked a hearty meal, with coffee and some toast.

Would I be the lucky one, to sit by the fire and boast?

I headed for that special spot, high up in a tree.

I knew as soon as it was light, this—was the spot for me.

I watched night shadows fading,

As morning brought forth its light

I watched the forest come alive again,

Oh! What a wondrous sight.

Birds began a symphony of song,

Squirrels and the chipmunks chimed in.

If I sat here the rest of my life, I would scarcely take it all in.

Then -- I heard a twig snap, just off to my right,

There stood a monstrous buck, right there in plain sight!

I saw his rack from a distance,

It looked like an old rocking chair,

I would hang him over the mantle, I would enjoy him there.

I saw his flag go up, his nose—sniffing—the air,

He turned his head and looked toward me,

With that—motionless—stare.

My finger touched the safety, with precision and with ease,

Then back to the trigger, as I—began—to squeeze.

Then my gun exploded—Oh! What a tremendous sound,

It rumbled through the forest, and for many miles around.

That buck jumped high into the air, and came down with a thud,

He took six giant leaps and fell dead on the mud.

My heart was pounding so violently, it seemed to shake the tree,

How could this ever happen—especially to a guy like me?

I climbed down from my lofty perch and ran to my trophy buck,

I knew that no one back at