William Hay

I watched, listening to a young brave warrior.
A courageous young teenager who fought bravely
thru Hurricane Sandy, and with great strength
saved his family.

As he spoke of this battle gone by tears
began to trickle down his face.

When asked what he was sad about, he simply answered,
“I don’t know”.

I believe many of us would have said it’s
this or that, searching for the
perfect answer.

Yet this young man, with a soul older than
than his years wisely said,
“I don’t know”.

I have discovered as I confront the
struggles of life, understanding and peace
are born from these beautiful
words spoken by a wise young man.
I Don’t Know, I Don’t Know.

Dedicated to a brave young warrior,  from Queens NY.

At 52, it’s really time to know the truth.
Do you agree, do you?

I at times wonder myself; Should I, could I,
would it benefit me to?

Ignorance is bliss you see, and please rest
those rational thoughts that tell you
what is to be.

They come from our Ego that bombs are intellect.
For do we not prefer the I?

I struggle to find reason, I to my self seem
quite silly I do.

I think I might be quite the fool, not that
I really care.   But the question remains,
do you?

On top of a magical place called Abbot Hill, a spiritual energy full of love and light lives. Its mystical power unites all the souls within this special place,
High Mowing School.

As you walk along the campus, a New England wind quietly says hello, brushing against your ears, with a breeze gentle and cool.

Through all the years, it has survived
since 1942.

The lives that have been saved one cannot count, a fact
I testify to you

This has blessed all alumni members, faculty, and students alike, simple and most beautiful of truths.

Mrs. Emmett’s graceful spirit still survives, one can feel its love, it most definitely rules.

I myself landed, in 1974, on Abbott Hill. One might say I was missing a few tools, unique as a student,
I think not.

However, she saw something in me, as she had with so many others. At that point, I saw myself as the black sheep of the family, drifting through life
without a plot.

Mrs. Emmet looked my mother straight in the face and said, “have Billy pack his bags, don’t worry about the first years tuition, and have him on
campus for the first day.”

That day saved my life, by the Grace of God, not awkward
for me to say.

A Life Saving Hill for a young man who was lost in a deep dark forest and no compass
was to be found.

I swam across many oceans, at times wanting to
give up, allowing myself to drown.

The years went by quickly, as I walked away from these blessings, truly loves gift.

However, to return such blessings as Alumni, never a
finger did I lift.

Thoughts of all I had gained, the healing of my soul, my spirit, and mind during those four years on Abbott Hill, came upon my mind
from time to time.

They drifted away, as if driving by those ghostly highway signs caught between the light and darkness of the night, they passed,
it all seemed fine.

All the wonderful memories and spiritual lessons had planted a seed of hope. Guilty was I of not keeping them close to my heart, for they pulled me thru many rough storms. Then one year, a moment of clarity allowed the errors of my past to open my soul. High Mowing reached out and spoke with a silence I could feel. I looked at my wife, saying; please join me in attending my first alumni weekend. As if I was asking her to meet and old friend that I had neglected and I could no longer Avoid the fact!

That wonderful facet inside my soul, hidden for years, blossomed to life. I knew, now was the time to stand up to the plate and
give something back.

All of us have troubles and life’s situations, which for good reason keep most of us distracted from doing what is right. To remember to give for then we receive. It saddens me to state, what so many
Alumni lack.

Allow me to
admit,

So you think not
I’m a hypocrite.

It took me 32 years since I left that wondrous and beautiful place to
make a small donation.

A gesture of healing, to say I was sorry, in doing my part
for its salvation.

Never have I been one to be short on words, however, I tell you there is no way to describe how this has filled my being with
a wonderful peace.

The sky became so very clear, the most blue of blues I’ve ever seen. That first day I arrived, that familiar breeze saying hello knew I would be attending every Alumni weekend possible from that day forth until I take my last breath,
ending my life’s lease.

An old slogan of sorts; when you
do what is right,

You sleep better
at night.

William E. Hay

(Copyright June 28, 2012)

 Dedicated to Mrs. Emmett

The day’s battle has been lost as the light has fallen to the might,

The glow of the moons light.

With the curiosity of a child, I stare high up into the sky; our universe springs to life before my eyes.

Gazing at the stars, their fires burn bright, shooting through the darkness of the night. My mind ignites with an excitement as I seek the secrets of our universe, within the vast space beyond the skies.

Like a detective, I focus on each star, not diverting my skilled eyes, waiting for it to move for then the proof will be mine.

Since I was a child, I have searched for my suspect, laying back on the soft cool night grass staring into space.  I would say to myself, it’s only a matter of time;
my beliefs and evidence will align.

The quest for life beyond our universe given to our greatest scientific minds continues to be unanswered, for they have not found their Holy Grail, with all their fancy telescopes and big shot degrees.

You see, a child’s mind so open and free, his innocence just might bring our worlds together.   Those good souls or Aliens if you prefer, from far off and distant planets will want the child who sees.

A child’s love will unite,

The other worlds that are far beyond the stars where most adults lose their sight.

Of course, please be aware,

just as on this planet, evil exists everywhere.

William E. Hay

(Copyright 5/02/2012)

Rush, rush, and rush some more;
hustle and bustle, fight your way to
your great success.

If your tired grab some coffee, no
that’s it, an energy drink with only
a ton of sugar!

People everywhere having a bite
with a fork in one hand and their smart
phone in the other.

Greatness comes when you only sleep 5
hours a night. Is that really
great?

This culture we live in tells us all,
this is what make us great. Do we
really want to live in a society
that moves at the speed of light yet
is blind to all we pass?

We should allow ourselves to slow down
just a bit. I wonder then, what
would we see?

When is the last time you were in awe
of an eagle soaring above you and felt
his spirit? To shut out the noise and
enjoy that moment, allowing ourselves
To Just Be.

When is the last time you gazed at the
sun going to sleep over the horizon?
Imagine feeling that orange glow, those
last soft beams of light piercing
thru a peaceful cloud.
To Just Be.

When is the last time you meditated to
clear your mind of all the clutter and stress?
To Just Be.

When is the last time you prayed to
strengthen your conscious contact with God
and to feel a light that soothes your soul?
To Just Be.

When is the last time you woke from a
nights sleep and realized there is so much
to be grateful for, taking the time to
stretch as you enjoy a glorious morning yawn?
To Just Be.

When is the last time you gave yourself
a priceless gift?
To Just Be.

When is the last time you felt
joyous, happy, and free?
To Just Be.

Those things of beauty that nurture our mind,
body, and spirit our always around us, but
is it not true that most of us just don’t
stop to smell the roses.

I find it quite funny, that the most valuable
present, wrapped by God himself, we could ever
receive is right at our fingertips, can you
believe it is absolutely free!

The only requirement is,
To Just Be.

William E. Hay
(copyright 9/28/2011)

My home is asleep as I lay on the couch. A subtle light cast from the TV fills my space, suddenly; I see my breath as if standing outside on a
cold winters night.

The anxiety moves thru my body as though it has its own life.  This can’t be, I think to myself, but no matter how hard I fight this chill will not take flight. A chill seeps into my bones; this night is not at peace,
something is not right.

I must sleep, I will not, something tells me to not close my eyes, for to sleep
I would die.

My mind must be playing games with me, and then I realize alone I am not. I feel the evil within its life, knowing this is no lie.

Searching through the darkness, not wanting to see this thing that feels like Death itself.  I ask of you Death, have you made your visit
to welcome my end?

The thoughts race within my mind.  I struggle to listen, desperate  to understand, for I know not what they say.  Finally, I hear the language they speak,
telling me soon my funeral I will attend.

A shadow moves along the wall, my body shakes with fright for my
sight is clear.

The Grim Reaper, with his claws, and long sharpened sickle appear from the shadow of his long cloak.  My breath become tight, trembling as my muscles freeze; his shadow prevents my escape,
he is so very near.

My time is not for long; death has finally come
knocking at my door.

Gathering all my fears as I have done in the past. I churn them swiftly, as they set fire, my courage will show this Reaper
what’s in store.

Surrender is not an option; for my purpose in life has more strength than Death, to find redemption, make peace within my soul
for all the pain,

I gladly gave to those whose love they
gave in vain.

This battle, I will win; I leap from my couch and move as a younger man defending my life.  He has met his match, on this night
truth will prevail, not the devils soldier.

My whole being attacks, with an intensity born from the fire burning brightly inside my soul.  I grab onto the shaft of his sickle and push against his evil cloak, for tonight is not my time, come back when
my age has grown older.

The Grim Reaper screams, my ears fill with an evil and anger I have never heard before.  I push and push with the
power of my Lord,

And then, his shadows disappears.  Victory is mine for this night, and the Grim Reaper has been defeated.  Listening, I hear his sickle scratch along the floor, beyond where I can see.  He retreats into the darkness, behind his dark and evil door.

William E. Hay

(Copyright 4/28/2012)

Why not write a poem , one word at a time, I swear, in ordering my brain to by pass by my will. Please just take your words within a thought directly to my writer’s hand.

I’m still waiting!  What, I don’t understand, for my hand is writing about sand; quite silly if you ask me, but that’s right, you didn’t ask me, and I warn you, my self-will is about to make a stand.

My hand is waiting not so patiently, the sands of our planet move like water within a desert, as the winds creates beautiful waves.

Just wait one moment my dear brain, I hate to admit this, but I’m actually having fun and this piece possibly might be one of my spontaneous faves

How silly can one be for I totally forgot, this is a first you see.   At last, you have my writer’s hand hard at work and it’s writing that you expect a fee?

Now what are you doing?   It’s reasonable, then I must suffer from insanity,  however, you are in charge and after many years of having you in my head; well I must agree.

What now!   As a brain I’m quite smart, therefore, only if your published, to which I have my doubts.  Then I’d be quite happy with a fair sum.

Oh please, stop with that sad little face because you never know you might be the next great published poet of our time.   To which I have my doubts, but who am I, just a brain.  You must believe in yourself, and for Gods sake, stop looking so glum!

William E. Hay

(Copyright April 8th/2012

As I walk up Broadway, I find myself looking through a pub window seeing myself, no it can’t be,

I must be looking at a memory, for that’s just not me.

He sits there alone, drink after drink, as the voices get louder within his brain, he speaks.  ”Get me another drink bartender”! I must quite these words that spin within my head.  Please stop the pain; they will stop talking, I will get stoned.

Twisted and turned, he’s entered the walking dead zone.

Each day he wakes to that moment. “Get me another drink bartender”!  Once again, he dreams of finding hope in a bottle, but day after day, everything remains the same.

He thinks to himself. Have I lost my mind, am I going insane? ,

A moment of clarity clears the fog, allows him to see.  He knows the bottle brings not change, but leaves him in the dark alone.

As he takes another sip, that gift of clarity vanishes; he’s blinded, his hope continues to die. The drink has stolen all that he loved, leaving him as dry as a bone.

The spiral downward, where death awaits has begun; his spirit is empty and dry, just as his throat until that next sip.  All those dreams he once had as a younger man are long in the past, and they to will die.

The drink has taken control and bought the deed to his soul.  His thoughts turn to an old friend, suicide.

God speaks quietly, as his thoughts gently enter my mind.  He reminds me, but for the grace of God there go I.  The sun is shining bright upon where I stand, smiling, I think to myself; grateful am I to be looking through that window from the outside.

William E. Hay

(Copyright 4/15/2012)

I have an old friend, during my childhood he would heal
my pain, give my spirit a lift and tell me
all will be okay.

As a child, I knew, no matter how drunk my mother became
and the screams from a grandmother fighting an enemy hiding
in a bottle.  My friend, the night, would console me until
the screams would begin to fade and I’d
survive to wake the next day.

He would hold me gently in his arms, whispering that all
would be right. For the morning, I’d wake to a
sober house, safe, even if just
for a short time.

Years have gone bye and we still meet every night.  He
embodies calmness, always so peaceful and as
quite as a mime.

Growing older, I must admit I tire as my old friend
continues to visit, as the day ends,
so begins his shift.

The moon drops him off.  Seeing my friend the night, my mind
grows still as my spirit gets a lift.

The words we speak are few, for both of us now prefer to just
be still; sitting together, he and I take comfort
in being alone.

The silence we enjoy sitting side by side, holds the power to
fill the spirit with the gift of serenity, striking
the most beautiful tone.

My life has moved far from the pain of my childhood days,
married to a beautiful wife, though he has yet to meet her for
she’s always fast asleep.

He’s not one to show when she’s awake.  I don’t believe that
will change, fate has always decided
the time we meet.

He and I will be friends until my end.  I know he still visits
those children whose imaginations allow
him to be,

Bringing them comfort and hope
as he did me.

His arms gently holding them, as his peaceful voice in a loving
tone, feeds every child a spoonful of hope, and
carries them through a scary time.

They to will grow old long after I am gone, and if they do not
forget to imagine.  In remembering when that clock would
strike midnight with a magical chime.

As older men they’ll know an old friend,
the night,

Will continue to visit, sitting by their side under
the moons light.

William Hay
(Copyright 4/12/2012)