A Traditional American Thanksgiving Poem

 

It is with great joy that I write to tell you that the Thanksgiving poem have been illustrated by Sue Hooper-Lawrie and is now available in the stores in time for the holiday.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08HQ6DX7B?ref_=pe_3052080_397514860

Please write a review!

Take a look at a few of her wonderfully colorful drawings, and share them with the family and your friends.

Giving Thanks!

Welcoming the Wampanoags!

Saying farewell to the "Mayflower"

A Shell In My Pocket

 People tell me stories, I like that!  Every now and then I am so struck by the tale that I have to write it down and take, you might even say steal, the idea and after juggling with the notions a poem appears. “The Licorice Store”, “Maddie’s Ring” and “The Stamp On The Cow” are good examples.  None of us write in isolation, we are dependent upon others, so many others. This anthology of new poems is dedicated to all those people whose stories are captured on these pages.  It contains stories that I struggled to write over many years but lacked the inspiration.  The longer poems like “Eric and The Wolves” , “After The Storm” and the “Saga of Harald Hardrada” fall into this category.

The book is available on Amazon, and I hope to make an album with James Covell.

Take a look on Amazon:https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08HP6VVQ9?ref_=pe_3052080_397514860 

Here is the cover title:

A Shell In My Pocket

I went down to the sea today

To the ceaseless sea and the sand,

Where waves churned out across the shore

And its breath poured out on the land.

My mind was filled with the thrill of the call

Of memories endless rhyme,

And all I need is the song on the air

And a shell in my pocket and time.

The sound of each wave pouring in

As the last wave whispers away,

Produces the music on the air

An unending sibilant sway,

And the smell and the sound and the sight of the sea

Stretching out to the edge of the sky,

And its breath on my skin is all I need

As time goes silently by.

The shell in my pocket reminds me when

I stooped on the shore and the sand,

Of a time gone by like an ebbing tide

When I plucked it up with my hand,

And the sun in the sky when its arc was high

Before tumbling down to the west,

And the hours that have flown like the life I’ve known

When the shell in my pocket is pressed.

The Names of the Days

 Sue Hooper Lawrie and I have been busy, and here is our new collaboration. Available on Amazon our book about how the names for the weekdays got the names we call them is out for you to enjoy. Take a look and if you like what you se please go to the link and write us a nice review, please!
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1511593970?ref_=pe_3052080_397514860

The drawings are delightful and have a memorable quality which will help us to recall the story behind each name. The sorrowful Friyja seen here gives her name to Friday.

As do a number of Norse deities for Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Only Saturday retains the original Latin name.

The Legend of The Giant Ngong

At last this story which was started when we were camping with our children in Yosemite has been completed, and with the help of Sue Hooper-Lawrie whose exquisite illustrations really bring the tale to life, the book is now available on Amazon.

Here is an East African tale in the traditional style which explains the appearance of Lake Victoria, the Rift Valley, and how the Ngong Hills were thrown up to contour the landscape when a giant fell to earth.

Just take a look at Sue's drawings

Making Professional Presentations

If you want to make more interesting PowerPoint presentations take a look at the video:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0V49VxSflCo

New Christmas Poetry

Of Christmas and the winter festivals it was Sir Walter Scott who famously wrote:

'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;

A Christmas gambol oft would cheer

A poor man's heart through half the year.

It is as true today as it was then and in the olden times  which he described. There is no doubt that a good winter tale steals the attention and the hearts of its audience.  Every writer has to at some point envy the work of their preceding contemporaries and wish that a favorite winter story had flowed from the nib of their pen. Should they live and compose long enough they might eventually have a Christmas tale to their credit.

The story at the center of all these tales is the greatest ever told.  It is the fulfillment of the most complex prophecy, and we are all here because of it, and share in the celebration as Christians have world wide since Christ’s birth.

From Koru on the west facing slope of the Rift Valley in Kenya, to Oxford with its colleges in the center of England, to the United States with its cold northern lake side cities and on to California with its endless summer, and far off in Australia where the seasons are reversed, Christmas is kept and stories are told. From all of them inspiration has been gathered to fill out these pages and help us to see the reason for the poems.

Available on Amazon here is my latest collection ready for the coming winter season!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1981471855/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1528662227&sr=1-2&refinements=p_27%3ANeil+Stewart+McLeod

An Editor's Corner

For two years, from 2015 - 2017, I have had the privilege of serving as “editor” of  Explorer, the newsletter for the Los Angeles Dental Society. I put the word editor it in quotation marks because the real work of overseeing the production and conning through the content fell on the shoulders of Teresa Chien, the Executive Director, and her staff.  My task was to come up with something interesting and pithy that was topical that might catch the reader’s attention, and try to do as good a job as my predecessors like Dr. Kenneth Jacobs.  Running through these short articles is an appeal to our profession to keep up to date and yet exercise caution as we do so.  We have an amazing history being responsible for the introduction of fine miniaturized drills, anesthesia implantology and exquisite ceramic prosthetic replacements. Here then are the eleven articles that were published as the Editor’s Corner.  The opportunity to expand content and add a poem was irresistible.

This book is available on Amazon: 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1720369291/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1528578728&sr=1-1&refinements=p_27%3ANeil+Stewart+McLeod 

Should you get a chance to read it please write a review for me.

Thank you!

Upon Reflection now in print

The selected poems has now gone to press.  It has taken twenty readers twenty months to get the project completed and we are pleased with the result.  There is a budget edition out for $15 which can't be beaten.  Should you have the chance to read it please write a review on Amazon :https://www.amazon.com/Upon-Reflection-Selected-Stewart-McLeod/dp/1984392859/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1517547136&sr=1-1&refinements=p_27%3ANeil+Stewart+McLeod

This book contains all the favorite classics, The First Thanksgiving, The Wristwatch... , The Silver Box and Come Uppance.   Get a copy for yourself and write a review on line.

My new book "Nearly Jewish" is out today on Amazon:

I don’t know who said it, but you can go to the four corners of the earth and you will find four things, fleas, cockroaches Jews and Scotsman, and they are running everything.  In today’s emancipated society such a characterization might be considered and exaggeration, and politically if not factually incorrect.  But it is funny, and I, a Scott, surely have been blessed to meet wonderful Jewish people where ever I have been, particularly in London and Los Angeles. They have influenced my life and guided and supported me, and I love them.

Talk with Jewish people for long enough and they will fill your ears with stories, with sorrows and with humor. I have been writing down stories for a long time now, and dotting the pages are references to that influence.  It could not be helped.  Now it is time to acknowledge how strong that effect has been.  So here with out apology for my Goyisha ignorance and errors are my Jewish poems. Oy vey!

With an introduction by Dr. William Varner this is  good quick read  for Jew and gentile alike. He wrote:

 "I hope and pray also that this little treasure will find its way into the hands of many Gentiles, who will gain a new appreciation of “Yiddishkeit” that wonderful Yiddish word that means something like “Jewishness.” I count it a privilege to commend it to readers of all religious persuasions. Be prepared to laugh and to cry – and to come away enriched."

I hope you will take his advice and have a look.

The Last Post

For two years and ten editions I have had the privilege to write the commenting editor's corner for the Los Angeles Dental Society newsletter the "Explorer". It has been a lot of fun!  Now I am moving into the Web presence and marketing side of the Dental Society's administration.

Spots were written about the significance of the dental profession, caution in embracing new technology, how important it is to keep up to date yet being aware of marketing pressures, and reviewing the digital changes that are affecting dentistry.  When new technical advice revealed that we should not brush immediately after meals, an exposé was made, and when public broad casters drew into question the value of flossing a condemnation was launched criticizing their foolishness. The importance of oral health in maintaining a healthy brain and heart rounded out the physiology, and a final slam was made against the sadness of consumer demands causing favorite treatment adjuncts to disappear from the market-place, and simply no longer be available. That "End of An Era" is copied below.

“Sorry we don’t carry that any more!”  said our representative at Patterson Dental. That was the answer that really got my attention.  Suddenly I was rummaging around in the jumble of files which so untidily fill up my mind remembering Tempak, the best temporary filling material ever, and the daisy cup for Vacu Rinse which replaced my cuspidor in 1976. “We don’t have hydrocolloid impression material any more, we can’t get it.”  What they meant was, “nobody orders that any more Doctor McLeod, you are an old dinosaur!”  I called Dux and was informed that they had four boxes of heavy bodied tubes and a few hundred cartriloids left, and would I like them. After that it would be over.

Hydrocolloid impression material has been the gold standard for restorative dentistry since Morris Thompson consolidated the technique in the 1950's. By 1974 when I entered USC dental school it was the material of choice for anyone wanting to get really accurate impressions for fine restorations, particularly in gold. Subsequently we as a profession embraced rubber-base and then the new poly vinyl siloxane materials which moved forward in preeminence and slowly superceded the use of hydrocolloid by all but a small cadre of enthusiasts.  Now the demand for the seaweed agar is so small that it is being dropped from the catalogues.

Overshadowing all of this is the pressure to use digital light impression technology. Even the bite registration can now be indexed using an algorithm that manipulates the data from the light impression files. Today nearly every porcelain or zirconium crown has a base that is carved by a CADCAM system which means that even if you are taking a physical impression it is at least one step removed from the original. So we are actually being forced to change yet again.  This discontinuation of agar comes hand in hand with the introduction of optical impressions. One might compare this with the introduction of digital photography and x-ray imaging.  How many of us now still use photographic emulsion for pictures or x-rays?  The answer will be the same about impression materials all too soon.  My question is are we exchanging quality for convenience?

For answers to these and other conundrums remember we are here for you at the Los Angeles Dental Society.

Wedding Poem

Do you recall my darling
  before my hair turned grey,
We each made a promise
  to honor and obey.
You with stephanotis
  for your bride’s bouquet,
I am thinking of that now -
  our son is married today.

We asked God together
 for blessing and for grace,
Left the church and climbed the hill
 to reach this very place.
With gathered friends and family
 we shared a fine soiree -
I am thinking of that as
 our son is married today.

The years have come and gone so fast
 the children came and grew,
Each in their turn will forge a path
 to make a life that’s new.
Amazed we gaze contented
 So what is there left to say
But thank God for His blessings as
 our son is married today.

There I see the family of
 my son’s bonnie bride
Who’ve traveled far to be with us
 and stand there by her side.
Here we are bound for ever
 in harmony we pray
United by our children
 who are married here today.

And you our guests who witness
 their nuptial array
We thank you all for being here
 and ask you to portray
In unison your fond support
 together as we pray
That we will long remember
 for our son is married today.

For Roddy and Bilyana who were married on May 27th 2017

Another Cuppa - New Poems

My eleventh book of original poetry just written has gone to press and it available from Amazon.  The introduction was written by our pastor and friend John MacArthur.  and the volume contains the Christmas poem "Roi's Tale" which is the traditional story from the shepherd's perspective, and also "Happy In America", "Winter Coming On", "Spinario" and "The View" , so it will make a nice Christmas gift.  I hope you will enjoy this latest effort and comment on it so others my hear of it.

Mount Pleasant Community Church, Oregon

The Mount Pleasant Community Church

If you are looking for a traditional Christian American "early church" experience, and you are in the Salem, Oregon area, look no further than the Mount Pleasant Community Church. Sound biblical preaching from Pastor Richard Neely is proclaimed at a simple rustic pulpit in the most charming little church. Founded in 1854 the pews hold just forty worshipers, and the aisle has the original bare wooden floor with a runner woven from soldiers uniforms. Standing the test of time it is the oldest building of its kind and was the subject of an article by in the Statesman's Journal.
Sunday service at 10.00 a.m.
Call (503) 859-4457

Where it is!

Listen for a moment to the congregation singing the old Scottish hymn "Abide With Me"

Pastor Richard Neely

Pulling Together - A rowing tale

Pulling Together On The River - Neil McLeod

I used to row at Guy's Hospital in the early 70's, and the premature demise of a colleague and fellow member of the Beverly Hills Academy of Dentistry, who rowed for Cornell, caused me to reflect on his exemplary life and what it takes to be a good oarsman.


Pulling Together
for Eric Loberg

Guy's Hospital Rowing Club

There’s flashing of oars in the water 
When the sunlight shines back off each blade, 
And the image below is reflected
As a perfect picture is made.

Watchers on shore at the bank-side
Repine and in their hearts say,
In a lost misty-eyed contemplation,
“Oh, I’ll be an oarsman one day!”

We are all going down to the boathouse,
We cannot be turning up late
Together we’ll reach in and toss the shell
We don’t want to make others wait.

We’ll walk the shell down to the dockside,
Step to and lower it with care
Gently down into the water,
For that we need every one there.

Commitment is needed to be in a crew,
To bend your back to the oar,
To lean in time and draw it through
When the coxswain’s demanding more. 

Control is essential to follow the stroke,
To feather your blade on return,
Then do it again and again and again,
When a smile is all you will earn.

It takes grit to turn up at the dockside
On a day when you’re facing a race,
Giving your all when the flag goes down
Responding, (if beaten), with grace.

But the art is to love being part of a team,
Pulling together in time,
When muscles and sinews comply with your will
In tune with the rhythm and rhyme.

There’s flashing of oars in the water 
When the sunlight shines back off each blade, 
So rejoice in the feat of a race well run
And the perfect picture it made. 

As the blades feather out at the surface
The water just closes again,
Like the life of a loved one vanished away
Only ripples and memories remain.

Eric Loberg

Dr. Eric Lewis Loberg, 69, passed away March 15, 2016, at UCLA Medical Center following complications from lymphoma. He was a longtime resident of Westwood, and an avid Bruin fan. A past president of Westwood Village Rotary Club, Dr. Loberg was also an eight-time US National Rowing Champion and seven-time Canadian National Rowing Champion. As he used to say, "I'm just a simple country boy from upstate New York trying to make it here in Tinseltown."

Ashes To Ashes - loosing a child

Our friends the Ramseyers lost their son A.J. two weeks ago. Knowing the reason for this loss is not as important as understanding the immense loss.  I was asked to contribute a poem to be included in the celebration of his life which was held on Saturday 2nd. April at the Lutheran Church on Colorado in Glendale.  I have included it below. A J was my son Oliver's age. One can only imagine the depth of their sorrow:

AJ Ramseyer and Oliver Murdoch McLeod

 It Takes A Lot Of Time

For Al and Francyne Ramseyer

It takes a lot of time until a broken heart’s restored,
A lot of love and patience ’till the pieces are secured,
And even when you think you’ve left the aching far behind
A sight, or sound or smell will bring it welling in your mind.

There are an awful lot of things that cause a heart to ache,
Dashed hopes, lost love, and then of course, words you can’t retake,
But as you view the range of sorrows that can not be undone,
There’s nothing quite so sad as losing your own daughter or son.

You’ve spent time with your children, you’ve nurtured them for years,
You hugged them tight’ when they were hurt, and kissed away their tears;
Watched them grow and come of age, pursue a worthy goal
Though one thing never on the list was giving up their soul.

Around the house you will of course have treasures that you store
That ’mind you of the golden times when they were three or four,
Or older, yes, the paintings and the little things they made,
You keep them so the memory of sweet times never fade.

It takes a lot of time until a broken heart’s restored,
A lot of love and patience till the pieces are secured,
But gradually you’ll notice as it slowly starts to mend
That you have a host of precious memories with you ’till the end.

This poem will be published  in a new anthology which is called "Another Cuppa" and will be available with the other writings of Neil Stewart McLeod on Amazon

The Pallbearers - Burying Marje

Marjorie Neely (May 3, 1925 - February 24, 2016) was laid to rest on Thursday March 3rd. Her grandsons, Roderick McLeod, David Neely, Corin and Jason Fator, and her great grandsons Calvin Jackson and Tristen Coulter lent to the bar and bore her casket to the grave side. The small private service at the Monument Hill Memorial Park in Woodland, California, was attended by nearly fifty family members, and her legacy of caring prayer-filled love will be long remembered and sorely missed.

Following the interment a reception was hosted by Life Pointe Church in Woodland

Following Marje

If you ever received a letter or note,

Or a neat birthday card, small or large,

In a clear written script 

with love crammed in it,

I reckon you got it from Marje.

If you in the face of troubles and strife

Had a prayer warrior leading the charge

Imploring God’s Peace

for a cousin or niece,

I’m convinced that it was our Marje.

If you needed shelter and some where to stay

A shield of protection, a targe,

There’re many can tell

who know it well

They found that refuge with Marje.

The example’s been given and we in our turn

Should add the task to our charge,

To care for each other  

Each sister and brother

Each father and mother, like Marje

But now it is done, the race has been run

Her faithfulness gives us our cue,

To remember and pray 

For each other each day

Being mindful as Marje used to do. 

The Boy With The Thorn - a Bronze

At the Getty Museum there was an excellent exhibition of ancient bronzes, all stunning. Amongst the athletes and the gods there was this exquisite piece. It ached for a poem.

Spinario

The Boy With A Thorn

There are not many of them now,

Though vacant plinths abound,

Amongst the great antiquities

Where often they were found,

Depicting famous athletes

Who earned laurels at the games,

Or gods and heros, caesars, kings

With long impressive names.

The artisans who made them

Of copper mixed with tin,

Could flow the molten alloy round

So it was light and thin,

Yet strong enough to bear the weight

Of arms and legs in stride,

And at their best they long remain

The Greco-Roman pride.

Each one a distillation

Of God’s gifts manifest,

Capturing that inspiration-

Firing them to do their best,

Preserving for these ages long,

Should plunderers have missed their mark,

A glimpse of era’s far advance

That would but otherwise be dark.

There he sits, a boy absorbed,

Intent to find the sole-lodged thorn,

Cast in bronze he heeds us not

’Till from his foot the barb is drawn.

Head downward cast his gaze is firm,

Fingers set to pry the spine,

His youthfulness forever caught,

Never dulled with passing time.

Thin their ranks of beauty cast

Despoiled by barbarous lowly eye,

How could they dash and splinter thus 

The richest proof of days gone by.

How could the call of cannon or gate

Result in smelting of these forms

Yet this remaining tells so much

And history’s pages thus adorns

What A Haggis

Celebrating Robert Burns’ Birthday

For the fifth year Nancy I were invited to attend the Cal Tech Athenaeum Club to participate in their Burns Night. Truly it is a premier event in the best traditions, piper, haggis, poetry and song with a fervent audience in a venue of unsurpassed beauty. Chef Kevin Isacsson simply continues to out do himself in his attention to detail.




This year our piper was one of John McLean Allan’s pupils, Megan Kenney. Suffice it to say, she dismissed her duties in fine style.


The stately nature of the venue was enjoyed by us both. We were able to sit ensconced by the Scottish Fiddlers as the guests arrived.

Roi’s Tale - The Visitors

Here is a new Christmas poem I have written for our Sojourners Fellowship Group

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iJZzBIrnnoU

A Shepherds Christmas
Luke 2:   Matthew 2:

It was a chilly evening, we were gathered round the fire,
A company of neighbors that we love and admire.
Each were telling stories they eyed me and said “Roi,
Tell us all a good one of when you were just a boy.”

I adjusted my kufiya*, eased forward on the seat,
Arranged the collar of my robe so it was straight and neat.
Then taking one sip from my bowl while thinking out my plan,
I looked around and eyed them back and softly I began.

“I’ve been a shepherd all my life I know these hillsides well,
And now well over seventy I have a tale to tell.
One night like this when I was just  lad of seven years old
My expecting mother said ‘Get your coat, it’s already turning cold.’

“Tonight you’re going with the men to keep watch o’er the flock.
We have visitors staying with us, hark I hear their knock.
They’ve all come to be counted Augustus has said so,
The place is packed, I had to let that other couple go.’

“So I went with my father and my uncle to the hills,
The air was clear and we could see our small town in the rills.
It seemed to be just nestled there so silent and so still
And here and there a spark of light came flashing up the hill.

It was really beautiful as we gazed there alone
Watching quietly by the sheep so they wouldn’t roam.
But that night something happened that we’d never seen before,
So sit back now my brothers and I’ll tell you what we saw.

The wind came moaning through the trees it whistled and it sang
Like a chorus at the temple when the sacrifice began.
The rushing clouds before us transformed to an angel winging,
And this the message that it gave came to us through the singing.

‘Fear not for I bring to you good news for all mankind,
A Savior is given today and this shall be the sign.
In Bethlehem, town of David in a manger all forlorn
All wrapped up in swaddling clothes the baby has been born.’

And there was with that angel a marvelous heavenly throng
And this the message I recall that echoed through their song,
‘Glory be to God on high and peace to men on earth
Who have His favor, for today it is the Savior’s birth.’

“Then we went running down the hill as fast as we could go.
I had a lamb around my shoulder bumping to and fro.
There at the outskirts of our town in a stable bare and small
We found the blessed baby Jesus lying in a stall.

He wasn’t sad or crying he made no alarming sound,
His mother Mary smiled at him, with Joseph looking down.
All the cattle were watching, it was holy they could tell.
We gathered round him on the straw, and on our knees we fell.

“We left there telling everyone what we had seen that night,
Spreading it through Bethlehem with the morning light.
And when I told my mother she remembered with a swoon,
That they were the same couple for whom she hadn’t room.

“The little town was humming but you know it wasn’t long
Before the census was all over, and the visitors were gone.
All except the Holy Family they’re the ones who stayed,
And we watched carefully over them and for their safety prayed.

“Now in the weeks that followed my own mother came to term
And I soon had a tiny baby brother of my own.
One night we had more visitors who came from somewhere far,
They said they found their way to us by following a star.

“When we looked in the sky above we saw that it was true
There was a bright star with a tail shining in the view.
Those visitors came bearing gifts for “The New Born Babe”
Dejectedly my mother explained the big mistake they’d made.

She said, ‘You’ve got the wrong house you want the Messiah,
They’re staying at the cottage by the farm, a little higher.’
Before they left to follow on something strange they told,
“Don’t tell any one again, do not tell a soul.”

We did not realize at that time how our lives would be changing
That with the prophecy fulfilled the world was rearranging.
Soon more visitors appeared in ranks row on row
They were looking for Jesus demanding “Do you know?”

I lost my baby brother and my mother on that day
Soldiers, at King Herod’s behest, marched in to our dismay.
My mother tried resisting she covered the baby she adored,
But they just thrust them to the ground and stabbed them with a sword.”

I’ve been a shepherd all my life I know these hillsides well,
And now well over seventy I have a tale to tell.
I saw my Savior at his birth I knew when he had died
The sky went black and hid the sun, earth trembled far and wide.

But let me tell the good news, He rose and went to heaven,
And I have known the truth of Him since I was only seven.
He is waiting there for us beside His Father’s throne
And if we just but follow Him, He’ll claim us as His own.”




*Kufiya - a head dress worn by shepherds in the middle east

Bringing The Clan Back To Dunvegan

My most recent publication is a book for adults and children alike.

With a foreword written by Chief Hugh MacLeod of MacLeod this accumulation poem is the Clan MacLeod equivalent of “The House That Jack Built” and is filled with references to the principle iconic features of clan tradition that children should know and love. It features the Castle of Dunvegan and the drinking horn, the Fairy Flag, and the great Chief, Dame Flora MacLeod of MacLeod.

Anne and Seamus MacKinnon have allowed me to use a particularly lovely view of the Cullins from the sea. Likewise Darby Sawchuk’s picture of the castle with the tables behind is about as good as they get. Ruari Halford MacLeod allows me to copy his drawings which so excellently augment the intent of the lines. My old friend Neil R. McLeod the photographer and Penny DeGraff have supplied excellent images of Chief Hugh and the gathered clansfolk. Lynne Leslie acted as liaison with Chief Hugh, and both must be thanked for the endorsement in the foreword.


The book is available from Amazon please review the book when you have read it.  Thank you!