Fire him now
was said aloud,
without a jury
to prove a guilt.
Why do we rush
towards a judgement day?
There will be more
opportunities to then say,
you have been found guilty
by your select Peers,
based upon facts,
not smoke and mirrors.

A landlocked Salmon,
I seem to be,
for I will never
go to the Sea.
Kept in the restraint
of an inland, free,
from a migratory route;
let me go, is my plea.

From the darkest shelf,
in the back of my mind,
lay shadows of doubt,
much of the time.
Am I good enough to do
what I do,
or am I only good when
I take care of you?
What started as Dementia,
no longer will appear,
for based upon your composure,
something new is here.
Alzheimer's behavior is now,
what I can see
and it scares me. You
don't know objects, which is
a symptom, which I have read
is typical with many patients,
afflicted with Alzheimer Disease.

A sunny day,
a slight breeze,
a quiet spot,
amongst the trees.
A greater place,
for the day to seize.

To watch a word die
as it forms a death spiral,
is not a weakness
and is not viral.
Words are created every day,
to provide more meaning to all
the words we choose to say.
Write the words, short or long,
add music to your writings.
Let them burst into song.

I awake to a dull roar
of noise; the crashing of waves
on the sand of the beach floor.
The pungent smell of the Sea;,
assaults my senses; a fine mist
of salty spray, cools my skin.
My shoes are off, cold sand.
I feel its hardness.
A foot away, the sand is dry and fluffy
the wind blows stinging my face.
The squawking noise of Seagulls sail,
in windy updrafts, searching the beach.
Sunlight blossoms from the Eastern sky,
as shadows creep , slowly past
the sounds and smells are locked
in my mind, as my shaky fingers,
scribe these memories, onto the page
of another notebook, with pen
in hand, I recall again and again.

Time flees.
Days go past.
Another week.
One more month,
as years pass by,
more friends leave.
It's when you know,
there will never be,
enough time,
left to do,
all of the things
you wanted to.

The days have grown longer,
longer than before,
but soon they will shorten
and be less, not more.
It will soon be Winter
with frost at your door.

The lights flicker,
there is no wind.
No tree limbs,
falling on power lines
and, yet the lights
do a funny dance.

Bring forth the message.
I will not fail,
be it hand written
or even in Braille.
Words are the strength,
residing within he.
Hear my message to you.
Please don't ignore me.

Run where others fear to walk.
Make life about action, not about talk.
Speak for all who are in need,
for it is your time to do a good deed.

I feel nervous,
like I did at my first dance,
where a shy country boy,
dreamed of a romance.
A romance, oh so rosy,
there was never a chance,
to do anything other
than to dance every dance.

Where are the words,
which run to be free,
as they do their best
to escape and elude me.
I will let my mind go,
perhaps they will return,
for at the moment
of my minds lividity.

I'll show you the way,
for it is up to we,
and to you I say,
Yes, Yes, Oui, Oui.

If I say, "I have read,"
it sounds like head,
or I will read,
sounds like deed
or perhaps a reed.
By adding a "Y",
the word becomes ready
and is pronounced like "Betty."
It does not mean I've read,
more like I'm ready to read.
Funny this English language is.

If I say retreat
or turn back.
Try to release,
letting it go
or redo,
do it again
and repeat,
do it once more
or reword,
supply a new word.
How about reduce"?
making it smaller
or use resize.
I like remain,
staying here
or remaining.
A different meaning,
the word result.
How something did end.
Then remember,
capturing an event.
Relive,
to live once more
or use resurface,
to change a cabinet
or floor.
Review,
to see it again
or resow,
spreading more seed,
or replant
a new deed.

Why do I still write,
these words, meaningless for me?
There is no new thoughts here
to discover or to see.
Words lay jumbled, and in awhile,
I'll keep writing and writing
in search, of an absurd style.
Why do I write words for thee,
when life is so uncertain
and I just want to be,
free from the worry
I still have for thee.

The veins in his neck
stood out, like a cord,
as he shouted about his
untruth and his word.
Another lie spoken
to the point it was absurd,
as his promises to the land,
to serve and protect,
uttered under his command
as turmoil and pestilence
ruined by his hand.

Smile after smile,
a waving of hand,
another smile,
she's still in command,
of all the minions,
in this, her own land.

Never make passes
at girls who wear glasses.
I dated a girl.
A girl who wore glasses.
She was a beauty
and she wore glasses.
I tried to give her a kiss.
She tried to do the same.
Raising her head,
as I dropped mine,
my nose struck the bridge
of her glasses,
making a loud noise,
which woke the masses.
This is why you
never make passes
at girls who
wear glasses.

I think of you
as a lost soul,
for you follow me
around, as I work.
I finally understand
what it is.
You have no concept
of what you should do.
Daily routines are
no longer there,
for you to see,
so you put your trust
in my hands. Just me.