Magazine Posts

Happy Birthday to you.
You old man.
Can you still talk?
Do you understand,
One more year
Has passed you by.
Do you still have,
The energy to try?
Try to be,
The best you can.
Be kind to others,
For you do know,
They all helped you
To be this way.
Full of love,
In your own mind.
Being a friend
for Auld Lang Sine.
Love to all,
Especially to thee.
To see friends again
Is my plea.

Did you ever have the feeling
of impending doom?
I did once, when I entered
an un marked room.
"We won't need you, anymore today,
not this week, not this month.
Here is your severance pay.
Goodbye to you. It's been swell."
Off I went to the "unemployment Hell."

Merry Christmas, merry Christmas to all
We have managed this year
Thank goodness to you all.
A hard year, it was indeed,
When so many of our citizens
Have been left with a great need.
Here is my wish for all of you,
Peace be upon thee
For all which you do.
The merriest of Christmas to you.

I have no time. No time to be free.
I'm sorry my darling, for you
Take the life out of me.

I'm just an old fool,
yes it's what I am,
lucky in friendship
with many a friend.
Friends, who I no longer see.
Growing older, just like me.

Where are the words?
What can I say?
For they have vanished
And gone far away.

The light grew dim
within his eyes.
Is this what happens
when a person dies?

Life can be a beautiful thing.
When you're gone, sadness will spring
out from your soul. On its way
to bring heart ache. A mournful sing;
a dirge, a sadness, no matter the cost,
a terrible thing, when another is lost.
Lost to their family. Now full of pain,
while only their memory will remain.

Don't worry my love,
it is just me.
Remembering our life
as it use to be.
To meet with our friends
and our whole family,
to go out to dinner
and celebrate with thee.

Is this writing craft
the skill made for me
or am I just pretending
I know I am a wanna be?

A poetic license is what is said,
when words wanted, aren't in your head.
So, let's get past all this now,
if I explain it to you; somehow,
using words of no rhyming;
using words of no pattern or sound,
clarify to the reader with confusion profound.
So pick up the pen and write away
a poetic writer you are on this day.

The love I feel,
when you're close to me,
I cannot describe
for I only see,
the person I married.
It's you. It is thee,
as life moves on
during this time of misery.

Many of the words, unused before,
lay as castoffs on my writing room floor.
Wrinkled, dried as leaves from a tree,
waiting, still waiting to be used by me.
Words forgotten, well past their age,
can be returned to life; to a page
in a notebook, a paper, using a pen,
to be written for the reader again.