Magazine Posts

The water is flowing, swiftly now,
down the rocky bed.
White water rapids appear
where calm waters had been.
The calmness, which surrounds
is interrupted by the harsh
cry of a Crow.
Looking for some flat water
to cast my lure and entice
a hidden Trout, to suddenly appear.
Grab the silver lure, if you can.
I await in quiet anticipation
for when you do, you are mine.
Do not worry, I will be kind,
releasing you back into the stream
to feed again.

I am now hurting, deeply inside,
when I hear the news; another had died.
Oh the pain of someone and the sorrow,
knowing a loved one will not see the morrow.

It was Sunny, yet cool as
the wind gust's swept the patio.
Sit with your back to the Sun,
while your body warms. With
your fingers clutching your Americano.
Too cold? Get a wrap and put
around your lap to cover your
legs and feet. If you need more
protection from the wind,
pull up the hood on your coat.
If all else fails, put on a hat,
or scarf to protect your ears.
Fall in the Northwest. Sunbreaks,
an occasional rain, which freshens
the Fall air. Love this time of the year.

What does it mean,
To wax poetic?
Writing the words,
Coming to mind
With my thoughts,
So much entwined.
A short, simple verse,
Which may not rhyme,
Is it OK,
Just for the time?

Your beauty is still with you today.
"Your skin has few wrinkles," I say.
You have survived lung cancer, stage three,
But the Chemo triggered Dementia, unfortunately.
The cancer, gone for six years, my wife,
While the Dementia has changed your life.
The only thing left to do,
Is for me to take care of you.

Sit I here, amongst all the dread
and the fear which is in my head.
A fear of what will soon be,
when I cannot care for thee.

There are too many words,
lodged in my head.
Stale, unused, hard and dry,
as if day old bread.
I need to cleanse this mess,
out of this aged, cluttered brain.
It may be best if I try to explain.
When I write, over and
over, once again,
the words are very stale
and cause me some pain.
Don't overuse words,
such as "that".
It makes your writings
so excessively flat.
Do not keep using the same word,
row after row after row
as it will haunt the writing
with no place to go.
With a train of thought, heck,
you may provide a writing
which is a train wreck.
Keep writing and let yourself go
and for your answer take not a No.

Depression: a slight dip in the surface; concave.

I have a slight depression in my Soul.
Standing with my lovely wife,
helping her brush her teeth.
A slow process, as I tell her to grab
her toothbrush. She picks up a bottle
of skin lotion and asks, "This?"
I am amazed how little she
remembers, about the day to day
tasks. My role is to step through
these requirements, morning and night.
Tonight, as I stood near her, as
she brushed her teeth, she did it well
but had to be reminded to put
toothpaste on the brush, always responding,
"Like this?" It's then, my emotional
well being, becomes stretched and I
sadly feel, like I am becoming unhinged.
We will get through this, you and I.
You will see as we can only try.

My grasp of sanity
has left with you.
From whence came I
when I no longer do.
This mind of mine,
unlike so many or so few,
wants to quit my
love for you. But as I
walk the jagged edge,
I see it's not you, it's me.
Why does my heart burn so
if I am to be the last to go.

She is in bed, quiet, unaware
of her lovely shade of hair.
Silver color, with a wave or two.
A short haircut is her new do.

My head is now spinning,
like a wind without sail,
as my thoughts of a person;
a Bulgarian girl.
I'm too old for this now,
so what can I do
but to fight off those feelings
of all this I see.
What in the World is now
happening to me?
Am I so starved for affection
in this time of life,
or is it because I can no longer
converse with my Wife?

A glimpse of your leg,
a wink of your eye,
tells me nothing about
the warmth of your sigh.
A sigh of compassion
or a question of why,
creates a new emotion,
as evening draws nigh.
A strange time, on this day
as we live in this World,
where dreams have gone away.