Magazine Posts

When I look into your eyes
and see your angelic face.
I see no recognition or surprise.
Going forward, as I surely must,
Place my faith in our God's trust.
A cure is an option, Not
For no medicine can be bought.

When I was a junior, in high school,
my friends and I, thought it was cool,
to enlist, get uniforms and serve,
So we joined the Naval Reserve.
One meeting a month was all that we
had to attend, then it was off to sea,
but I was wrong, wrong as can be,
for we were going to "boot camp" not to sea.
Receiving transportation chits with no "prattle"
we caught a train, going to Seattle.
From the core of this wonderful town,
we boarded a train, Portland OR bound.
Arriving in the Rose City, very late in the day,
we transferred to the Union Pacific, going to L.A.
My grandfather was working for the N.P.
so using skill, we had a drawing room for three.
Our private room, with a couch and bed.
Why we even had our own private "head".
We arrived in L.A. and on that great day,
we boarded a train, Atchison-Topeka and Santa Fe.
We arrived in San Diego and with great luck,
the Navy was nice, so we rode in a truck.
Boot Camp was now what we were in,
to make all us young boys, into men.
But that's another story.

Not to worry,
Not to fear,
The flat earth society,
Is now back here.
We argue with Science,
For they want it this way
And will ruin the earth,
If we don't say
Stop. Stop it you must
Before this planet
Has turned to dust.

Over the green fields, flags are flying,
in honor of all who are lying
within gravesites; Veterans of wars,
who rest beneath the bright stars.
In honor of the sacrifice they
made for us to be free. Let us pray.

My heart is in my throat,
My feet on the floor.
The words in my ears,
"I can't take this anymore."
"You don't know what it's like,
Please put me away.
I can't live like this,
Put me into a home,
For the rest of my day."

This love of mine,
For most of my life,
Is shredding my soul,
As if with a knife.
Her wit was quite funny,
Not dry, like mine.
She was/is smarter than me,
Without any doubt.
This most, terrible disease
is something, one could cry about.

A new flower
at least it's new to me
blooms almost instantly

Planted new bulbs,
Spring of this year.
Now they began,
In July to appear.
A beautiful flower,
Perennial in fact,
Blooms like this;
A wonderful act.
Enjoy.

Last day of July
Not here, not any more
Zinnias are in bloom.

I have noticed a change of late.
Of frustration that has now appeared;
An element of fear, mixed with hate,
For this unforgiving disease.
As I see this change, I can't relate
To what is going on inside her head,
That makes her say, "I wish I were dead."
All I can do, all I can say,
Please my love, don't go away.

My love is with me, here, today.
By tomorrow, she'll have gone away.
The mind is a most curious thing,
Today, knowledge; tomorrow nothing to bring.

I sit there with my hair "slicked" back.
If I weren't a young man,
I would probably, let out a quack,
My hair was groomed with "butch" wax.
A "Princeton" they called it,
short on the top,
long on the sides,
combed from front to back,
then a vertical line
on the back of my head,
gave me that look, a DA.*
A White Stag jacket, all white,
with the collar turned up
and my pant cuffs were tight.
Pegged pants, was the word we would use,
you could put in your feet, sans your shoes.
Pants were hung below the waist, at your rear.
One sharp looking Dude, with a strut.
A fashion that held for a few more years.

* DA = ducks a-- or more politely it's rear

Down the hill, under the trees,
is a small pond, with water lilies.
Under a fallen log, covered with moss,
there, hidden away, a small tiny house.
In this small structure, you could see,
a wee creature, that looked like me.
When I, as a child, visited this place,
there was no one, no memory to erase.
Now all these precious memories of mine,
are thoughts, gathering dust of lost time.
I have this place, sacred to me,
where all my thoughts, are there to see.