Magazine Posts

He once dated a coal miners daughter,
who's main drink was bourbon and water.
No diet cola or milk for she.
She drank, an occasional, sour mash whiskey.
There wasn't always a drink in hand
as she often sang in a country band.
Her hair was long; a scraggly mess,
and she always wore a beautiful dress.
She wasn't a "lost cause", you see,
but my daughter in law, soon to be.

So many words.
So little time,
In writing them;
making them rhyme.
What to do,
with cluttered head,
spewing out words,
that are said.
Not to complain
about or be
on the road
to my reverie.

I can no longer tell,
if I'm on my way to hell
or if I've already arrived.

It is that time of the year,
with most of the leaves, falling down,
when cutting the plants, in the ground,
is a task, I care for not,
for the beautiful foliage, that was begot.

If my whining about life doesn't stop.
I may have to set up a shop.
A shop that's full of sorrow and pity,
And isn't the only one in this city.
Now if I write a sad ditty
And then you might think I'm witty.

When I was a young man,
some would say "frisky",
I would do activities
that could be quite risky.
Remember when you were young
and reason not, to succumb,
doing things that were probably dumb.
There was never a pretense
nor lacking a common sense.
Doing these things in reality,
young men revert to boys,
more often than not, quite frequently.

Drink to the heavens, so far above.
Drink to the beautiful, unfettered love.
How did I lose someone like thee?
I will never know, what I can't see.

Things that were here
are no longer there.
They vanish from view,
even as we stare.
Where do they go?
I wish I knew.
What I do know,
it was just you.

Don't be so spiteful,
a man once said to me,
for nothing you do,
will set you free.
That may be true,
was my lone retort,
but in real life,
it's time to abort.

Well now, here we are, once again
with a new daily onslaught of rain.
Rain falling from the grey skies above,
Is Nature washing the rain, with love.

I'm up very early
at a quarter of two
and all I can do
is think about you.
I recall your smile
and your gentle grace,
as I call forth a vision
of your beautiful face.
What can I say
about this tepid relent?
I wish that I knew
what is fates intent.

You don't know me at all
and most certainly not well,
But I feel that my soul
Is being pulled towards hell.