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Posted by MFish

I come from a family of seven,
Being the oldest child
Of all my Siblings.
I may not have been the most wild,
But I set a path for them to see.
Our ranks have thinned, over the years
And we are fewer in numbers.
Losing a brother, at the age of two.
Our younger brother, his name is Steve
He was the second sibling to leave
At the young age of fifty-eight.
A life of abuse of his body to ruin,
Never to recover his own failings.
His many children do live on
And his memory will always be
In my heart for eternity.
Miss you little brother's.

A gentle breeze blows across my brow
as I dig holes for fall plantings.
The problem, I have, with
planting European Bluebells,
is the many roots that grow,
beneath the tree. Not big,
just small roots that must be cut.
Instructions are to plant under a tree
and they will multiply.
I'm anxious to see the results
next Spring.

Sometimes when I'm writing,
I would swear, my mind
Has thoughts of it's own.

With pen in hand, I write
The words that pop into
This brain of mine.
Writing fast, scribbling here,
Unable to read the words
As they fly by, as I attempt to
Write. Oh my goodness
There is no period in sight
To end all this rambling
Prose. There. Finally one
Did appear, but what happened
To the commas?
Did they disappear?
I wish I knew, for it would
Make it clear, that my
Writing sense is not here.

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