I don't want it to be over.
I don't wish it to end,
for most of my life,
she was my very best friend.

Give me a number
which is in your head,
and I will write
somethng different, instead
of the usual stuff.
It may be smooth but
it also may be rough.
Something new for me
if you will play,
this foolish game with me.

Where has the time gone?
Where did it go?
One moment we're kids,
with no place to go.
Now looking back,
in a reflective way,
what once was morning,
is now the end of the day.
Soon all of the darkness
will descend on we.
Good Lord I am hungry,
what is happening to me?

Send me a letter,
write down the words.
Brighten the paper,
with your writing,
on Birthday cards.
Electonics are fine,
for so many things,
but they won't
provide the joy
a card will bring.

Our vessel, our ship,
is moored at a dock.
I need to pick up
the ship's mail.
I hike down the pier
and when I arrive
at the end, I use the
phone there to call
my escort. They arrive
in a jeep and take
me to another pier,
where I board
a small boat. The trip
is short, to another
small island in the
Enewietok Atoll.
I go to the FPO,
pick up the ship's mail,
head back to the boat,
climb aboard and
return to my friends,
who give me a ride
to the piers very end.
Down to the ship,
sort out the mail,
then have Mail Call.
Only a few men receive mail,
they are the lucky ones.
I look for a letter,
coming here, from you.

What is the sound
of lonely?
Why do we seek
company,
then try to be
alone?
The sound of words,
is why I am
attracted to you.
A tone in the sound
of a voice,
will bring happiness
and you will rejoice,
while you still hear,
the sound of a
whisper, in your ear.

I was a runner,
many years ago,
then I was a jogger,
not a run, just slow.
Than I became a walker,
in my "Running" shoes,
for I'm walking for health,
I have weight I can lose.
I no longer walk,
just go up and down stairs.
It's better than nothing,
of that I am aware.

Let's tell the others,
we are Lovers
and watch the
tounge speak to the ears,
while we are laughing
those large "crocodile tears."

There isn't any future,
in "Let's pretend."
A World of fantasy,
without any end.

I have lost her, totally.
I was watering plants
in the front, by the driveway.
My wife said, "Are all these yours?"
Then she asked me who I was.
"Do you belong to me?"
I told her I was her husband.
I shouldn't have but did ask
her, "What is my name?"
She replied, "Joe", who is our
eldest Son. I said, "You are his mother."

When your World has gone asunder
and your troubles are so many;
When roiling clouds of lightning/thunder,
lock in the World, on this very night,
do you worry about each other
or do you cry for your mother?
Brace up, stand ye strong,
for in this World you belong.
Stay the course, join the fight,
defy the doubters and their might.
See tomorrow as a better day.
Work thee hard, the time for play
will arrive in due course
and join with Justice, in the fray.

The mountains puncture the sky,
snagging clouds as they pass.
The green-yellow of decidious trees,
changing colors before the
leaves fall to the ground.
A most wonderous time of the year,
when a trees skeletal remains,
rattle the brain and senses.
An old, natural disaster;
no flowers except the Aster.

Tonight you said,"I need to ask
you a question?"
I said, "Go ahead."
She said, "Am I married?"
I said, "Yes you are."
"Are you my husband?"
"That I am",said I.
A changed person, indeed?
Probably not. Just a flashback,
to a time long ago,
which she has since forgotten.

How does a person
make life whole again?
Is it done by writing
in a book with a pen?
I'm writing the words,
which are entering my head,
without benefit of rules,
or a guide, in good stead.
Some words are strong,
like a good grade of steel,
while many words are weak,
with little writer's appeal.
I must decide, the words to use
is what would be ideal.
Here I remain, wasting time,
as I search for words,
which will fit into this rhyme.

I don't love you anymore,
which I now confess,
but I find in my heart,
I don't love you any less.

The closing days of Summer,
rapidly pass,
perhaps it will rain
and put green into my grass.

Just received an e-mail from Brecks.
"Your bulbs are on the way."
Once again I got carried away and
ordered too many bulbs.
Now I just have to remember
where the old ones are located.
Shouldn't be a problem as I
use chicken wire, which I cut
to cover the bulbs. I know it
dissapoints the squirel helpers,
but it's the way it has to be.

Sit you here,
write down the word,
be it trite, simple
or just so absurd.
Your role is to write
words to paper.
Thoughts are elusive
and they will fly
away from you,
if you don't try
to capture them
when you can
or else you will become
a lost an lonely
wordless man.

Why is it now?
What is the need?
When your inner soul,
Has a need for speed?
Not speaking of drugs
Or of smoking weed,
Just a burning desire
And a need for speed.
Loud, rumbling engine noise,
Creates desire and the need
To race against others
And your need for speed.

This time of the year,
the smell of ovens heating;
a Fall harvest of fruit,
stuck inside a pastry shell,
makes us again, to think of eating.