Magazine Posts

Bite the bullet,
and old saying.
Perhaps I should
and get to praying.

Praying for peace,
in this world, ours,
full of riches
and fancy cars.

The killing of children,
has grown old.
Time to step up,
and to be bold.

Stop the insanity,
we are all the same,
skin color, religion,
we all have a name.

A simple poem,
it means so much,
for I may have
lost my writing touch.

Memories of the past,
when I was in 7th grade,
living in Ranier Beach,
soon to be moving.

Through the back door,
boldly, no where to go,
except to keep moving,
for this is my life's show.

Caregivers, a plenty, always asking,
"Are you having any pain?".
Answering, "No I'm not!".
is this a new something?

Up the chimney,
like old smoke,
when you were young
having a toke.

What is it?
When will it be gone?
Get out to vote, please,
so we can move along.

Up stepped the Devil,
hitting me between the eyes.
I had no inkling,
it was a huge surprise.

Stage Four Pancreatic Cancer,
a big one, for its size.
I understood the importance,
and at that moment realized,

It's a new game,
with some extra strife,
for we are talking about,
the ending of my life.

Thank you all for the prayers
and the kind words you say.
I will try to beat this,
every single day.

Of love
and loss,
of a soul,
such as she.
What happens
now, when her
soul is free.

Swirls of fog,
encircle my feet,
as I stroll on
this old country street.

Droplets of breath,
exhaled during my walk,
gather on my beard,
while I breath and talk.

Activity like this,
on a cold winter morn,
takes me back
to when I was born.

Three is a number,
uno, dos, and trey,
but not a number,
which includes you and me.

For three becomes trey,
and as you can see,
it can't be you and I,
but it could be we.

Far from the Maddening Crowds,
at political rallies, these days,
we hear the lies and untruths,
which are told in many ways.

If you want to keep our country strong,
you must speak, having your say,
or you may awake on the morrow,
finding you country has gone away.

Many like to bring problems,
to your door,
instead of solutions,
which is better for more.

Through the open window,
over the bright painted sill,
on a trip to Na Na land,
at the end of Mulberry Hill.

A brand-new adventure,
stuck within my mind.
I hope those I see there,
will not be too unkind.

Long rows of Violets,
absorbing the noonday Sun,
will I love this place until
my life is over and done?

I hope I do,
for the story I've been told,
it's a wonderful place
for those of us who are old.