Magazine Posts

Over before it started.
Waves, crashing the shore.
Salty spray fills the air.
I love the smell of the sea,
and the echoing calls of the gulls.
I need more.

Roses and kings,
from long ago,
bring back memories,
of what I know.

Memories are such
as I think, it's serious.
for the old thoughts now
are scraps for the curious.

Thoughts which I had,
about the life we lead,
and find ourselves in,
with our memories dead.

Sitting here,
engulfed in emotions.
"I want to go home",
she says to me,
over and over again,
as we watch, Crocodile Dundee.
No involvement in the movie,
no recognition of anything
noteworthy. My wife was
a very intelligent person, but
can no longer connect to reality.
She asked me this afternoon,
"Who are you?" I told her I
was her husband. Her response was,
"No Way." Minutes later she is saying,
she loves me and wants to be with me.

Running down the path,
need to pick up the pace.
this is a timed event,
a Ten Kilometer race.

Under forty minutes
would be a great time.
Push harder,
towards the finish line.

Thirty-eight minutes,
plus, small change.
My best performance
was in the range.

Up with the birds,
at Dawns early light.
No reason, I know,
just seemed right.

Sitting at my work area,
I remember, an "opening Day" of
Fishing in Upland Streams.
Next to the Manashtash Creek,
water moving fast, ice crystals,
gather along the creek side.

We have a campfire burning, and a separate
metal rack to put frying pans on for cooking.
We brought some eggs, not for fishing but to
eat, with our fresh caught trout, dipped in flour,
for a great, cold morning breakfast.
We reflect upon our sharing the benefits of
this offering.

Church bells are ringing,
on this Sunday morn.
Sun rays starting the Dawn,
as another day is born.

My good friend and I weren't fast,
but we were old and fit.
He said, "Let's get up in front at the
starting line." My response was,
"Are you crazy?"

We went to the front,
and the gun went off.
I was sprinting for my,
life as this pack of young men,
half our age, were about to climb,
up our backs. Wow!

The next morning the
Eastside Journal, as it was,
called at the time, had a picture,
of my friend and I as the race started.
No terror in my face at that time.

Don't recall, how we finished, but,
remember we, in our infinite wisdom,
had ran a 10 K at Pt 'Defiance Park in
Tacoma.

A long, tailed racoon,
went to the Moon.
He was searching, for
his friend the Loon.

Long was the journey,
to his own Moon.
It was an adventure,
ending too soon.

A fictional journey,
about a fork and a spoon,
just another story,
in this month of June

Whimsical ways,
we are what we are,
No matter how close,
Whether near or far.

Gossamer colors,
floating, through air,
blossoming sunlight,
now everywhere.

High, colored clouds,
suddenly appear,
as sun-streaked horizons,
brighten and disappear.

When night falls,
at Heaven's door,
leave this place,
you need no more.

Need not the grief,
which comes this way,
as incessant chatter,
is now on display.

There isn't a concept
of time or place,
when her mind is
mostly vacant space.

Questions, constantly of,
where are we,
becomes a need to answer,
for both me and she.

Forlorn,
I am lost,
need to explain,
why it is difficult,
for me to self-train.