Magazine Posts

I feel exhausted,
at 2 AM.
My hands have cramped.
Is this the end,

of the aimless thoughts,
which fill the air?
A short manifest
of a life's despair.

When the amber waves of grain,
come crashing down upon your soul,
perhaps, we will understand,
nothing, in this great world, is free.

Our Society is, in my opinion,
changing to a society of
those with their hands out,
be it politician, charitable institutions,
Drives for Cancer, Alzheimer, et al.
or any other cause deemed needy.

I, for one, do not have unlimited
income to support everyone,
who believe they have a
need to access my money.

Sorry Charly, If I have any
money left over from paying my
bills and the invoices for my wife,
in a Memory Care Facility, I'll let
you know.

When thinking about this current life,
I want to run and hide away.
Fearing the outcome of another,
my fear stands in complete dismay.

Sun rays,
slide in backwards,
from a weird sky,
as if it had been rent,
ripped into shreds,
allowing dappled,
light to touch
the ground.
Soundless.

When did a chopped salad,
become synonymous with a green salad?
Call it a chopped salad,
but make it the way it should be,
not a green salad with torn iceberg
lettuce, with slivered carrots, sliced olives,
shredded cheese and pepperoni slices.
Adding Italian dressing does not make it
a chopped salad. Cube the cheese, carrots,
, pepperoni, chop the lettuce, cucumbers, and celery.
Small complaint it the home but when your
hunger is for a chopped salad. Deliver it.

The saddest sound,
I've ever heard,
came from the mouth,
of a wild bird.

The sound, forlorn,
crying a tune,
was made by a
saddened Loon.

The sound rose higher,
many notes may remain.
A haunting cry,
so much pain.

Do we humans,
react the same,
when our love,
no longer came.

He was cute,
not too tall,
wasn't large,
kind of small.

A friendly boy,
He is the one.
Call him Emmet,
when day is done.

Self-imposed, criticism,
is the worst.
Self-induced pressure,
make my head burst.

Forget about me,
you don't need the grief,
when looking for
the old, love thief.

Sitting, when Harry Nilsson,
starts singing,
"Living without you."
Cripes, just what I needed.
Then I thought of my wife.
Different story. Harrys singing
about leaving a girl.
A choice.
I think about losing my wife.
A choice no one made.

The Ostrich, sticks his head in the sand.
If I can't see anyone, its thought.
Pull your head out of the sand,
it's the middle of the night.

Why do some people,
we most certainly know,
never listen to reason,
saying "I didn't know."

We all must listen to others,
seeking as much advice,
as possible, from others,
it will make our life, nice.

Fickle!
Is that your game?
So afraid to learn,
it is your name.