Magazine Posts

From out the crack
of a sidewalk arose,
a beautiful plant,
a pink, pink rose.

Competing, to live again,
from rain and dirt,
the flower grew,
how much the hurt?

To bring forth,
a lovely plant,
to live again.
Don't say can't.

For each of my days,
in my wretched life,
is my worry about
the health of my wife.

Awake I am,
a flickering flame.
Words flow out,
I hear your name.

My heart beats fast
nowhere to hide
the fears I have,
for this long slow ride.

My eyes flash,
with my fear
of losing you,
this coming year.

In the days,
before your time,
life was good,
a sunny clime.

We ran and swam,
most every day.
It wasn't work,
just fun to play.

Working hard on
a hay bailing crew,
dirty work, but,
earning money, too.

If I say to you,
young lady, thou,
write your thoughts,
starting soon, or now.

Let your words flow
from your head.
Write them down,
no fear, no dread.

You're in control
of what you write.
No matter what,
you are right.

MFish

A life's path,
has failed, we.
The life wanted,
will no longer be.

My loved one,
cannot see,
our memories,
not meant to be.

Our life's adventure,
once so free,
no longer live,
in her memory.

Along the window,
against the pane,
frost is trying
to build again.

My heart beats,
just for thee.
You are my love,
like it should be.

Halfway where.
I need to be,
mind at rest,
thoughts roaming free.

Watching you work,
satisfies me.
You are joyful,
a sight to see.

To run again,
is my goal.
Start my walk,
begin the toil.

Years, long ago,
6 miles I'd run,
every day, it was
not work, just fun.

Increase the miles,
more to come.
Fifty miles, each week,
and we weren't done.

A good friend,
said to me,
"A marathon, next,
low entry fee.

To Vancouver BC,
in the middle of May.
26.2 miles to run,
on our way.

Up the road,
thru Stanley Park,
over the bridge,
still a lark.

Halfway through,
starting to ache.
How much stress,
can this body take?

Finish line,
now in sight,
pickup speed,
I'll sleep tonight.

26.2 miles, 4hrs, 2 mins,
First marathon, 55 years old.

Fog covering trees,
and on the ground,
diffusing streetlights,
muffling sound.

I have begun to
worry every day
about my wife.
Will she stay?

I want her,
to be with me.
She is fading,
is what I see.

She won't be
moving away.
My fear is,
she won't stay.

Hospice is
what I fear,
she'll no longer,
call me dear,

or profess
her love vow,
like she does,
today, Now.