Magazine Posts

May the God of fate and destiny,
grant you the blessing
you so justly deserve,
for you are the light,
you are the Soul
of my own fulfillment.
Life is good.
Life is short,
so please be wise
and do not abort.

Words flow, by my ear.
Not nice words,
none, which I wanted to hear.
Why are words hurtful,
when thrown by a tounge?
Words when used by
the old and the young.
No longer current
but still used
by quite a few.
When discovered,
it's nothing, just Adieu.

Fair winds, they blow
across meadows, wide
and late Spring snow
sliding down
the barren hill.
A whispering sound
of winds words urging
you to find shelter.

I awake,
words in
my head.
Write down
these words
before they
go away.
When they
are gone,
they're gone.
No matter
the need,
for they
will not
be there
for someone
to read.

Words pour out of this old head.
Many current, others from language dead.
Word flow is slow tonight.
Some days words appear rapidly.
I try to capture them, but hands
cramp when trying to write
in my notebook.
Words come without reason or
rhyme, which I prefer.
My mind is like a broken plow,
stuck in an old furrow, unable to
change direction. Inflexible?
or pre-occupied with other matters?
Who is to say? Writer's block?
Perhaps or just a mental staleness
that comes from existing in an
environment, not what I expected,
but which I chose to support my wife.

At dinner,
she sits across
from me.
I marvel at the
smoothness of her face.
All these years together
and I see her youthful
look. I know she has
aged, but so have I.
She is still the girl,
I married. She can no
longer care for herself
and resides in a Memory
Care Facility, since January 3rd,
of this year. I moved in to be
with her for support and
to provide closure on the
fear, she goes through every
day. If I am out of sight,
she will worry. She doesn't
need such issues as she
proceeds slowly toward,
full Alzheimer's.

When pain and sorrow,
attacks the heart.
When the emotions,
play a new part,
long live the joy,
you've felt today,
when taken in bits
it takes sorrow away.

Clearly the day
had gone awry.
Abusive language,
now came into play.
Not funny,
in the typical sense.
Words being said,
not making sense.
Tempers flare
as annoyance begins,
in a small argument,
no one wins.

Up in the morning,
long before Dawn.
Words forming rhymes
inside my head.
Prose to write, in
the book I keep,
lest I forget all
the words from my sleep.

A mess of two lives,
a diagnosis of one,
effects the other,
life is no longer fun.
The joy of the moment,
now gone away.
Will it return?
Who is to say?

Inane questions,
comments galore.
State your need clearly
or ask questions, no more,
for I choose not to answer,
the same question, again.

Low the light
in the forest,
so near,
step with care,
as you enter
the Glade
and your reward
will be a promise made.