Magazine Posts

He moved to the rhythm,
as if he knew the dance steps.
Swaying, gently, with the beat,
a smooth motion with his feet.
He tripped, but didn't fall,
for he had excellent balance
and that wasn't all.
He could do the Two Step
and the Waltz, in the Fall.
Light on his feet, someone,
once said. He could trip
"The light fantastic,
whenever he danced.
A Romantic, I think not,
a simple soul, living a
simple life, among
friends and family.

Someone, many years ago,
described me as being stoic.
Stoic, the word: someone,
who does not complain or
show their emotions.
As I have aged, it seems
my emotional state is
far more sensitive.
I recall seeing my father's
eyes moisten, when I was
preparing to leave his home.
I didn't understand then.
I do now.

I've lost my resolve,
it was taken from me.
The stress was too much,
for me to see.

Forlorn the lover
who loved thee.
She is the best,
the best for me.
Long will I Remember
the love from she,
as she loved Mr dearly,
for all the World to see.

Broad were the views,
a natural exhibit
of colors of Spring.
Much beauty to see,
as Nature's bling.

A flash of light,
bursting flame,
a burning bush,
we should stop!
There is no rush,
to see again, What
matters to you, today.
Lead a cheer
or say a prayer.
You'll be missed,
no matter when,
no matter where.

Multi-hued skies
reflecting in water, fast.
Rolling colors sparkled,
as the river flowed past.
A rainbow of colors
now on display.
A viewing of Nature's
most dazzling array.

Writing your thoughts
will require some tools.
You, the Writer is expected
to follow the rules,
unless you're in Poetic mode
and willing to act as Fools.
Satisfaction, can be found,
if you avoid mental duels,
of being correct
or breaking the rules.
AKA, poetic license.

Where has our love gone?
Is it missing now
or just hidden away?
If you search,
you will find
the missing love
you left behind.

Cross were the words
flowing over her lips.
Sharp was her tongue,
sharp as a knife.
Waxen the wings,
beware the strife,
for you'll never know,
she is your wife.

For all I ask,
for all I see,
for all I want,
is a mystery.

How do you know,
you can't remember,
if your memory is gone?