Magazine Posts

I look through the glass pane,
in the store front.
Others like me, a young boy of twelve,
had smeared the glass with their noses,
like I was doing now.
Look in the window, of this large
Christmas Display in the Bon Marche
or Frederick and Nelson's.
This event, not Christmas, but the window display,
was every young childs fantasy trip.
Toy train locomotives, were pulling
their cars, across country with bridges
and rivers too. It was a time for
a real view of your imagination.
Always a choice or you could pick,
these two displays in the Holiday Season.
It was all up to you.
Happy Holidays.

Ridges of embers,
glowed in the night.
There was no power,
but we had a light,
a lantern tall and bright,
powered by batteries, "D",
and the dimming light
from the woods dying glow.

High hang the lights
across timbered posts,
Lighting the way,
where we love most.
Across a patio wide,
barren of plant growth,
lays the Divinity,
The Holy Ghost.

Stay close to me,
I'll keep you safe.
Matters not, if adult
or a very small waif.

It was dark
beneath the stair.
A dusty smell
of cobwebs, dry,
alone was I,
but mustn't cry,
for you're brave.
I do know,
you are afraid,
of spiders.

I know your life
has come un-done.
The one you love,
is still the one,
who cherished you back,
when you were down.
No questions asked of the
blind faith, that was,
given to thee. Now here
you are, moving her away,
for better treatment
of this I pray.

I commend you my darling.
You have done very well,
on the frightening journey,
traveling the path of Dementia Hell.

She was a
big, bottomed girl,
I saw ahead of me.
Not an exception, of course.
It was the rear of my horse.

Of all the World
there is to see.
Why oh why
couldn't it be,
a place of
great infamy?
Why must you,
always say,
change is just
a step away?
Enjoy your life,
come what may.
Become the person,
you want to be.
Do it unmercifully.
Then you will see,
how small the World,
can really be.
where everything
is not a conspiracy.

It was a fitting response,
to watch candlelight glints,
in your beautiful eyes
of brown-golden tints.

I hate this life
and what has happened to she.
Don't tell me to have faith,
for I have none for thee.

Call me embittered,
it's what I am,
an angry embittered,
very old man.

I sit on the chair,
my head hanging down,
for my time here,
is beginning to slow,
down to a crawl,
then I will know,
my life will be over.
It's now time to go.