Magazine Posts

Deep within
this mind,
memories lay,
in piles
of rubbled
filled dismay.
A mixture
of new
and older
thoughts exist,
in transition,
to permanent
thinking of
the experience
of love
lost within.
The memories
call again,
capture them,
you can.
Restoring all
you forgot
or ideas
you once
held dear,
are gone
and disappeared.

From the ashes and dust
of an inactive mind,
collecting dust, old thoughts,
which may be just fine.,
unless they have warped.
Morphing into a different view,
no longer a memory,
is viewed by our society.
What is this you say,
my thoughts, once sound,
have left me alone,
below the deep ground.

When the last breath of reason
has left your mouth,
you will find there is
no argument or discussion,
which can be made,
to those unwilling to
see the evil in this hypocrisy.

The dust spills
from your mouth,
once more.
Dried up thoughts,
to tissue dull.
Words, once crisp,
are unfirm now,
too soft for
what I write.

Come to me,
my table is bare.
I need you now.
Weren't you aware?

Shut the door,
turn out the light,
my power usage
is now out of sight.

To heat the air,
from outside to in,
makes little sense,
so let us begin.

Turn off the lights,
when you exit a room.
Close the door,
avoiding the air leak
and of energy costs,
of which we speak.

Should I write?
Should I bring,
the many words,
we may sing?

Breaking loose from restraints,
in an attempt to find space,
to create a subject line,
for writing, paint and erase.

Why am I burdened so,
when my life's gone astray?
Different worries, come to me.
Is writing work or is it play?

When you are writing,
there are some things,
which cause a big ripple.
It is the elusive use of
the dangling participle.

Acid etched words
remain in my head,
waiting and waiting,
to be shed.
To tell stories
of who we are.
Some very lonely
survivors of an
old ancient star.

This is yours,
it's also mine,
the air we breathe.
A life well lived
is our salvation,
to a better day.

To reach for the stars,
you're best to aim high,
for your goal in life,
is to give it a try.

The first Taco
I ever ate,
was from a street vendor,
in Tiajuana Town.
My Navy friends,
young at 20 years old,
drove to Mexico,
to drink beer
at local cantinas.
We would stop at
the Taco stands
and eat the wonderful
tasting food.
Hard shell tortilla,
filled with some kind
of meat, tomatoes, and cheese
and lettuce. A tasty treat.
So great the joy,
a new food,
for a 20-year-old boy.