Magazine Posts

My first Christmas way from home,
was in San Diego. I was in the US Navy,
having just turned 20 years old.
I do not recall the specifics, but
I probably "messed" (ate) on board ship,
with my new friends and then to San Diego.
Taking a water taxi ride to the foot of Broadway.
Seeing a movie. I'm sure I called my
family back at the old residence.

Far across a path,
this wide,
there was room for me,
by your side.
The troubles we've had,
these past years,
makes our bond stronger,
when we're near,
to each other, within sight,
allowing us to support,
ourselves, in the darkest night.
Stay strong my darling,
you'll always be,
alongside of me, on the
long path to eternity.

Rip out my heart,
from this aging chest.
Removing all the love,
left in this frail shell,
of living a life
in Dementia's miserable Hell.

The water was high.
Cold to the feet.
My hip boots
had sprung a leak.
Early morning hours,
at Ocean Shores,
the Smelt were running,
so get you to work.
Gather the silvery, Smelt,
be on your way,
going home to clean
your large catch and
get your feet warm.

A slight puff of air,
a glow in the gloom,
as a gas lantern,
brightened the room.
Shadows growing longer,
flickered with dance,
in the old days,
a prelude to romance.
Soft music playing
a relaxing tune,
sounding the music,
"Shine on, harvest Moon>"

How strong the urge,
to just cut and run.
I can't do that now,
for you are my Sun.

Tatoo a snake
across my arm.
Tell me now,
how I am,
worse not best.
Cast me from
this place, mine,
for I'm godless
with my soul,
ensnared with thine,
in this odd World's,
barbaric and Byzantine.

An unearthly glow,
a flickering light,
took the edge from
the gloomiest night.
Shadows dancing on walls,
as the fire grew,
into a blaze of heat.
A rippling of flames,
structures burning,
embers filling the air,
spreading the fire
to tinder, dry brush.

She was a tall drink of water,
is what we would say,
when seeing a tall, athletic woman,
dressed in her finest array.
Not trying to be disrespectful, back then,
my friends were young and free,
engaging in discussion of our fantasy.
There was little money, as we were in school
and our imagination, was our only tool.

A trail of melted wax,
down from the wick,
of a tall, flickering,
candlestick.
Warm is the wax,
pooling at the bottom
of a candlestick holder's
heavy glass base.

A World of darkness,
is inside my mind.
Look inside and
you probably will find,
a deep thought,
one of a kind,
which is tied into knots,
using plant twine to bind.

My patience is raw,
my feelings are thin.
It's not about you,
but her thoughts, within.