Magazine Posts

A kindred moment,
as friends depart,
with long goodbyes,
doing their part,

to assure we all,
will meet again,
be it sunshine,
or a falling rain.

Hope to see
you next year,
if God is willing,
and you buy the beer.

For a few more Days. Sorry. See you in a few.

T'wasnt all fun and games,
although that seems to be
popular way of thinking.

Write about those things
you love. Enough hateful
rhetoric in this world.

Memories are the building blocks of
recalling the love, you had at the moment
and the feelings you have now.

I stand amongst these tall,
trees, in Norther Idaho.
We are out, scouting for Elk.
I'm riding a Honda Trail 50.

I'm amazed by the
quantity of tall Fern Glades,
stretching across my sight line.
An open cathedral of ferns and trees.

Visibility seems to extend forever.
I don't recall seeing the beautiful sight
in my home state of Washington.
It probably exists on the Peninsula.

A spiritual moment,
I still say
an appropriate view,
on this warm Spring Day.

A memory of 1964, outside Moscow Idaho.

Where has love gone?
When did it flee,
running with purpose,
away from me?

Will I find it again,
as something you bring,
or is it no longer there,
when it was just a thing?

I believe our Soul,
flees, when we die.
I don't know if it,
returns for another try.

Another try, for
a better life.
Something to ponder,
or think about twice.

If you think you've,
been here before,
and there is a special portal,
or a brand-new door,

to a different life, then
I now implore,
do your best and
come back for more.

See you in your dreams,
let's not keep score.
Just remember your life,
the time before.

May all the thoughts,
I have about you.
Special thoughts as
ordinary thoughts won't do.

You were my heart,
my soul you were,
for it was always you,
my one and only her.

I write of a tale
from long ago,
bout the place,
the Red Ferns grow.

Compassion for others,
not as privileged as thy,
reviewed from their perception,
of me, not I.

Saying goodbye,
has become tiring,
exhausting me,
in the process.

Dealing with it,
on a daily basis,
yet wanting to
bring closure, but not forget.

I know my beloved is gone.
I know it well.
My current path has become,
a pathway to hell.