Magazine Posts

I hear the thunder.
Lighting blinds my eyes.
A Summer storm,
can be a huge surprise,
working at the golf course
the entire day
when a Clap of thunder,
came to our location.
The wind began blowing,
the rain coming sideways.
We had many on the course
when management suspended play.
All of the Marshals
who were working that day,
drove around the course
to help the customers back
to the Clubhouse.
We were successful as
there were no injuries.
All customers were given
credit for a future round.

Down the hill,
slowly he trod.
Searching for love,
searching for God.
Searching the World
for those he has lost.

Why do we search,
when something is gone.
Shouldn't we leave
and carry on?"
Pick up the thread,
mending the break,
for our life's journey
will soon be
our life's wake.

Was it we
or just are?
No one to C,
is it our
time to flee
via a cattle car
of a box?
No matter if
you shoot par,
where did it go?
Why was it me,
who sat all alone
under the tree?
Life's the holy grail,
is not the way
to a glorious
finish, one day away.
Help me now,
Lord, if you please,
for now I await,
in the evening
breeze or a
dance, a favorite
of mine. You
know the name,
I told it to thee.
Goodbye, for now,
C U at 3.

When the words,
"I want to go home"
pour forth from she
or "I miss my mom
and my dad, they
are both gone."
My heart breaks for her
and her memories lost.
My wife remembers little
of our previous life,
knows not of family,
except she will talk
of our granddaughter,
when seeing her picture
on the hall wall.

The path which I take;
I take every day.
It's the path of a life,
all work, little play.
A path through a demented mind.
One to be gentle and kind.
The poorest of souls,
who long to be free
from a terrible disease,
which bye passed me.
Why did some, as lovely
as you were then,
be stricken with Dementia,
so close to the end.
I am rambling now, once more,
for I do it best
when I don't keep score.

A rusty old trike.
A small wagon too.
I look for you now,
in this our own place.
No longer the children
will play in our yard.
They are grown now
and live far away,
while we sit and wait
for our final day.
The last day to stay
in our home, as we
face downsizing.

A dog is great,
even if he's a hound.
He will stay with you,
as he follows around.
Then there are cats,
nice but too profound,
as they don't want you
to be hanging around.

Put down on paper
with your Energel Pen,
the words in your mind,
for the day now begins.
Do you not feel
the love in the air?
Will you stay with me,
breathing the same air?
My heart is happy,
for I see you there.
For heavens sake
put on your underwear.

It sounds kind of weird, I suppose,
what it's like to wear another man's clothes.
To change your style, would be grand
unless the clothes worn are quite bland.
Take an adventure, pick a new life.
By wearing new clothes, perhaps a wife?

Forlorn and lonely,
when I realized
the woman I loved,
sits there before my eyes.

I once owned a roadster,
convertible to thee,
which I loved to drive,
as fast as could be.
Top down; cruising along,
couldn't hear the radio,
as I sped along.
So I was stuck with
singing my own song.
The wind whipped my hair,
which was long, into my eye.
I loved this car;
a 1971 Fiat 124, Spyder,
French Blue the color,
with Mag. wheels and
custom exhaust.

Release the pain
from my eyes.
Hear the ache
in my cries,
as my Love's
life of memories,
slowly dies