Magazine Posts

Tell me a story,
I am begging thee.
A story of life's depravity;
of the talk of not wearing a mask,
and refusing the vaccine.
Where is the story in there
of those who don't care
about the lives of their loved
ones.

The barn had been red
in its younger days.
Now the wood has faded
to beautiful greys.
The walls, once straight,
now bowed on this day.
The roof, when new; rife with shingles,
has holes, letting in the rain.
So, a leaky, faded red barn,
is now where the children play.

A slight breeze ruffles the
leaf's of the vine,
as the fruit begins to
ripen and grow,
towards a day when
the harvest begins,
with the picking and crush
of the grapes.
The crushed grapes will sit
for awhile.
Soon it will be the right
time for bottling the
juice, from the vine.
Next step, is to taste
the finest of wine,
at the Rooster Cafe and Bakery,
patio, amongst the fruit
of the vine.

I am struggling now,
with my drawing art.
I cannot bring
myself to start.
To put lines on
the sketch pad.
It's not a way
to do my part
and begin drawing
as it was once art.

A patio, secluded, a cozy nook,
I write this verse,
with pen in hand,
surveying this choice meeting place,
where couples, two by two,
meet for a private rendezvous.

Hearing the noise
of a passing train,
makes my head hurt,
as it rattles my brain.
Not much of a verse,
but I am to blame
for writing these words,
which are quite lame.
It's ok by me, you see,
for this writer has no shame.

It flows
over rock,
gravelly sand,
down hillsides,
it's grand.
Cut through
dark loam,
going to
eternal home,
the Sea.

A fascination.
An infatuation.
An attraction,
Puppy love.
For jealousy,
or envy
and hate,
why do
we have
to berate,
the love
of another,
more different
than we.
As a
total stranger
was pulled
from the
beautiful Sea.
What happens
now to
the most
beautiful word,
for hate
does not
belong here,
in this,
our land.
Hoping you
now understand.

I hear the sound of Fall in the air
as the Canadian Geese fly by.
Honks in the morning, at daylight;
no other sounds are heard until
they return when it is Twilight.

Down the road,
a fast walking pace,
people are passing me.
I didn't know it was a race.

A haunting song,
of a lost love,
was playing
in the Diners
booth. Individual
players. For
each diner
could select
their choice
of music,
to hear
in the comfort
of their booth.

Life will always be interesting.
No one said life would be fair.
All the pitfalls and hazards,
No one said the path would be smooth.
Enjoy your life, it depends upon you
Doing all the things you know how to do.