Magazine Posts

Why do I write?
I wish I knew.
I write about me,
I write about you.
I will write about happy,
I will write, if I'm sad,
I will write when I'm good,
I won't write if I'm bad.
I write for you readers,
I will write directly to you,
For writing is joyful,
It matters not what I do,
As long as I write for many,
Not just a few.

A pathway into the mind
of cluttered confusion.
No connection to ideas or thoughts.
Sees objects but cannot identify.
Little thought, no logic, to seize on.
What must it be like to not know
you don't know or can't reason?

Dark is the night,
if the Moon is away,
as stars awaken
twinkling their array.

The wind blew;
it swirled,
pennants waved
as unfurled.
Old Glory hung,
limp and narrow,
when a gusty breeze;
Stars and stripes waved,
for the best country,
in the World today.

He rode a dark horse
on those days in the past.
Dressed in dark clothing,
away he would ride,
bringing swift justice
to those who would hide
from the lightning of his shooting,
as he fought, on his ride.
A western justice; a special skill.
Stay out of his way
if you do not want to be killed.

I tire when
I keep writing prose,
as the words fly forth,
spewing from my mind.
Writing quickly,
before my hands,
start to cramp,
like they are now.
What are you saying?
Using a lost word
which borders on being
completely absurd.
A finished product,
sometimes a few.
Don't ask me how,
I just do.

A Tumbleweed, a remarkable plant,
which propogates with a wind aided dance.
Across the ground, wind swept they go,
until stopped by a fence line
or out building, although
the brush will pile high, reaching
up to the sky. The brush has stickers
and will grab on fast, with a
grip from an ancient past.

When I first saw her,
she looked like a waif.
Some one to talk with
at a leisurely pace.
An accent, a little heavy,
I can now understand
for her soul so deep
She was in command.

I keep out of view
for this I see,
someone else is
looking at me.
A brown eyed stranger,
my concern is he
a threat of danger?

Starry, starry night,
a song about Vincent Van Gogh's life.
Inspired by his painting with
the same name. The picture painted,
when Vincent was incarcerated in
a mental institution.
Don McLeans lyrics and music are
stuck in my head.
"Starry, Starry Night."

My love is yours for the taking.
No pledges or promises needed.
Just be yourself, today and tomorrow.
Perhaps we will then reverse bad deeds.
What goodness, caring for one another
as this life begins to close down.
We can hold each other closely,
without shedding a tear, for lost love.

What is it which is said?
"I've got to slow down
this spending burn."
Spending more money
than you can earn,
will result in much debt,
unless you have money to burn.