Magazine Posts

Mental floss, a string of words,
running through my head.
No matter, the word choice,
it will run through this porous,
brain as if salt were present.
I cannot control the blandness
of the words written,
and I watch them swirl
into the old mind of an uncontrollable
muse. Sorry to say but the mind is mine.

Run where others fear to walk.
Make your life action, not just talk.
Speak for all who are in need.
Every day is yours to do a good deed.

My words are rusty,
I cannot lie,
No matter how hard,
I must not try.

The water was tepid
with a brackish taste,
as though it contained,
undesirable chemical waste.

Will you come to me on the morrow,
bringing forth your joy and sorrow,
as you carry, your memories past?
Is this the ending of the story thou hast?
I will be gone in the future soon,
as a new tune I hear,
spills forth, the sadness I fear.
Stay with me until dawn does awake.
One more hug; I will not break.

Oh my, the joy I feel,
when you are talking to me,
about what is happening now,
in the present or recent day..
You don't recall words just said.
The thoughts aren't there.
Instead you ask questions of me.
"Do you remember?" Is what you
say, "the lady we saw yesterday?"
There is confusion, by me,
if it was on TV or in real time.
What a struggle it must be for you,
not able to recall or to separate
TV actions from the real world.
I see confusion in you, when
an ad comes on and you say,
"Who are these people? For them,
I do not know?" I tell you they
are actors, or it is an ad.
I am saddened to see
there is no reaction or understanding
of what I just said and will probably
hear the words, from you, again.

He rode through the Valley of Death.
Etched in his mind, were the fears,
he had worried about, over the years.
From the depth of his Soul,
amidst a ruinous life,
was the rapid derogation of
his beloved wife.
Questions were raised; answers were few,
no help by Medical staff except
to keep steering the course,
while friends and family were his only resource.
Take from me now, for I am able to pay.
You will I know, 'til the end of our day.

To write again, these words to you,
brings satisfaction, in what I do,
for these words, which are here,
will remain on paper, when I disappear.
Written words as a Writer's craft,
brings forth meaning, from the chaff.
Are the words confusing? I will ask,
for writing words is my daily task.

It was early,
it was morning,
the Sun yet to rise.
A sound heard,
a tapping noise.
A staccato of taps.
Startled, now awake,
the taps came once more,
rattling the window.
Darn Flicker,
your beak and head,
using as a hammer.
Making all the noise.
I'm now awake,
the noise was intense,
so getting up,
is what I did.

My mind is gone.
It's lost again.
All the heat
has warped my head.
No Air Conditioner,
bedroom 102 at 12 pm.
God, what a few days
which seem like an eternity.
32 degrees warmer than our
collective averages, for the
month of June, makes zero
sense. Global warming?
Probably so, still does not
make sleepless nights, OK.
Don't mean to whine or
carry on but how do you
plan for this weather
aberration? Tomato plants
with leaves curled and withered
sends this man into a dither.
The flower garden is taking a big
hit as there isn't enough water
to keep it from evaporating.

A dead branch
amongst the leaves,
is gray in color,
contrasting with hues
of reddish-purple,
Japanese maple tree.

What does it mean
when you say, "Born Free?"
Is it free to all,
or just to thee?
An entitlement for some
but not for citizens, all,
removes the neighborly trust,
for one and for all.
Why should we care,
for this, when you are to be
disadvantaged, economically