Magazine Posts

Why am I remembering
a time so long ago,
when, as a child,
I first tried to thread
a needle?
Grab a piece of thread.
Put the end in your mouth.
Gently wet, twist and insert
into the eye of a needle.
It was difficult to do.
During many tries,
as my hands would shake.
I would keep trying.
Some the thread ends
would be mashed or
flattened and would not
go into the eye.
Return to step one
and keep trying
until the task is done.

The days grow long,
the nights are short,
with no place to go,
so hold down the fort.
Keep your love strong,
no matter how hard
and you will survive.
For here you belong,
at home, being safe.
Where ever you are,
please keep the faith,
as your guiding star.

I will see you again,
as our Souls are now linked,
by sinew, muscle, bone
and on paper with ink.
Another story of lost love,
is not what you think,
for it will pass all of time
through life, as I sink,
into the sorrow of missing
you and move to the brink,
for my love will live on
faster than you can blink.

I am the darkness,
you are the light.
When I make life gloomy,
you bring back the bright.
You bring forth True Pride
of my doing, you by my side.

No more music videos
for me to see,
as all I hear in my head,
is Tina Turner, belting out,
"We don't need another hero."
Night after night, I struggle
again to write these words.
It is a distraction, to me.
This process of writing is absurd,
for, I not only hear words for the song
but also have visions of Mrs. Turner,
shimmering and shaking,
in her glittering skirt..
She had the movement and the voice,
as I recall. It was in the 70's and
the music was all we had in this
Land of Ours, with loud engines,
motorcycles and fast cars.
Now if this wasn't annoying enough,
Tina also sang "Proud Mary". It was
also great listening at that time in our life.

Sheep in the meadow,
cow in the corn,
I swear my bones ached,
since the day I was born,
on the dining room table,
of my grandparents house.
Delivered by a mid-wife,
no Doctor or Hospital there,
in the middle of December
and the cold Winter air.
No central heating,
no broadcast TV,
only a radio on
to hear the news
about what happened
in the World yesterday.
All of the noise
and not much to hear,
outdoor plumbing was
the current thing,
with running water,
pumped from a well

Why am I upset,
when you're talking
to me?
Are there reasons
or a mystery?
You will say things,
"there are people here,
who I don't know?"
I look and what I
see is a TV show.
You cannot discern,
what's seen on TV,
with the reality of life.
I hurt for you,
as I must understand,
there is no malice.
You don't have command
of your thoughts,
on any night or day.
Why is God
treating you this way?

When did this mystery arise?
Was there a new reason,
or the resurfacing of fear?
Why do all the questions,
pop into my warped mind?
Is there a new reason,
or is the problem, just mine?

Can a mind run dry of words?
It probably can, although it's not normal.
To stop writing? There isn't a clue,
so to this question, I answer,
"Please don't ask again as I am lost
and looking for an old friend."
Saying or writing this terrible line,
should make me humble, as I whine.
Please let me write, leave me be.
I have developed more love
of people like you.
Sorry, I can't help it for it is what
I do. Fickle? I suppose those words
describe this aged, old man
for I'm sure God has a plan, for
these rambling words of mine,
which flow over the land.
I may not know but you may
think on the subject and understand.

Her lips were red,
the color of cherries,
her eyes sparkled now.
The breath of her mouth,
was moist on your neck, bare,
as your heart was a flutter
and you thought of love,
with the soft music playing,
quite close and near,
was how it happened ,
when you a young lad,
hugged your first girl.
I hope it was then
and will happen once more,
before life is at end
with Death near the door.

If I'm cooking in our kitchen,
there will be no bitchen,
for this space belongs to me.
Don't mess with sauce cooking,
when I am not looking,
no adding salt to my gravy.

And there he was, plain as day,
with a 6 pack, in his hand,
asking a question, a smile on his face.
"Hello Mrs. Smith. Can Bobby come out to play?"