Magazine Posts

I lay in bed
with a thought of Ewe
in my head.
For counting of sheep
is supposed to help you sleep.
I hear a neigh in my ear,
for I can't disappear,
as the evening is nigh.
Oh, wait. I need to explain,
I'm talking of reign;
not talking about rain,
for if I do there,
it will be pain (ful)
as I place my head through
the window pane.

Looking out the window pane,
the streets are wet
with a Springtime rain.
As I lookout I bet,
the newspapers
may be dry, hopefully not wet.

Last night you talked to me.
Your words got in the way.
You kept calling me Joe,
and then you said Scott,
then back to saying Joe.
I know I shouldn't have,
but it is what I did;
I asked you for my name
and you said, "It's Joe."
It isn't my name,
and I told you so
but you continued
to call me Joe.

From the cold waters of Lake Lenore,
come the voices from a bird haven.
Dark as night, not a Crow but a Raven.
A bird who will blot the Sun from the door,
saying over and over again, "Nevermore."
What sayeth now? I asked of him.
He wouldn't say but he looked grim.
"I have no words, to say to you,
for I know you always abhor,
a bird who talks, saying, Nevermore.?"

I don't give a dime
for your thoughts today
or any amount of money
to hear you say.
"I don't want any money,
just your input,
but at the end of your request,
you ask for more money.
Every request I hear
is stated as if its the
end of the World.
You need to understand,
the old fable of
"The Boy Who Called Wolf."
Too many urgent requests
loses the intensity of
being truly an emergency.

Sunlight drifting, near and far,
touching grass, across the yard.
Why does the Sun I see
bring forth a serenity?

When our first sunny day,
slowly fades to night.
We'll see all the birds
leave, as they take flight.
The Sun slowly slides
down the edge of the sky
with a beautiful sunset
and I ask, "Why?"

I love the noise
of waves, a crash.
The smell of air,
with a salty taste;
The feel of cold
sand beneath my feet;
The cries of Seagulls,
in aerial flight,
as Sunlight brings
the shore alive.

I'm alone in the dark,
years before cell phones.
A small flashlight,
it's called a "pen",
for it resembles,
the instrument
of its name.
Not much light
but I can still see,
the small patch
of ground, near my feet.
Not much help,
not to me,
but anything will do,
at a quarter to three.

I stood there looking at thee.
I watched you but couldn't see,
For I was lost in my reverie,
What has now happened to me?

Long will I wonder,
how long it will last,
the perennial question,
which haunts my past.
Don't wish for tomorrow,
please enjoy this day,
for the joy of this moment
will soon go away.
The friends of your youth,
are no longer here.
They have left this place,
but their spirits are near.
Enjoy your friendships,
as we always should do,
for the future of tomorrow,
depends upon you.

I've lost control,
of this stage of life,
seeing the damage Dementia
has done to my wife.
There are lucid moments,
in day time and night,
but there is a weirdness,
when Sundown takes flight.
Wandering the house,
as a stranger would do.
Please help me Lord,
as my answers are few.