Magazine Posts

Forego the wind.
Forego the fame.
I ask only
for your name.
We were young,
when we met.
Asking of you,
with no regret.
My memories gone.
Fleeing the scene,
escaping from here,
for I mean,
of something thought,
is your last name;
what I forgot.
Help me now,
oh pretty please.
Keeps me hanging,
not nice to do,
dangling in the breeze.

It's getting close.
It's getting near,
when a mosquito's sound
is what you'll hear.

When weird things happen, in early night.
When crazy talk, comes from your wife.
When she admits, she knows not why,
she doesn't cry; doesn't cry.
Why does she say she doesn't belong,
here with me, in this house ours.
Sun downing can be a terrible sight,
raising the hackles on this neck, mine.
I am here, now alone, in this time.

A warming wind blows through the trees,
softening the ground, to prepare and appease,
the last of Winter; A spring breeze.
The Native name for this warm breeze, was Chinook.
Warming ground, melting snow, which it took,
the coldness of Winter away from here,
as the Spring change made flowers appear.
I love this time and always will,
awaiting the coming of the Daffodil.

The black cloak of night
descends on this World, ours
and moonlight may come again
as the Moon fights with the Stars.
Are we creatures of the dark?
Do we keep our voices hidden?
Can we not be friends again
or must our friendship be ridden.
Rid us of the hate we have
for others who do not look
the same as us.
Before long we all will be riding
on this excuse of a fairness bus.

A love lost.
Friends gone away,
as we await
the Judgement Day.

The flashing rays of sunlight,
splash across the window pane,
as another day, bids adieu,
in this life of human pain.
So many in the World, are now
gone on this new Spring day,
for the Virus came to visit
and took our loved ones away.

From deep within
this lost soul of mine,
arises the fear
of being unaware;
compromise of course.
A word we do not use
to improve the lives
of our fellow man
or become, the rule,
for our law today,
ignored by some
to hate or be,
the dregs of this
unfair economy.

If I have a poetry predilection,
is it considered a poem addiction?

My mind is gone,
so I won't pretend,
and now await
my life to end.
I no longer have,
patience or desire,
for my life is over,
no more the fire.

Lose the attitude
of being.
Close your eyes,
so unseeing.
Pain of others,
compassion fleeing.
Re-affirm your life's
future meaning.

What will this new day bring?
The sight of new flowers,
in this cold, cold Spring.
The coldest days
in one hundred twenty-five years,
brings forth the hurt,
brings forth the fears.
Stop the Virus now! Today.
Before civilization goes away.