Magazine Posts

I sit, all hunched in the chair;
elbows on knees, hands to my head.
Worried now but still unaware
of all of the words, blue and red,
flying about through the Winter air.
Why is it I am not able to see,
the words to this life's mystery?

I awoke with a start,
as I heard my name,
but it was the wind,
blowing rain against the window pane.
Remained in bed, so did I,
as the wind made a noise,
like a small child's, sad cry.
Arising from bed; up this time,
looked out the window glass,
seeing the noise maker, who
made another most mournful mew.

As a small boy, I was never aware
of the dark, at the top of the stair.
I would explore the mystery's of Grandpas' house
much like the exploration of a curious mouse.
Exploring the old house could be a scare,
when finding the dark at the top of the stair.

I am in a hole.
I am in the ground.
Where I lie
there is no sound.

What do you say?
Who do you see,
When the World
is not
your cup of tea?

When the rays of light,
in the broad, Western sky,
fades into black;
another day has gone by.
If the clouds coat the night
or if it is clear,
a sky of starlight will appear.
No matter what is said,
there are more in the scene,
who are awaiting the missing vaccine.

The inner most workings
of this; our mind,
are difficult to describe,
no matter the time.
When a disease attacks,
this brain of ours,
we may lose memories
or the names of others.
The loss of direction,
in your own house,
while the names
of objects you don't know.
Oh what a loss
it will soon be,
for all thoughts,
have now left thee.

Accidents can happen,
is what they say.
Who is they?
I hope and will pray
to live a free life,
for the rest of my day,
though it will matter not
when my love goes away.

Why am I here,
on this beautiful day?
What is life's purpose,
What words can I say?
Praise be to God,
for all which you bring;
the suffering and agony,
as the Pandemic thing,
sweeps lives away.
Why does this happen?
There's no one to say.

Do you tire of the "bramble"
and the long cacophony of words?
When my mind begins to ramble
and my thoughts become absurd,
when the words no longer come
as they did the year before,
while my creative process,
is missing. Nothing more.

Spring forth the flames
of our history's past,
when we were loved;
when we also laughed.
There were no strangers,
we all were friends,
who talked to others
and did not pretend,
to stay away,
from those they loved.

There are very few pleasures, which come with age,
so losing something of enjoyment now
is taxing the old man's tired mind,
who enjoys his friends and a glass of wine.
Please excuse me now, for I'll move on,
trying not to complain but Dear Lord,
please lose the freezing and take us back to rain.