Magazine Posts

There are no words, I can say,
about the outcome of your day,
for I know not, of your Dementia mind.
I am sorry, I do not mean to be unkind.

I was sitting in the corner
of a smoke filled saloon.
A jukebox was playing a new,
Rock 'n Roll, Chuck Beery tune.
Having a beer, with a friend,
was my plan, for the night.
Have a drink and be mellow,
and avoid getting in a fight.
It was then I saw her.
She was sitting at the bar.
Her hair long; pulled up tight.
The laugh, I heard, was, well,
like the sound of a beautiful bell.
She looked my way, only twice.
No eye contact; not to me.
It was my entertainment of the night,
for there wasn't more, to be.

Scrambled eggs and bacon,
Rye toast on the side,
Is my favorite breakfast
Or when I can't decide,
If Oatmeal is my fore,
On this morning bright.
I am so hungry
After a sleepless night.

Across this land of broken dreams.
Across this land of abject sorrow,
Comes now a better day,
A more beautiful day on the morrow.

Along the shores,
of the Great Lake's water,
there grew weeds and willow trees,
with long limbs touching the surface,
of the lakes body. There lived a
man, you might mention, if you knew
of his presence. Stood he tall and
unassuming; purveying all his domain.
Here he lived unprotected. Here he
would live his life again.
He was the Captain of his making;
A strength of one, who only knew,
his was the last recollection,
of his world, from which he grew.
Go you now, with soul so pure,
resist the evil, on this day.
Stay with us, with your strength,
in this land where you pray,
where we all of us now belong.
Stay the course, remain you here,
be the strength, be thee strong.

Alone I sit,
with pen in hand,
awaiting the words
with no command.
Words now missing,
as I search in vain
of where they're hidden
and now will remain.
Lost within this greying mind,
come out, from where you hide.
Return to me; save my pride.
I have a need. I surely do,
if I am to still write these words
for all of you.
The well is dry.
It's full of sand,
there is no writing,
when you cannot command.

A mind
at fault,
a mind
at rest,
isn't good,
isn't best.

Search you not, for the shiniest bead,
it has no value; it will not feed,
your empty belly, with the food you need,
so drink the water, plant the seed.
This is a problem. Have you agreed?

Long may you walk, this Earth profound,
from your early life, to elder days.
A cruel World, with some beautiful times,
with words, now spent, from memory banks,
of empty bins and shelves all bare.
No action now. No one to give
or provide aid to how we lived.

When I was younger,
probably forty or forty-three,
I purchased a sports car.
A Fiat 124 Spyder, Convertible;
French Blue in color with
an Abarth dual Exhaust.
I loved the sound
the engine made, through
those pipes, when you tapped
the accelerator pedal.
Chills would run, up and down
my spine, for I knew this car
belonged to me.
Me and the Bank.

Help me Lord,
Wade the river
Of hate and infamy,
For my step weakens,
Walking where I cannot see.

Drive your car through the water
with the tires breaking the surface,
of the waters, smooth as glass.
Write about your new adventure.
Do it now, while memories last.
Think about the new tomorrow,
by bringing back your old past.