Magazine Posts

Into the wind, into the Sun,
a mail carrier's work
is never done,
especially, this time of the year
when letters, cards and packages
are delivered, full of good cheer.
Unless there is something for you,
a bill from a Business marked, "Past Due."

I hear a voice talking.
It's speaking to me.
Hear all my words,
just let it be.
Think not of sorrow
or of your pain,
be ready the morrow,
to restart life again.

Rest in peace, my long ago friend.
I'll see you soon. Don't know when.
Your name Larry, we called you "Jake",
we all had nick names to take.
You were quiet with a humorous view.
Being with the Lord, is now You.
Larry say hello to Frank and Jim,
while I say a prayer; sing a Hymn.
Good bye for now, my old friend.

Away we go. Again to the sea.
It is the location, waiting for me.
Smells of the ocean and the noise,
brings back memories, with all the joys.
Sounds of Seagulls, smelling the air,
are blessed events, when I am there.

I tire now.
My hand has a cramp
for writing these words,
has extinguished my lamp.

Fate can be funny,
It can be sad.
Sometimes it is good,
It also may be bad.

My favorite, during isolation,
was the discovery we made,
which brought us great elation.
The Rooster Bakery out
Woodinville way, on the East
side of Highway 202, as you
head South from Woodinville.
It is an oasis; a refuge,
with it's open patio, surrounded
by high walls of grape vines.
During clear days the patio was
lovely. When there is "foul" weather,
we go indoors, to a cozy setting,
amongst the many antiques.
Both proprietors are friendly,
courteous, warm and gracious hosts.
They have taken an interest in my
wife, who has Dementia and treat
us like Family. For this I am very
grateful.
As an aside, their wine and spirits
are made on premise. There is a
lovely arrangement of baked goods
including a wonderful Lentil soup.
A tasting room has wine made in the
old style and a broad assortment of
brandies.

In the early days
of this life of mine,
I had no money,
not a single dime.
The work for some,
took too much time,
to achieve the result
and pay the fine,
for being a poor
relative of mine.

Where is the joy, which life will bring?
Is it in the early year, a new Spring,
When bulbs and plants do their thing,
As the flowers bloom and birds sing?

Being alone, is a state of mind.
I do enjoy the quiet I find.
Is it bad? Is it so unkind,
Peeling back words to unwind?

I need help.
Someone to write
These words for me,
As they spill
From my head,
Fast and readily.
My hands are now
Cramping, I see,
As I scribble words,
Which come from me.

The words were bad;
I've heard them before.
"Get up! Quit dragging your blanket,
Across the family room floor.
Get off your rear.
Get out of bed.
Do not let the negative thoughts
Stay in your head.

I lay next to her, my oldest friend,
with fear by my side, as I pretend.
The life we have loved, is close
to the end, as she morphs into a
child. A young child once again.
A young person, in her mentality,
but old in her physical reality.
My head on the pillow
as tears start to seep,
while the sadness overcomes me,
as I pray for others, and fall asleep.
I write of sadness, to no avail,
wondering about life and my fail.
Failed to keep her safe from harm.
A failure too late, to see the alarm,
as her memories, slowly fade away.
Please don't tell me, "Have a good day."