Magazine Posts

The darkness of shadows.
A stillness of night,
Will show us our errors,
revealing our plight.
There will be no tomorrow
for many this day,
as the Co-vid virus,
has taken them away.
Two hundred thousand souls
are no longer here,
while this petulant child
plays golf, without fear.

I say to you now
and I'll say it again.
How can you measure
the strength of a man,
who will not accept
responsibility of his command?

When your loved one, says to thee,
"I don't have any of my family.
My parents are gone and I see,
You no longer like much of me."
I then explain about our history.
Words fly past and then I see
She no longer remembers me.

A long, long time ago,
in a place far away,
where the Elf and Fairy,
would come to play.
A wooded place with Sun
and shade,
where many toys and tools
were made.
Tools of trade, people
would say,
Sorcerer wands were made
every day,
for use by the Wizards, here
to stay.
A spell to move all the
darkness away.
The zap of a wand can sting
as well
for you will believe you've gone to the
Gates of Hell.

A gathering of people,
all wearing a mask.
I didn't recognize a single face
until the masks were
removed. It was not
surprising as I now understood,
the wearing of masks
was partially good.

Please Mr. Trump,
take your ball.
Just go away.
No more lies
are to be told
about your opponent
or how he is old.
You're no youngster now,
just a spoiled child,
with a brain so dim,
you might think
it's you, not him.
Your ego should not burst
as you are not good,
for you're the worst.

Are you here? Are you awake.
How many questions will it take
before the realization, of what she said
will lodge into the empty head.
Empty of our life and friends.
I cannot thank God. I can't pretend,
not liking what life has done to she
and where in this life, she will still be.

Can you avail a whale,
who's wailing at Sea?
Another stupid question,
as I now see,
the difference in words
of the wailing whale, formerly.

He'll come for me,
in the still of the night.
I'll go quite easily
and I will not fight,
for when the Night Rider,
calls out my name,
I will quickly answer,
while here you'll remain.
When the Night Rider
knocks on our door,
I will answer the knock
and be here no more.

As I sit, with pen in hand,
I must say, with no remand,
of writing two works, recently
as I sat in front of the
computer, writing quite freely.
Why do words, which I love
come easily from my trove
of words bouncing in my head?
Where is the senseless prose,
now taking me? I wish to know.
Let me be, o fate of mine,
I love all my friends, for sure
and hope my distant love
will last long and endure.

She walks with the grace
of a nubile dear.
A walk she has practiced
for many a year.
It is so easy for you,
to see her now.
Her movements are smooth.
I can only sigh and bow.

When she says to me,
"Here, I don't belong.
please, it is time,
to go to the Home."
My words to her,
do resound,
as I want her
near and around,
so I can care for her,
as long as I can.
My troth is to you,
but you don't understand.