Magazine Posts

She lies in bed
Unawake.
Her state of health
Understood.
Her memory gone,
Unaware.
She has Dementia,
Unfair.

Where is the thunder?
Where is the light/
Where is the outrage
About our Co-vid plight?
How do you justify,
The decision he made,
To lie to the citizens,
In his ugly parade.
A parade of lies
And what he did,
To jeopardize the lives
Of citizens life had.
It was a criminal act,
Telling lies instead of
Not talking about facts.

Nineteen years ago, on this infamous day,
The World changed; so many Souls, gone away.
A series of dastardly deeds, so bizarre.
The pain of loss; near and far,
Losing the lives of so many people,
Will be long remembered, for the toll
And harm coming to First Responder,
Left us here, to weep and wonder
About the hate of this Great Nation,
Brought to us, became an aberration.
God Bless the Souls of those that died
And for all those left who weep and cried.

I need you now.
I need you to see.
I am not the wretch,
You thought I would be.
I am better than before.
I wish there was a way,
I could divide in two,
For I have so many things
I now need to do.

What kind of a person,
What kind of a fool,
Would steal a sack lunch,
When they are at school?
A hungry one.

How old am I now?
I must have lost track.
I am old as can be
And feel death's breath on my back.

Your eyes were pools of blue.
They weren't the best part of you,
For the part of you I found
Was your view of life; so profound.
Your voice, the sound that Angels sing,
Would draw me to you, once again,
But you have left and gone away
And shan't return here, if I stay,
For a lost love, is what you are.
A lovely, beautiful shining star.
I miss you now, most every day
And I will write until I've gone away.

I watched a Cat
start stalking a hare
or perhaps it was
a Rabbit , there everywhere.
The animal sat still.
Still as can be;
the Cat was creeping,
stepping slow and quietly.
Admiring the Cat's patience,
I waited to see,
but the Rabbit hopped
off and left hastily.

It takes a steady hand, it will
to put a thread through a needles eye.
In my youth, I acquired this skill
but find myself, on this day
unable to put the thread away,
into the eye, no matter how I try.
With shaky hand and a tremor there,
I find the thread goes everywhere,
except where it should, through the eye
and so I continue to try, try and try.

May I talk to you?
Can I say the word?
I hear you laughing
and say,
"this is the start, not absurd,
of a great, great day
and a pot well stirred."

When words are hanging from
the low branches of the Word tree,
falling to a paper page where
we save and others can see,
the thoughts which are entwined
in this rambling prose of mine.

Will I see you soon?
I say to you
for my friend
you brought me to,
where I write my word
and write some more
until I am heard
or I should say, to be correct,
be read, for cause and effect,
as the words spill from fingers taut
writing about Forget me Not.