Magazine Posts

I write tonight, with tired mind.
My heart is now full of upcoming dread,
For my beloved, with Dementia I see,
Is now losing her long term memory.
There are two factors, here and now
No short term or long term memory, Wow!
I understand what this will mean
To her, me and all those in between.
Saying I am in a sad review
Of losing my only you.

There is no reason.
It makes no sense,
why a person, like you
should sit on the fence.
It matters what you do,
for me, in November
I will vote Blue

Of you, I want nothing at all,
until November; the upcoming Fall.
For it is then I will do
voting for my favorite shade of Blue.

When we say, "Remember the Alamo",
We weren't there and we didn't know
About the many actions they took,
Unless we read the words, from a book.
Yet here we are in this time present,
When the loss of life, is like a torrent,
And here we are where we cannot hug,
While this Administration, hides under a rug.
Don't suppress these thoughts in mind,
For the cruelty by Trump to mankind.

I am at a stage, in this writing life,
where I don't recall all I write.
As I write these words down now,
there is no memory of if or how.
Why are these voids within my head?
No one will know but me and instead
of pondering on this difficult task,
I could reach out and just ask
of the readers, who read of me.
Am I writing for you to see?
Or is this just another fantasy?

My wife has Dementia.
It is hard to see,
for she does well socially.
You would never know
she has issues with her memory.

Is she too close to me, to see
she is the best part of me?

I am struggling this morning to write
my own words. I can't seem to
rid my mind of the lyrics of
"Bye, Bye, American Pie" by Don
McLean.
Words so profound, about "The
Day the Music Died."
It was the day the World lost the music
of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, the Big Bopper,
aka, J P Richardson and the pilot Roger Peterson.
The day was February 3, 1959.
I was sitting with my lovely wife, on our deck,
listening to music. It was better than watching all
the re-runs on TV
I am a child of the first commercial TV in Seattle.
Programs of the late 40's.
TV is ingrained in my Soul. Mostly children programs,
in Black and White with a lot of snowy background.
You could see images but...
It was a time so long ago, I have to dig deep in
my memory to pull it forth.

The candle flickers. My thoughts
do too, for I am remembering
the best part of you and our
short time together, just us two.
Where did the time go?
What kept us apart?
I can't recall the specifics of
passion, now gone,
nor of the time when we
fought. Those times were
blessed with me. Perhaps
the reason, we parted ways
was because of my thoughtless
forays of life, not meant for
me. I took the cowardly
way out by going to Sea
as I filled my service obligation
in the United States Navy.

My Father would tell me
when I was a boy,
"You must play with a stick,
there's no money for a toy."
We used our imagination,
as only young children can
and we played for hours.
all running to kick the can.

There lives a deadness, inside of me.
This life of ours, may never be,
A time of love and I see,
You no longer know of our history.
I say to you and tell you all
Or say as much, as I recall
About the joy and beauty of life.
How we met and became man and wife.
You say to me, in a simple tone,
"I don't remember, as I am now alone."
The feeling now, inside of me
Is we no longer share our long history.

Upon this ground,
where I long to be,
is one short step
into life's uncertainty.