Magazine Posts

Up ahead, a ridge to climb,
upward on a roughed out trail,
through a forest plants, boulders too.
I pass through some gray cast shale
and upward go to altitude.
A broad expanse, far below.
I look and see the glow
of the sunrise, takes it's time
to brighten up this land divine.

You left me for another,
it was plain to see.
Did it have to be my brother,
for it really did, hurt me.

A cry, forlorn, into the night,
Created when observing a bad sight.
Where goes this Nation's moral soul,
When all we hear is more hyperbole.

I am tired of being alone.
My wife has Dementia,
and is now like a child
knowing not, how
to dress herself,
select her clothes
in the morning.
I lay out undergarments
for her in the a.m.
and some clothing options.
I don't know how to
deal with this new demand
that she needs.
I will learn for that is my task.
The most difficult thing
is to have her wear a mask.

An interesting question,
both near and wide.
Hey Mr President are
you on whose side?

Are you treasonous?
Is that the deal?
Tell us now, how
fake news is real.
Lie once more.
Do it again.
For I hope that
you don't win
at the polls,
we all must do;
Voting him out,
By voting Blue.

My hands; they still ache
and my feet are sore,
yet I continue to write
the words; I'll write more.

I have this image
staying in my head
of finding you wearing
your jeans in our bed.

From there to here.
From here to there,
The fate of this nation,
Depends now on prayer.
I pray to my God above,
For understanding and for love.
To forgive my friends who
Voted Red and didn't vote Blue.
We all err, it's what we do.
To correct an error, it's up to you.

The ball will bounce
any direction.
A bouncing ball is
not perfection.
So be prepared for the
bounce results,
for it may only
bring insults.

She sang to me
with voice refine.
A song of love
for Auld Lang Zine.

I was weeding the garden
when I heard the sound,
a lovely young voice,
it did astound.

A teenage girl
with hair a swirl
sang to me
with voice so free.
I laughed to my self
for I was amused,
by the sound of her voice
and the song she did choose.

A rite of passage
and old refrain.
Why is it now,
I can't remember your name?

Far across the meadow,
Beneath the Willow tree,
Became the place,
So dear to me.
A place to play,
And run around,
With children's laughter,
The only sound.
When life's discovery,
First came to be,
Underneath the beautiful
Weeping Willow Tree.