Magazine Posts

The Moon; silver disk up high.
Reflecting moon beams
across a flat sky.
No clouds to obstruct our view,
enjoyment is ours when
I watch it with you.
You are my light,
you are my Sun
the Mother of all
where our life's begun.

I now pray,
once again,
for salvation
of this man
who chooses
to ignore
the fight
of those
in need.

For want of love,
I search for you,
but you are gone,
where, you only know.
You disappear as you,
most often now do,
thinking of what now,
if only I knew.

This World is a "funny" place,
filled with laughter and dread,
until the hateful rhetoric about Race,
smacks you, on the side of your head.

My mind has chosen to wander,
a distant path towards
the corner of
nooks and crannies.
Dislodging memories,
stuck in my head.
Memories of many occurrences
I thought were dead.
Capture them now, don't wait
using ink and pen,
for if not on paper;
they will end.
These sensitive thoughts you find,
not "Let's Pretend."
Pretend you are a Pirate with
a big sword
and you're at sea, aboard ship,
of your own.
When you come across, a Merchant
Ship of Trade.
You soon will board this ship
and capture the flag,
all booty and treasures
will be yours.

My grandmother was born in
Palouse City, Washington Territory.
Something I never knew
until later in life.
A Pioneer? Probably so.
She worked her life away,
when not bearing children,
as a Station Agent/Telegrapher,
for the Northern Pacific Railroad.
As a young boy, I spent time in
a small station, that is no longer
on the RR tracks but was moved
by my Father to his property,
a short distance away.
I recall that the train was used
as a US Mail Carrier.
The train didn't stop to deliver the
mail but would throw it off, in bags,
to the Station Platform.
Picking up the mail was accomplished
by an arm that had the mail bags,
suspended, and a hook on the Mail
car would grab the bag. Mail was
sorted in the Mail car for delivery to
the next town for distribution.
I have great memories of that
Station and of my Grandmother
operating the telegraph key.
She retired from the Norther Pacific
many years ago.

I awoke in the morning,
thank you God for that.
Arthritic hands; a dull ache.
Back is sore from bending over
to pull weeds, once more.
Reseeded lawn, starting to grow,
Dahlias planted, nothing to show.
Slugs have enjoyed the rain,
eating our Primroses, for breakfast and lunch.
Something the rabbits wont do.
Daffodils are still growing strong;
Tulips are on their last legs.
Soon we will be seeing more color,
but we need some warm weather,
starting today, the weather they say.
Thank you for the beautiful setting,
a most colorful, Spring array.

The best part of living this long,
are all the friends you made.
The worst part appears to be,
how many friends are no longer here.
Life can be fickle. Being strong to endure,
for all the factors attached are obscure.
I miss my friends; my memories do recall,
all the good things, Spring, Summer and Fall.
The best part of life have roared fast,
a blink of the eye, it's now past.
Put your trust in your Lord above,
remembering to cherish; remember to love.

Are the words you say today,
the truth,
or what you believe
adulterated by opinions
of others,
who have little experience
in what they do?

New Columbine starting to flower
Remarkable what happens
After a rain shower.

The air is thick
just like your head.
You are a spiteful one,
no matter what's said.
Your anger when you're
caught in the lies,
should be directed to you,
and personalize.
Thank the Veterans who
died to protect
your crooked life.
God help you, kids and wife.

The Sun is rising
on this wonderful day.
Here I sit with
my hands of clay,
knuckles most sore.
This I am sure,
too bad there isn't
a simple cure.