Magazine Posts

When leather soled shoes find the rain,
they act like a sponge soaking up water.
The soles become slick as a skate.
If you don't watch your step, you
may have great pain.
Stepping on a painted step, going
downstairs, when my feet slipped
and I unceremoniously fell on my
rear. I was now sitting there with
the packages I was carrying.
I got up. Took another step
and I once again was on my rear.
Didn't hurt much to land on your
rump, at least not mine.
The lesson learned in this life
of mine was to rid my self of
those leather soled shoes,
that showed me how to do
that slippery dance.

Up early in the morning
for a hot cup of tea
as coffee, my coffee
does not agree with me.

Forever the light,
but not anymore,
because it is fate
knocking on our door.

Words fly to the page,
written to engage,
the reader. A type
who enjoys this tripe.
Some words are lined through,
that is what I do,
for erasures won't begin
when you write with a pen.

No time to worry.
No time to see.
Our life together,
will no longer be.

It was after WWII was over,
when I was quite young.
I remember that my teen
years were in play.

My father worked for Todd's shipyards
on the Duwamish, in West Seattle.
After the war was over, he was laid off
and purchased a bar, The Looking Glass Tavern,
on 45th, West of the Blue Moon.
It was quite the watering hole for the returning
Veterans. Wine and beer could be purchased
but beer was the beverage of choice.
A small place that was close to UW.

On Sunday mornings, after church,
I would go with my father to help clean up.
I can still smell the sourness of spilt beer.
and the stale smell of tobacco.
I wasn't very helpful but my father would
let me sit at the bar. Closed on Sunday due to the
"Blue Laws" in effect in the City.
My father would pour me a Coke and I could have
a pickled Polish Sausage. I remember how that tasted
when washed down with a Coke.
I do remember the good time with my father,
when he owned The Looking Glass Tavern.

At some time that next year my mother decided
she wanted to move back to the Ellensburg area
where many of her sisters were as was her mother
and father. My Grandpa worked for the Kittitas Valley
Reclamation District, East of Ellensburg, but that
is a different story.

Many years later, I was on an adult soccer team
and we were playing at the Soccer pitch by Green Lake.
I told my two friends that were riding with me
about stopping there for nostalgic reasons.
It was no longer The Looking Glass Tavern but had a
different name.
I approached the door and it was exactly like I
remembered, Bar to the left, Booths to the right.
No Coke this time so I ordered a beer and a Pickled
Polish Sausage.
The sausage tasted like it was all grease. One bite
and then I washed it down with beer.
The taste? Yuck. Maybe I needed a Coke.

I never asked for riches or fame,
nor did I want a well know name.
Just give me peace and a Star:;
guide me to where you are.

How many a day,
how many a Moon,
will you still be here,
with us in the room?

The lonely tune of silence is sung
by all the adults who are young.
Please stay with me, don't go away
for I need you more, every day.

Argh he said,
as he wiped off his chin
with the sleeve of his arm
and that's when it begin.

He was a motley type,
his face covered with hair.
Not very quick,
or I wasn't aware.

His eyes were dark blue,
I noticed his face,
he didn't belong here,
not of the human race.

He looked right at me,
that's when I saw,
the pinkish scar
underneath his jaw.
I thought I would ask him,
what the scar was about.
I opened my mouth wide,
but no words would come out.

I wanted to know about him.
Where did you come from?
But he turned his body,
and with a little sound,
was out the door,
and couldn't be found.

Forever the day.
Forever the night.
Life isn't easy
and we must fight.
Fight back our fear
of the great unknown,
after we have found,
the coop has been flown.
Track the culprit,
track him far.
Make sure he knows
just who you are.
Fate will come to he,
ad infinitum it will be.

Standing by the campfire,
so many years ago.
Trying to stay warm,
when it began to snow.
The hiss of snowflakes
into the flaming fire.
The flickering shadows,
across the ground
so white with snow.
Smelling the smoke,
now on our clothes.
Banking the fire,
going to our tent,
into our sleeping bag,
trying to sleep
until dawn
of a Winter morn.