Magazine Posts

What have you written,
my little smote?
Stay away from religion.
Don't discuss the vote.
These words that I write,
make no sense to me,
when I wake up at three.
Back to bed will I go
for I'm tired of this time
and do not like it
when my words do not rhyme.

Among the paths through
our garden here,
where Perennials planted
far and near.
Daffodils, Tulips, Hellebore ,
Columbine, shades and hues,
Grape Hyacinth; Bluebells too.
Hot lips or Salvia, draw forth,
Humming birds, for nectar sip.
Azaleas in shades of pink,
in this lovely garden space.
Rhododendrons towering above,
bringing colors of purple face
while I till the soil, in this garden space.

Dark clouds of evening,
blot out the light.
There is no moon on this
dark shadowed night.

I am proud of you
for you don't complain,
although I'm sure
you have mental pain.
No memory of objects,
no recalling days,
but if items are
missing, you will say,
"Something's not right."
I tell you now. Every day,
loving you this time
is what I must do,
for I miss the lovely you.

Writing can be hard,
so what can I say.
I had a stroke
on Martin King Day.
A minor one, he spoke
as I listened readily.
I saw half a word
in the paper I read.
The diagnosis was a TIA,
no damage, on this day.
When I asked about
what should be done
if another one came?
He said call Nine, one, one.

Bright are the lights
of the rising Sun.
If it ever stops raining
perhaps we'll see some.

Rain with wind
surrounds us now
splattered sidewalks

No more will I sleep in our bed.
No more will I lay my weary head
Upon the pillow, lying next to thee,
For what it is, soon will be
Over no matter what I say
Now I must continue to pray.

A long day into night,
the darkest I've known,
blots out the light.
No Moon up above,
no moonlight to see,
no reason to love,
this plight that we have
amongst women and men.
In the Spring, Summer or Fall
on this longest of days,
I'll pray for my friends and
enemies, I'll say,
"I'm not sure about me,
but I am about thee."

We had Liberty in a foreign port
and had to be back to ship by
12 Midnight, or Cinderella Liberty.
Returning to our ship prior to
2400 hours, or 12 midnight,
you would approach the ship
and do a hand salute to the stern
or rear of the ship, then a hand salute
to the Officer of the Deck, saying
"Requesting permission to come
aboard, Sir". Salute returned.
Then to your bunk, quietly undress,
clothes placed in your foot locker.
Climb into the suspended cot,
on to your mattress covered
by enclosing into a bag or as
we lovingly referred to as a
"Fart Sack." Pull the woolen
blanket over you and go to sleep.
Another day in Paradise,
courtesy of our Uncle Sam.

The trembling limbs
on that first date.
The nervous laugh,
about not being late.
Your radiant smile,
my crooked grin,
out to the car,
to the movie we went.
Finding our seats,
the lights dimmed.
Holding her hand,
she sat next to me.
The joy of love,
was so happily,
not meant to be.
One of infatuation,
with a lovely girl
made my heart
beat so rapidly,
but this puppy love
was not to be.