Magazine Posts

I lie in bed
near your side
and know my feelings
deep inside,
are one of fear
of what to do
for I know
I'm losing you.

The winds of time,
a sea of change,
warps all our life's
sweet thoughts refrain.
Upsetting those who trust,
casting aside aspersion
of feckless dust.
What happens now,
you wretched man?
Time to leave with
your feet of sand.

I was you, long before
you entered the World.
I am older; wiser I am not
but more experience,
in these Worldly matters,
as I have lived them.
You have not.

How do you say, goodbye,
painlessly?
What are the words to use,
when you see,
the slow progression towards
her insanity?
The sadness inside this wretch
of a man,
who never had a significant,
thought out plan,
to care for his wife,
an elderly child.
Fortunately for I and for she
her actions are mild.
I pray, that I soon will see
a way for a goodbye,
with dignity.

It was 4 AM. The sound was loud,
as if a door had been slammed.
My first thoughts were, "Someone's
in the house" but no more noise
was heard.
Then I realized, it was the paper
delivery person, throwing the paper
at the garage door.
I had complained several times about
the Times being delivered wet, when
left in the middle of the driveway,
when raining. Our driveway slopes
from the house to the street and
if the paper is in the driveway, it gets
wet.
I like the paper dry so I don't have to
drive to the store for a replacement.
I had asked for the delivery to be placed
next to the garage door.
My request was realized.

The Owl calls in the dead of night.
Calls once more then takes flight,
on wings of feathers so soft,
flying to a different tree loft.

This World of insanity
where the citizens
want to be free.
Free to live a life
of joy and escape poverty.
Is that wrong? It must be
as they separate our children
from our family.
I worry not for you,
nor do I think or do,
the thing that comes to mind
when seeing this, our cruelty
of this display by mankind.

These words that I write; they are many,
flow to the paper notebook, on my lap,
not into a computer, which would be easy.
I hand scratch, with a Pilot G-2 roller.
A wonderful pen to have in hand
that will respond, on demand.

Comes the Gander
with his gaggle
of strutting Geese.

From the barnyard,
across the pasture
to waters edge.

Pausing at muddy slope
allowing all to pass,
watching, ever watching,
alert to danger's sign ;.

Into the water
all tuned in,
to feed in reeds
and cattail rushes.

Cold rain is falling
on dead leaves of this Fall
moistening the ground.

I am at that age, where I understand
the need for Velcro, no tie shoes
and snaps instead of buttons.

Leaves of yellow and brown
lie compacted on the ground,
covering plants, paths and pots
awaiting this Spring's Forget me Nots.