Magazine Posts

There is no noise.
There is no dread
About the sounds
Within my head.

A melodious sound
Both near and far.
It calls to me,
"Stay where you are
Don't run away
Stay here and fight;
Take the battle
Into the light."

Brighten the day
With morning Sun,
Tells the World,
Life has begun.

The moss, on this side of the tree,
is unlike the love inside of me.
Clinging to the rough Bark hide,
my soul has withered and has died.

Talk not, to me
about aches and pain,
for you, understandably
must complain.
If you feel at a loss
of words,
then you may understand
how absurd.
It is, don't you see,
the loss of a dementia patients
own memory.

The long legged cat
passed on the trail.
He was quite elegant,
but was missing his tail.
A tail he had
when quite young,
but lost it when fighting
during the setting Sun.
If you see this elegant cat
with his stub raised high
give him some room
and let him pass by.

No more cries, ere the
morning light.
No more whys of this
present plight.
No more random talks
without a notion.
No more discussion
with no emotions.
No more ringing
of the bell.
No more consideration,
gone to hell.
No more talks,
about anything.
No more happiness,
will it bring.
No more of life,
we know today.
No more my wife,
who will go away.

An interesting time, it was then
when the beach was in view.
Thankful for the time I had with you.

I'm not the one I used to be.
It matters not, if you love me,
For I know, my love for you,
Is here today. It matters not what you do.

And she said to me; she surely did.
"I don't remember my Mother, not at all."
She left the room and I tried,
But I wept with sorrow and I cried.
The tears flowed down my cheek.
Dear God, why am I so weak?

Life is like a flower.
Here today
Gone tomorrow

When I wrote verse, many years ago,
our young Son's would tease me so.
It influenced the shyness in me,
as I quit writing incessantly.
The writing I did, some forty years
long past, were put away.
Then a good friend told me about
Kudos365.com. and I began to
write again, for you all to see.
I had many folders, that had been
stored, but the pencil I used
then, had started fading away.
Now, here I sit, with pen in hand,
trying to write about the past
so you would now understand.
Perhaps I need to write more
with out any kind of a whine
and do it after a glass of wine.

Away he goes, off to the Sea;
for the Sirens are calling He.
Return to the Islands, so nice.
Come back to this tropical paradise.
Return he must, but not this day,
for here is where he must stay.

Be thankful for what we love.
Pray to the one, high above.
For a belief is the reason
To be thankful this Holiday Season.