Magazine Posts

If what is who
and gone is went,
must we now go
but not relent
and make amends
for all the lies
that doesn't unite
just unties.
The future of this country;
where is the honorable man
who tells the truth
so we understand?
A stable genius,
he is not.
Unfortunately, he is
what we've got.
If you like him
that's your choice.
As for me,
I will rejoice
when he is gone.

Words are many.
Actions are few.
When the time comes
We need to
Get rid of you.
You take all the glory,
But not any blame.
Who are you now?
Trumplthinskin,

Hear the wind.
It whistles loud,
through open window.
Bringing more rain
to wet the ground
that slakes the thirst
of our gardens flowers.

Where do you go my darling
When you slip away
to another space in time
and into an eternity?

Wind, Rain
Spattered on window pane
Drops slide down

When day is gone
And night is spent,
I'll rise again
To greet the Sun.
The Sun my friend
Will warm our bones,
While we do tasks
To protect the old.
The History they made,
When they were young.
We must honor them
And the newborn child,
If we are to Succeed.
In a short while
We will soon discover
What it means to be
When all the World is free.

Years ago, it wasn't dumb,
if you had no car
you would stick out your thumb.
Hitch hiking was the thing that you'd do,
if you needed a ride, a short distance or two.
Doing that now, in these crazy times?
Not something, I want to do.

The glowing dot of an ember
appears in the ashes.
The wood begins to smolder
when flames start their dance
with the wood in the pit
as it's new fired romance.

Insidious, his action,
bereft of mind,
causing others pain,
no sense of caring,
just shows disdain.

The frog sits on the ball
thinking about nothing at all.
I can't think, don't you see
for I am a piece of pottery.

Nothing I say.
Nothing I write.
Nothing I do,
Will keep me
Away from you.

I am beginning to see so well
this, recurring, slow ride to Hell.
Dementia rears it's ugly head,
makes me think I am dead
to all those loves from before
are now laying on life's floor.