Magazine Posts

A golden sunrise
Clouds, reddish, yellow and pink
Life's cycle

Can you tell me this per chance?
Have you ever seen a chicken dance?
I may have, when they scratched and dug.
Was that their version of cutting a rug?

An Oceans smell
Of salt, wind and spray.
Fly away

We were young and a pair of fools,
Who played hard, when we could,
Breaking all the known rules.
Frank was my close friend.
He became my best man.
We would go out to drink beer,
From bottles, not from a can.
Frank had a 47 Ford, Turtleback
And mine was a 47 Plymouth Coupe.
We would cruise through the 'Burg,
Around the block, doing a big loop.
We liked the noise of the cars
And would exchange our mufflers
With Smittys, glaspaks and
Were nice sounding with Echo cans.
We would cruise the town, like LeMans.
Noise from the Smittys were not crass
And when we cruised by the stores,
We could rattle the window glass.
Those were the days; no more to see
For most of my friends
Are now sweet history.

I don't know why.
You tell me,
Why my mind,
Locks up
With thoughts,
Too small
Or so large.
I need to clear,
At least for me,
This pile of words,
Hindering my mind.
Stuck away
To those places,
So deep inside.
Help me, please,
This voice does plead,
For I cannot see
What lies ahead,
Besides the agony
Of a body's failings.
No matter what.
No matter who.
I need freedom
To see myself
As others do.

Who am I, to you?
Who are you, to me?
I'm sure there's an answer,
Somewhere inside of thee.

Don't know why.
Don't know who.
It's just me.
Then there is you.

The flashing, moonlit arrows
reflect across the calm waters,
in the early morning hours
of a false dawn

Words in my head,
words that I hear.
Write them down quickly
or they disappear.
Words with true meaning,
words that are false,
but they are leaning
to being something else.
Words that feed me.
Words that I see.
Thank God for
delivering them to me.
Words by themselves
have a lot to say.
For me it's simple
they brighten my day
I will keep writing,
as long as I can,
for after all
I'm a word driven man.

A lonely Iris
Poked through the ground
Bird Gardner?

In the distance; a flash of light.
A muted noise of thunder.
I see the flash and start my count
Of one thousand one, one thousand two,
To help me guess, how far away.
I've always liked to hear the noise,
As a thunderstorm approaches.
To smell the air, during this show
As lightning, this time, appears to
Be heat lightning, flashing across the sky.
I recall a year, when in awe.
Lightning bolts, would commence
And march as soldiers to battle.
Spectacular it is, when Nature's show,
Lights up the sky, to make us aware
Of the power, in those serene skies.
We'll await for the next time.
Why are my words trying to rhyme?

I can't imagine what you are going through
When you no longer know what to do.
Patience for me, is what I need
To understand, care and to feed,
The failing mind of the one I hold dear.
Please don't forget me. That's what I fear.
But if that time comes, when you do
Forget my name. I will still know you.
I love you so, my dearest wife.
It pains me to see this in your life.