Magazine Posts

I am just a wee, little mouse,
Living outside, not in your house,
But if, I can get into your place,
I'll explore, all over, leaving a trace
Of my droppings, that let you see,
That visitor you had. Well that was me.

Give me the sliders, hold the bun.
Is this what my life has become/

A new flower
at least it's new to me
blooms almost instantly

Planted new bulbs,
Spring of this year.
Now they began,
In July to appear.
A beautiful flower,
Perennial in fact,
Blooms like this;
A wonderful act.
Enjoy.

Last day of July
Not here, not any more
Zinnias are in bloom.

I sit on a lily pad,
looking at the blue sky,
watching for shadows,
that catch my eye.
If I see a shadow or movement,
then into the water,
I'll jump, again.
I am a Bullfrog;
proud as can be,
for I'll sing my song
and I will sing it for free.
The sound of my voice,
along with my Frog friends,
bring a rapturous melody
so I can pretend,
that if kissed by a Princess,
my Frog life will end.
Are you a Princess, I ask thee?
If you are, please oh please,
just kiss me.

I have noticed a change of late.
Of frustration that has now appeared;
An element of fear, mixed with hate,
For this unforgiving disease.
As I see this change, I can't relate
To what is going on inside her head,
That makes her say, "I wish I were dead."
All I can do, all I can say,
Please my love, don't go away.

My love is with me, here, today.
By tomorrow, she'll have gone away.
The mind is a most curious thing,
Today, knowledge; tomorrow nothing to bring.

I'm in San Diego, as I do remember.
The time of the year? Mid December.
Walking down Broadway, in Civilian clothes,
My first Christmas season, spent not at home,
for here, at 20 of age, I was alone.
There were other people here, just like me,
in the U. S. Navy, serving our Country.
Broadway Ave, was the street I walked down,
when I ran into a friend, from my hometown.
What a surprise for me to see,
a friendly face. who was alone, like me.

I sit there with my hair "slicked" back.
If I weren't a young man,
I would probably, let out a quack,
My hair was groomed with "butch" wax.
A "Princeton" they called it,
short on the top,
long on the sides,
combed from front to back,
then a vertical line
on the back of my head,
gave me that look, a DA.*
A White Stag jacket, all white,
with the collar turned up
and my pant cuffs were tight.
Pegged pants, was the word we would use,
you could put in your feet, sans your shoes.
Pants were hung below the waist, at your rear.
One sharp looking Dude, with a strut.
A fashion that held for a few more years.

* DA = ducks a-- or more politely it's rear

Down the hill, under the trees,
is a small pond, with water lilies.
Under a fallen log, covered with moss,
there, hidden away, a small tiny house.
In this small structure, you could see,
a wee creature, that looked like me.
When I, as a child, visited this place,
there was no one, no memory to erase.
Now all these precious memories of mine,
are thoughts, gathering dust of lost time.
I have this place, sacred to me,
where all my thoughts, are there to see.

Sun and rain
Summer is now gone
Oops, back again.