Magazine Posts

My brain has been given an enema.
Words pop out quicker that I can write.
No meaning or correlation,
Nothing in sight. Just write
As fast as I can and clear
The clutter, in my mind.
Nice words, cuss words, perhaps some kind.
It matters not, just don't leave
Words behind. It makes no sense
As words flow free. I can't think
Of what they will be. Simple words
Or ones quite complex. It matters
Not one little bit. I do need
To write slower and clearer, if I am
Going to read these later. It may
Be a folly to see, what these words
Mean to me. I make no attempt
To rhyme or tell you it's good for
Mankind. No lie on anything for
You to hear as I desperately claw
Out these words and be free of all
Hidden thoughts or when it goes,
Emotional dither, the word hither, tries
To appear. I wish I could just shut
Off this spewing of words, that mean
So little or just let them go somewhere
In the middle. Goodness me, she used to
Say; the words are prolific on this bright day.
Enough my hand is cramping up quite a bit so
I'm thinking it is time to now quit.
What gibberish I write, without any doubt.
I won't be running or whooping about
But I will sit silently, under a tree
And thank the Lord, I have thee.

What an outburst of words gushing
While I write fast to grab the words rushing
Down to the paper, here on the desk
And not as jumbled up as all the rest.

Is this the death rattle of a
Senile mind? Or just a random thought
That escaped from this memory pit
Of lost words, long forgotten?
Memories that spill out
In the dead of night.
I wish I knew, for I do not
Understand or know the plot
Of life, that we savor so.
I suppose I could just let go.

I was a Cur and lived on the street.
Running and hiding, I'd make my retreat.
Eating when hungry was a sweet luxury
But more often than not, it wasn't me.
My ribs pushed through my aged skin,
I didn't realize the trouble I was in.
Then one day, out of the blue
I met a person; not someone I knew.
She took me home on that very day,
Giving me a bath; washing the dirt away.
Having a home and loving company
I knew at last, that I was now free.

I had bladder cancer and was treated so,
That in my mind, I was cancer free.
A follow up procedure a week ago,
Found new growth.
Surgery, will soon be here, no hurry.
My Dr. told me not to worry.
This is my second operation, in a year
And I would like this cancer to disappear.
Am I worried? I say probably so,
But I have other things, I must do
To stay here and look after you.

I stare at you and see your face,
Radiate love for one and all.
No matter if they're large or small.
You have a way with the younger set
And compliment Mother's, that we've met.
A nice gesture for you to do,
And the reason why, I love you.

Normally, a Crow is a timid one,
But yesterday, I was on the lawn
And the Crow flew down, 10 feet away,
Starting to pull up tufts of moss,
Searching for a random worm.
I talked to the Crow, it had nothing to say
And flew off, not wanting to stay.

Thinking back to days to days gone by
And of those that I knew then.
Many were friends, some were not.
To reflect on this present day,
Of the friends that have gone away.
Away from life and all it's challenge.
Who am I, to stay here so long?
When many of our close friends are gone?

A right of passage, it was then
To get up early, don your gear,
Get in the car, for dawn is near.
The first day of stream fishing, this year.
We went up the Menashtash Creek, I recall
The water gurgling on rock and stone.
It was quiet, for we were alone.
The ice had formed on the stream edge,
Best fishing then, the first of the season,
No worms or lures, no given reason.
Bait up the hook, cast in the pool,
That was the method and it was cool,
For you as a boy, whose passion to fish,
Was the great fulfillment of his only wish.
Limited out, on this opening day,
Fresh trout on the menu, in early May.

Sometimes my head is in the cloud.
The noise, that I often hear,
Is me talking to myself, out loud.
Not yours to ponder about what is near,
Just be thankful, your not like me.

This life of ours, that we eschew,
Is not the same as people view.
The importance of the material things,
Like cars, boats, clothes and expensive rings.
Others will find a full life of joy,
When they spend time teaching a girl or boy.
You can see all the love, from within
For others, at life's end or when a love begins.

From whence came I, she said?
I know not of my Mother;
Never have seen, Father mine.
Told he was a wanderer,
Who as a World traveler,
Roamed far and near
Away from me, so you can
Understand of the fear I bear,
For reaching out for another.
Are you sure your not my brother?

The veneer of my patience,
Has been wearing thin.
My shortness, is at the point,
Where it soon may begin.
I don't want that as it wouldn't please
As I know it's not her, it's the disease.