Magazine Posts

Forsake me not, she said to me.
Life will be what it will be.
Tell me not to change my way,
For now I live, just for today.
The morrow will be coming soon
And the night brings, the darkened Moon.
Fear of life, I keep hidden inside,
Searching for peace, for my life's ride.

Say what you want
Believe what you will
We have trouble
On the DC hill.

The tip of a plant
Pushes through the snow,
Telling of growth below.
A warming Sun can't
Hurt, that I know.
As the weather warms,
There are seeds to sow
For new plants to grow.

The moonlight with off colored white,
Brightens the layer of ground covered snow.
White wisps of clouds, interrupt the light
That are reflected in the shadows below.
It is truly a most marvelous sight.
A look from my window, with tired eye
realizing that sunrise is nigh.
The Moon slowly moves from my sight
as the World abounds with false daylight.
Little to say, on this grayest of days,
Except the approach of Spring does amaze.

It is what it is and yet
I tell you I will never forget,
The Call of the Wild, in my veins
As sure as I recall, Seattle rains.

Noise in the street
Snow plow on the move
Finally

The frog hid, beneath the lily pad.
Staying out of sight of a stalking bird.
He remained quiet, as he should
For a Blue Heron was in the pond,
wading, watching and moving along.
Rippling the water, to see frog or fish,
Finding food, it's fondest wish.
It needed food to survive this day
To remain a beautiful, prehistoric,
Bird of Prey.

I hurt and ache
for goodness sake.
Flu shot had,
was good to do,
not so the flu.
Get lots of sleep
and liquids too.
It's best if
that's what you do.

The life we led is with us still,
Encumbered by much angst and ill will.
What do we do, at this point in time,
Is pour a glass of red or white wine.

Some say it is a talent that I've got.
Others might say my talent is naught.
Full of flaws, that are open to see
Except the love for my family.

Why must the sky be blue,
When blue is such a sad color?
When I think of you
My soul turns blue,
But when I see your face
Or hear your voice,
I may then rejoice
And feel another color.
Yellow is nice; warm and mellow,
But may not attract a fellow.
So, get yourself back down
For your eyes of brown.
If your face turns red
From embarrassment
Or things you've said.
It's kind of nuts
To think of ruts,
That is, in words,
Stuck in our head.

This weather that we have had today,
Reminded me of a time, far away.
I drove a school bus, picking up students,
On this occasion, a windy wintery day.
Heading to town, on the Vantage Highway,
I had just picked up a child,
When things started to get quite wild.
My flashers were on: I looked in the mirror,
A convoy truck, jackknifed was drawing near.
I yelled at the kids, to hold on tight,
Hit the gas and turned to my right.
I was partially off the road then
When I felt a hit in the back end.
I stopped the bus; asking if anyone was hurt,
Then opened the door and stepped onto the dirt.
The convoy driver wanted me to sign a release
As he had been in some wrecks before.
I said No, just give me your name.
A parent had called WSP and they came.
The Bus's radiator that was broke,
So we couldn't drive, and that was no joke,
We had another bus coming and to pick
Up the students and take them to school,
Where they could relate the morning as cool.