Magazine Posts

Rabbit young rabbit
Eating in my home garden
Plant tops are now gone

I've started a brand new therapy,
That is to drink most comfortably.
A glass of wine or two, may be
The treatment that works for me.
I prefer a Red, but White can be
A choice that I make openly.
Fourteen Hands, Hot To Trot, is you see,
What I prefer to support my sanity.

May the brightness of the moons, evening ride,
Find your life free of worry and eyes open wide.
For you are due the love from others, even more,
No matter what life's choices, lie before.

No one likes the uncertainty,
Of aging, sometimes not gracefully.
As we age, I must confess
Emotions can become a real mess.
What to do when this happens to you?
Persevere, keep going. That's what we do.

Life is tiring and that's for sure,
but we must push on and endure.
The beauty of words, I must sustain,
lest I be declared, completely insane.

Words flow from out my head,
some with love; some with dread.
I know not what is in store,
they just keep coming, more and more.
I wish I could tell you why.
I can't now but soon will try
to explain what words do to me,
when I am writing, it's then I see,
they awake my mind, an open door.
The words are written down on paper
but there is so much more.
A switch turns on; I'm out of bed,
to write the words but instead,
I'm left with being awake at five.
Thank you God, for my being alive.
Words come fast, fleeing to be free,
helping to rid myself of a memory.
Oh, Lord, please let peace be with me,
I need to sleep or is this my epiphany?
Here we go again, just once more,
words on paper, some on the floor.
Lively, descriptive words that I adore,
wiggling, flopping, asking for more.
Now the tide is slowing fast,
an oxymoron of my past.
I should say words, start to ebb.
If I were a computer I'd say web.
Well that was refreshing, for goodness sake.
Now I am so very much, wide awake.
A poor excuse for you to see,
about my life's uncertainty.
It's not a fear of dying for me,
but one of having to live, without thee.

My friend, I don't know about you
and I'm beginning to wonder about me.

Sometimes there is a hidden bond,
Between a woman and a man.
I can not explain that feeling to thee,
For it continually happens to me.
There is no rhyme or a reason.
It is not driven by any season.
Where you go, I will follow,
For this love of life, may pass tomorrow.

There is much delight
watching Nature perform
it's tasks of preparation
for the upcoming Spring.
To see the old bulbs
poking through the dirt;
observing the new buds
on branches, so bare,
makes me thankful
to be on this earth,
where there will soon be
beautiful plants and flowers
and of course, lest I forget,
the Hellebores, have been
in bloom for a month.
Thank you Lord for
giving me one more
year on the land.

It's not a loud noise,
just a continual whir,
as the Hummingbird approaches,
with wings, all a blur.
I stop with my pruning,
so that I can see.
The Hummingbirds a hover
and it's watching me.

When I see you
and I know that you hurt,
I wish I could give you
A magical shirt,
That would take away
All of your ills,
better than any
of the prescription pills.

Why do you care?
Aren't you aware,
That I don't belong
And it won't be long,
When I am free,
To just be me.
No music to dance to,
No reporting to do,
For I will only,
Think about you.