Magazine Posts

I feel my life,
slowly ebbing away
and wish to return
to an earlier day.
A day where my emotions
are not in disarray.
Please understand me,
as I write in this way,
what is happening to me,
is not mine to say.
Oh please, my dear Lord,
help, by letting me pray.

You don't know me at all
and most certainly not well,
But I feel that my soul
Is being pulled towards hell.

No one so pretty.
No one so pale.
Your angelic face
Will always prevail.
Stay strong with elan,
Happy Holidays, JoAnn

Up in the tangled branches
of the mostly, barren trees,
I heard a squeaky sound,
"Would someone, help me please?"
I was looking and I found,
then I saw some movement,
high amongst all the limbs,
of a small, tiny creature,
I knew that was him.
A small owlet, colored grey.
Body moving, with the breeze,
kept repeating, pleating to me,
"Please, Sir, help me please."
Not being agile or spry,
as I used to be,
I climbed up, ever slowly
onto limbs of this tree.
I finally did reach him;
he said, "Thank you please,
can you unhook my claws,
stuck tight to the tree.
I did and quickly as a bee
he flew now I'm stuck
high up in the tree.
Help, I yelled very loudly,
I'm stuck in this tree.

Your face is of beauty,
so light and so fair.
The extra long tresses
of your flaxen, gold hair.
The beautiful smile
that you wear every day,
is sure to beguile,
before running away.

How far have we come?
What is our next goal?
Will the message from some,
Cause damage to our soul?
I wish that I knew.
How about you?

The brightness of the moon
trickled through the trees.
The quietness was very soon
disturbed by a breeze.
The sound of tires on highways afar,
created an eerie picture
by the noise from the cars.

You need to be better,
It was recently said,
For patience is virtue
And will help your head
Become that much clearer
And then, perhaps instead,
Will lessen this feeling
Of absolute dread.

I am a stranger, to myself.
I suppose that I will always be.
For I know not the answers,
About this, so called reverie.
Help me understand, what's happening to me,
For this moment; time will be set free.

If I were an Angel,
I know what I'd do.
I would take away illness,
Providing a cure for you.
But I'm not an Angel,
So all I can say,
"I'll say a strong prayer,
Each night and each day
And ask, the Dear Lord,
To take the illness away."

Maintain that fire, that is lying within.
Stoke up your engine, let it begin.
Change the direction; go into the wood.
Discover yourself as only you could.
Become that one person, you know who;
Be the one people look up to.

Dementia

I wish not on anyone,
be you woman or man,
this hideous disease,
we do not understand.