Magazine Posts

For some puzzling reason, our great nation,
Has become one of hate and aberration
Of what we, would like to be,
Full of life's love and of charity.
What must we do, that's not remote,
Is get to the polls and vote.

When the grand Firs, shake and tremble,
From the blowing wind and they resemble,
Tall dark shapes, of trees, that assemble,
To make the noise, we fear at night
And make our sleep, full of fright.
Why must the wind, on this day,
Try so hard, to blow us away?

Don't become a statistic
When you drive.
Remember your goal
Is to stay alive.

There was a time, in this earthly hell,
When I would swear, my neck would swell.
I now know, it was a primate urge,
That caused my blood, to boil and surge.
The time was close, to the hunting season,
Other than that, there was no reason.
Those days, long gone, finally did disappear,
And no longer appear, in my mirror.
I know what I did, years before,
But I do not hunt game, anymore.

Dear God, please help this wretched man,
That knows, not of what I am.

What will happen to me,
When you go away?
This is in my mind,
Each and every day.
My loss of you will be
A loss I feel, for an eternity.

No matter what, you have said before,
My love for you, makes me implore
And pray to God, "help me here".
In spite of this disease, so near,
That robs of you, all your ability,
As your memory, is a futility.
I know that we are not alone,
As long as we are, still at home.

Another cool night, that is in store,
That will see the leaves, turn more,
To colors, orange, yellow, bright with red.
Some will say, never let it be said,
Leaves will fall down by the lake,
Happy, that I don't have to rake.

Days go by, with fleeing light,
As the evening, moves to night
And the Harvest Moon, is near,
So I say, I love you dear.

The troubles you have, day after day,
I know will, never go away.
So my journey, is now for me,
To protect you, from all the uncertainty.

It matters what your vote, may be.
It matters that you, don't sit idly.
Voting is your right, to focus attention,
On all that happens, that needs intervention.
Vote, Vote, Vote

Life is a book, of chapters unwritten.
The chapters are years, some are smitten,
With month's twelve paragraphs of truth and lies,
That bring happiness and sadness with cries.
Some books are short, some are extended,
Only your God will know, what's intended.