Magazine Posts

The wind, swirling,
in bursts, small,
blowing rain sideways,
while wetting all.

How strange the weather,
it will bring,
with melodic sounds,
I want to sing.

Sing about love,
and a broken heart,
where a disease,
kept us apart.

Do you miss
her sweet smile,
and flashing eyes,
which would beguile?

Into the ground,
he drove the stake,
hoping to never see,
the end of the sunbreak.

Why do we worry,
when all things are free?
Is it because of another time,
for you to see what you expect to see?

I liken this disease,
as a mystery one.
A very slow process,
then, Oh! Oh! you're done.

No more tomorrows,
after today.
Excuse me sir,
Say what. What did you say?

Do not make judgement calls,
when you don't know,
what's going on,
in this world, one step beyond.

Rainbows and Shamrocks,
a beautiful picture to astound.
Seeing them grow, naturally,
makes Nature so profound.

A good thing,
as I'm starting to see,
a resonate beauty,
for both you and me.

A purple mouse,
is what I saw,
wearing an Ascot tie,
a foppish style,

in this day and age.
Cut to the nines,
when wearing those jeans,
of polka dots,
for any means.
The life of the party,
that was he,
for all who he loved,
it was for free.

I am not your buddy,
not your pal,
but am a friend of yours.
It's just me, not someone named Al

I'll write about everything,
which pops into my head.
Writing about being alive,
when our society seems dead.

Lack of civility by leaders
of sort,
who should have warned us,
and decided to abort.

No one likes a liar,
except, for this one.
We should have been listening.
Now, it's over and done.

How can you believe in
someone, who lies all the time?
Making disparaging remarks
about women and their character.

I don't understand,
and probably never will,
being told you will like him,
this New York City shill.

Remembering the eighth grade at Emerson Grade School,
in Ranier Beach
I was in the eighth grade and my father was a partner in,
the Looking Glass tavern, on 45th Ave, in the UW district.
Located just a few blocks west of the Blue Moon Tavern.

The Blue Moon was the closest bar to the UW campus, after
World War II. It was a natural event for the returning GI's to
go there to quaff a beverage of choice. Usually a beer.
But I digress.
My father had brought home a few cases of some local beer. It was
in the basement. Probably Olympia or Ranier.

One evening, I borrowed, two bottles. One for me and one for my
friend. We lived a few blocks from Lake Washington.
My friend and I borrowed, (there's that word again), a rowboat,
moored at the foot of the hill, on Ranier Ave. We elected to row
across the lake towards Mercer Island, as we enjoyed our,
borrowed beer and rowboat.

We returned to the marina and left the borrowed rowboat, where
we found it. There was no mischief or property damage, of property,
except for the missing beer.
I'm sure my father knew, but in all his living days he never brought
it up. Of course, neither did I.

I love this time of the year,
when leaves are changing color,
from greens to yellow, red,
orange and brown.
Another cycle, another year,
it won't be too long,
before they disappear.

Walking a path,
of a garden style,
among the cinders,
and hyacinths, while

observing, tulips and daffodils.
A path of beauty I see,
bringing joy and pleasure,
to the lucky people, we.

To wax poetic,
about those simple things,
which, to us all,
a pleasure brings.

So many joys,
in this tired life,
of missing friends
and my wife