Magazine Posts

I live here alone
in this empty house.
My wife has moved
to a memory care place.
One life ruined, by despair
another life in shambles,
with a sign, Do Not Repair.
This is no longer the life
which I hoped it to be,
for the sadness of loss
has overtaken my reverie.
I am most thankful
for the life we had
but when memories flee,
leaving you, the only one
who recalls all the good,
when we were so young.

Far from Life's path,
far from the crowd,
to the edge of the World,
across the broad sea,
I search for you.
Long will I wander,
continuing to roam,
until I find thee,
wherever you've gone.
Searching the horizon,
until I can find,
the last memory
and restore your mind.

I am beginning to be
a Curmudgeon at heart.
A grumpy, lonely, old man
who prays for life's journey,
to live for awhile
and let me again see,
my true love's smile.

There are many words
stuck in my head,
encumbered by doubt
about events I've read.

Don't let the nay Sayers
climb up on your back.
Stick with the truth,
defend with the facts.

Is the story true?
I'd like to know,
Is there really gold
at the end of the Rainbow?

An olde fable, I do suppose,
so many of those, we've been told.
Providing incentives to look
for the missing Pot of Gold.

Believe not all stories,
which you may find bold.
Hard work with others,
you'll find your gold.

A bend in your elbow,
a bend in the river,
a bending of the rule,
nothing like this,
for a doddering old fool.

I can't write,
meaningful words
as a mental healing,
is now in play.
There's no satisfaction,
when I attempt to
explain my feelings,
day after day.

All the water, in the Sea,
along the coastal plain,
with odors of life now past,
rise from the Ocean floor,
softened with Winter rain.
Long were the days and nights,
as wind sang it's sweet sounds.
Walk the dunes with shortened stride,
sandy beach, smooth and slack,
resurfaced by an incoming tide.

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My mind has gone stale.
New ideas do not appear.
I'm locked in a mental jail.
No thoughts, it's just the fear,
of the virus, hot on our trail.

I will take a break
from this writing weakness.
It's been a good ride
but I am mentally drained.

I apologize in advance
taking a break.
MFish

I need to return to the Sea.
To a place, on the Oregon Coast.
A small Inn, close to the beach.
Hearing Gulls cry, smell the salt air.
Walking the beach on warm sand,
down near the water, icy cold.
Take into my senses, sights odors and sound,
relaxing for the moment, on blanket covered sand.
while reflecting upon the loneliest time,
about a life of memories of mine.
Bask in the Sun, enjoying the day,
watching the tide start ebbing away.