Magazine Posts

Go from here.
Go from here, now.
Leave as you must.
Don't ask me how,
for I will not be
a party to this insanity.
Yet here I am,
scratching out words, then
trying to explain,
the mental mess I'm in.
No point to argue,
especially with your self,
when facts are just lies,
pulled from the shelf.

Does the light I see in your eyes
radiate love or must I surmise?
Nothing in this World, is a surprise,
not even when I hear your sighs.
Long may you live, a life once again,
as I lay in anguish, my life in pain.

As a young lad,
I loved to play hard.
Here's some advice,
don't play in the back yard,
when you are running
and your running is fine.
Do not forget the neighbors,
have a low hanging clothes line.

Please join me
in my insane mind.
I'll write the words,
you read the lines.

What was it like
when we could be
in this life together,
living for ever
and always to see,
a gradual aging,
my journey with thee.
Now here we are,
locked in a battle,
fighting a deadly disease.
Why is this happening to you
and not to me?

I was up in the hills,
hunting for mushrooms.
It was in the Okanogan,
a brushy, sapling covered space,
when I came upon a small,
deserted place. It was surrounded
by trees, some buildings collapsed,
probably a miner, working his claim.
I thought of the stories, of his success
or a failure to find riches
of gold in his mine.
Perhaps the only gold
were the thoughts in his mind.

"There's someone out there,
they're talking to me."
I say, it's just the news
and you they cannot see.
You're sitting there
on the bed end, it could be,
there is confusion, here now,
distinguishing TV from reality.

"What have you written?"
words sometime I hear.
At times when I write,
words just appear,
at the end of my pen,
touching the notebook paper.
Random thoughts, are in the air,
soon I have new writings,
over here, there and everywhere.
My mind is not, as disciplined now,
as I write words, over again,
with no sense of when or how,
as I write for you, my unknown friend.

Where are you Susan Sanborn?
What has happened to you?
We worked at Sears Roebuck,
Mail order back in 1972.

I see the red of a Rose,
in the lipstick you wore,
bringing color to your face,
surrounded with dark hair.
I recall when I saw you,
it was love at first sight,
or perhaps infatuation,
when I was around you.
What was the attraction?
Twas like the Moth to the flame
and while this was all happening,
I knew not your name.

Broken.
A pile of glass
when I threw a football
inside the room,
hitting the fixture,
a very loud boom!
"Would you explain this to me,
please tell me more.
Why is there broken glass
all over your bedroom floor?"

During the day gone by,
Knowing what you have endured.
We worked hard, with pride,
a prayer to the Lord, our God,
yet all the time and effort
we have made, missed the mark.
There is no cure; it must be,
All the light I cannot see.