Magazine Posts

I don't want it to be over.
I don't wish it to end,
for most of my life,
she was my very best friend.

Where has the time gone?
Where did it go?
One moment we're kids,
with no place to go.
Now looking back,
in a reflective way,
what once was morning,
is now the end of the day.
Soon all of the darkness
will descend on we.
Good Lord I am hungry,
what is happening to me?

Send me a letter,
write down the words.
Brighten the paper,
with your writing,
on Birthday cards.
Electonics are fine,
for so many things,
but they won't
provide the joy
a card will bring.

Our vessel, our ship,
is moored at a dock.
I need to pick up
the ship's mail.
I hike down the pier
and when I arrive
at the end, I use the
phone there to call
my escort. They arrive
in a jeep and take
me to another pier,
where I board
a small boat. The trip
is short, to another
small island in the
Enewietok Atoll.
I go to the FPO,
pick up the ship's mail,
head back to the boat,
climb aboard and
return to my friends,
who give me a ride
to the piers very end.
Down to the ship,
sort out the mail,
then have Mail Call.
Only a few men receive mail,
they are the lucky ones.
I look for a letter,
coming here, from you.

I have lost her, totally.
I was watering plants
in the front, by the driveway.
My wife said, "Are all these yours?"
Then she asked me who I was.
"Do you belong to me?"
I told her I was her husband.
I shouldn't have but did ask
her, "What is my name?"
She replied, "Joe", who is our
eldest Son. I said, "You are his mother."

Tonight you said,"I need to ask
you a question?"
I said, "Go ahead."
She said, "Am I married?"
I said, "Yes you are."
"Are you my husband?"
"That I am",said I.
A changed person, indeed?
Probably not. Just a flashback,
to a time long ago,
which she has since forgotten.

How does a person
make life whole again?
Is it done by writing
in a book with a pen?
I'm writing the words,
which are entering my head,
without benefit of rules,
or a guide, in good stead.
Some words are strong,
like a good grade of steel,
while many words are weak,
with little writer's appeal.
I must decide, the words to use
is what would be ideal.
Here I remain, wasting time,
as I search for words,
which will fit into this rhyme.

I don't love you anymore,
which I now confess,
but I find in my heart,
I don't love you any less.

Sit you here,
write down the word,
be it trite, simple
or just so absurd.
Your role is to write
words to paper.
Thoughts are elusive
and they will fly
away from you,
if you don't try
to capture them
when you can
or else you will become
a lost an lonely
wordless man.

This time of the year,
the smell of ovens heating;
a Fall harvest of fruit,
stuck inside a pastry shell,
makes us again, to think of eating.

My beloved's
thoughts are gone.
Broken sentence,
which make no sense,
as the words spoken,
elude me now.
She woke me at a early hour,
asking me why her underwear,
was in our bed?
Did I have plans for its use
or was this just a drill to see,
if I would lose my grasp
on the contiued attack on my sanity?

Why do the days pass
slowly,
while the weeks move
quickly
and months close with
speed?
The year is almost over,
done,
here I sit writing down words,
alone.