Magazine Posts

Write all the words,
uncertain they are.
Write them down now,
both near and far
away in this World
and what it must be,
of all the lies,
bordering on idiocy.
Slink back to the shadows,
don't come out into the light.
Stay where you're huddled,
if you don't want to fight.
Lie after lie is the untruth,
which you now see,
but don't except the answers,
for you are crazed like me.

Black as night.
Light of day.
Blue of sky
White of clouds.
You've gone away,
To see the World,
A joy to thee,
Recalling memories
Of our history.

There isn't any concept of time,
on any given day,
except to ask of me,
"What are we doing today?"

Where is the beginning?
When will it end?
Must this life go on,
Being a game of let's pretend?

A landlocked Salmon,
I seem to be,
for I will never
go to the Sea.
Kept in the restraint
of an inland, free,
from a migratory route;
let me go, is my plea.

When I think of my father,
Who passed on long ago,
I strive to remember
The tone of his voice,
its cadence, its timbre,
To connect with his soul.

But it pains me to say
That his voice is no more,
No more in my mind.
So, I wonder anew,
Will I ever remember?
Or will the sadness ensue?

All Copyrights are reserved: Calob 2021

From the darkest shelf,
in the back of my mind,
lay shadows of doubt,
much of the time.
Am I good enough to do
what I do,
or am I only good when
I take care of you?
What started as Dementia,
no longer will appear,
for based upon your composure,
something new is here.
Alzheimer's behavior is now,
what I can see
and it scares me. You
don't know objects, which is
a symptom, which I have read
is typical with many patients,
afflicted with Alzheimer Disease.

To watch a word die
as it forms a death spiral,
is not a weakness
and is not viral.
Words are created every day,
to provide more meaning to all
the words we choose to say.
Write the words, short or long,
add music to your writings.
Let them burst into song.

I awake to a dull roar
of noise; the crashing of waves
on the sand of the beach floor.
The pungent smell of the Sea;,
assaults my senses; a fine mist
of salty spray, cools my skin.
My shoes are off, cold sand.
I feel its hardness.
A foot away, the sand is dry and fluffy
the wind blows stinging my face.
The squawking noise of Seagulls sail,
in windy updrafts, searching the beach.
Sunlight blossoms from the Eastern sky,
as shadows creep , slowly past
the sounds and smells are locked
in my mind, as my shaky fingers,
scribe these memories, onto the page
of another notebook, with pen
in hand, I recall again and again.

Time flees.
Days go past.
Another week.
One more month,
as years pass by,
more friends leave.
It's when you know,
there will never be,
enough time,
left to do,
all of the things
you wanted to.

Run where others fear to walk.
Make life about action, not about talk.
Speak for all who are in need,
for it is your time to do a good deed.

Why do I still write,
these words, meaningless for me?
There is no new thoughts here
to discover or to see.
Words lay jumbled, and in awhile,
I'll keep writing and writing
in search, of an absurd style.
Why do I write words for thee,
when life is so uncertain
and I just want to be,
free from the worry
I still have for thee.