Magazine Posts

It is 4:30 AM.
I hear the rain,
hitting the roof,
loud it's refrain.
A relaxing sound,
when you're inside,
but if you are out,
with no place to hide
or seek shelter from
the wind and rain
which soaks every thing
large or small.

There is a saying,
I hear my head rattle,
were up the creek,
with out a paddle.
So, I am saying this to you.
Everyone should vote,
I'm voting Blue.

Where did you go? I would say,
tell me please, when you go away.
You disappear from here in
this week of gloom,
although you sit with me,
in the same room.
An escape for you from
your own mind.
A place of solitude where
people are kind.
Please talk to me now,
for you know,
I want you near me,
until I must go.

A long dark night into day,
I worry for American every way.

I tire of doing this writing craft,
for in my life, I am feeling daft.
Daft in the head, we would say;
It's the way I feel, every day.
Perhaps it's because words cause me pain.
Wishing to do better and not complain.
I tire of words, from the dirt,
for when I write them, they hurt.
Hurt others I care so much about,
for I want to scream and shout,
"Enough, enough, is what I say,
there's hate in this Country, every day."

The past few days, have been wild.
I am living with an elderly child.
A child; my loved one I see,
Who asks all these questions of me.
Did you know my parents, I had?
I have nothing. No Mom or Dad.
She knows we have friends, I recall
But doesn't know names, not at all.
She remembers our granddaughter, by name,
For all others, it's not the same.

When your loved one, says to thee,
"I don't have any of my family.
My parents are gone and I see,
You no longer like much of me."
I then explain about our history.
Words fly past and then I see
She no longer remembers me.

Are you here? Are you awake.
How many questions will it take
before the realization, of what she said
will lodge into the empty head.
Empty of our life and friends.
I cannot thank God. I can't pretend,
not liking what life has done to she
and where in this life, she will still be.

As I sit, with pen in hand,
I must say, with no remand,
of writing two works, recently
as I sat in front of the
computer, writing quite freely.
Why do words, which I love
come easily from my trove
of words bouncing in my head?
Where is the senseless prose,
now taking me? I wish to know.
Let me be, o fate of mine,
I love all my friends, for sure
and hope my distant love
will last long and endure.

When she says to me,
"Here, I don't belong.
please, it is time,
to go to the Home."
My words to her,
do resound,
as I want her
near and around,
so I can care for her,
as long as I can.
My troth is to you,
but you don't understand.

Awakening, I hear the rain,
Rattling against the window pane.
The air has freshened, once again,
No more smoke, is the refrain.

Be the courage. Be the man.
Do the things, I know you can.
Keep the bully boy at bay.
Deflate his ego. It's the way
to see him quiver in the dust,
as his oiled machinery turns to rust.