Magazine Posts

Where is the joy in this life,
if I no longer have my wife?
She is still here with me now.
Her memory is gone; She knows not how,
to prepare herself for days end
and I help as she is my friend.

She rises from the bed, in morning light,
eyes half closed with sleep from the night.
She asks of me, "What do I do now?"
Put on your slippers and glasses too
then I will be down to fix breakfast for you.

How many pages can I write,
with words so simple and trite?
Trite to me, perhaps to you too.
The words I write are just for you.

Sometimes, I hate this life,
I most certainly do,
when I see what Dementia
has done to you.

When you have conquered the fear
of what lies within,
it will be time for an election,
once again.
In spite of what Trump tries to do,
the future of this Nation,
now rests with you.

I am writing these words
without rhyme or reason,
for I am a frustrated artist,
as some people might say
but that is not as simple
or difficult to be.
Have I a skill?
Only you can judge,
for I write out these words,
with nothing in mind and
my thought are a flow,
like many times before.
Why is it something I do?
Just to skip a bit as I must;
There is no free lunch and
there never will be. Stay
safe, is what I say now.
Be good to each other
during this short short life.

I love to see your smiling face.
I would love to have an embrace,
But those times are gone. Gone away
And may not return for many a day.
I miss the joy, in your eyes,
But not the sound of your Goodbyes.

Can you miss something
more than you can say?
Do you need it now
or can you wait 'til the day
you can afford to pay cash
for and then drive it away?

I see the scissors
in front of thee,
yet you ask
for them incessantly.
I try to tell you
where they are,
while you grab items
both near and far.
"Are these them?"
is what you ask.
Now I understand
you know not too
what objects are
in front of you.

My head is a blender,
whirling words all about.
I tread lightly so my anger
doesn't appear and come out.

Perhaps this life will have to do.
I am certain I won't find another you.
A friend in this long, long life,
The special person, my beloved wife.
We have been through thick and thin,
Now fighting a battle we can't win.

What is there to say?
What is there to do,
For each and every day
I lose more of you.