Magazine Posts

I write words of yesterday,
today and the coming tomorrow.
Days of seasonal change
and about those days of sorrow.

Days of sadness,
memories of a past sorrow,
lost in Demented brain,
with nothing left to borrow.

I lived in the country,
she lived in town.
I was a country bumpkin,
she was my "Alice blue gown."

I tried to pick her hup,
when I was in town.
Her response to me,
"Get lost you creep", was renown.

Now, I reflect about our
66 + years together.
Funny how life sometimes,
is changeable, like the weather.

Hidden inside,
this head of mine,
in the darkest recess,
where joy does not shine,

are dreaded thoughts,
about loves of mine,
having difficulties
in this life's design.

Another Hump Day,
now in the book.
Happiness and sadness,
at first look.

The noise quickly changed,
from subtle to a roar,
as residents with walkers,
moved around the floor.

I love my friends,
for in them I see,
the real picture,
which makes myself, me.

There isn't any wool,
to pull over their eyes.
No matter the prattle
of words uttered in sighs.

Forgotten.
No one to blame,
just life's twist,
life's ugly game.

Playing Texas Hold them,
with all of the fools,
including myself,
who won't follow the rules.

Antes should start at
the dealers, left side.
Someone says Ante,
a money comes on a ride.

When you call a bet,
you do it in order.
Wait your turn please.
It's not helter-skelter.

Sweet words of love,
whispered in your ear,
assuring you are blessed
and loved. Show no fear.

When I was a runner,
I liked facing into the wind,
on the outward leg,
coming home wind at my back.

An easier line,
with less effort, as the
wind pushed you along,
warmer and easier to run.

Those were the days.
I would run mile after mile,
an effortless time, feeling
I could run forever.

You sit there,
for a little while,
impressing me,
with your smile.

You captured my heart,
when caring for my wife.
I care about you as
a granddaughter's life.

I love you, Ellie.
I surely do.
I'm unsure about me,
and what I will do.

The life we wanted,
has rushed away.
A slow goodbye,
day after day.

I will leave,
there is no tomorrow,
all is sadness,
mostly all sorrow.

Does it matter,
anymore?
No one is counting,
no keeping score.