Magazine Posts

I'm in love again,
second time in my life.
Rediscovering my
love for my wife.

I'll love you tomorrow,
as I do today,
if you will promise,
to not go away.

Ghostly sheets, draped across,
branches, barren of leaves.
Haunting sounds of pest,
slowly moving bye.

When the Moon arose,
full in the Southern sky,
I will know the reason,
God wants you to die.

Fair and just? Not for me,
and wonder why,
other humans, in this world,
seldom question life's end.

Why do good people,
die too soon,
when other nasty people,
continue to carry on. Tell me why.

I would like you to talk to me,
like we used to do.
I need you more, now,
for I still love you.

What you are to me,
you were yesterday.
My first true love,
I love and I pray.

You are the light,
you are my soul.
I'll always love you,
as that is my role.

A sadness, creeps up on me,
as I think about all the times,
we lived together. The little
things, now big, differ.
Sleeping with each other, in
the same bed, for 66 plus years.
Now I haven't slept with you since
November 22. No room in the hospital
bed and at this point, neither of us
would sleep well. Saddens me.

I spent 6 hours with you today and
you slept. You awoke briefly, several
times and looked at me but didn't
say anything. Is this all that
is left of our wonderful life, together?
Appears to be. Now I would like to have
you pain free and happy.

Lamps are dim,
lights burning low.
I'm in a local bar,
no place to go.

I don't wish to drink
not even have a few,
for where I am,
there is nothing to do.

Don't want to shoot pool,
not good enough to,
I want to go home
and to be there with you.

There no longer exists
a memory of the past.
I sit with my beloved,
holding her hand, fast.

I do this for her
but also, for me,
for I know I'm losing her,
and my time will no longer be.

When she leaves this world,
full of anguish and pain,
then it will be
only I who remain.

Sitting on a camp stool,
close to the fire.
Coleman lanterns hanging
on tree limbs, by wires.

Early Fall in the Cascade foothills.
Not in the mountains,
based upon the elevation,
but canyons surrounded
by tall Fir and Tamarack trees.

A weekend outing, many
years ago. Crisp is the
first morning with frost,
appearing where there is water.

Soon the Sun rises, warming the air,
and patches of fog, will disappear.
The smell of the fire, mingles
with breakfast cooking on
a cast iron skillet.
A beautiful start for a glorious
day, in the outdoors.

I have noticed of late,
words do not flow.
I mentally tug and pull
but the words won't go.

I hope it is not
the depredation of my mind.
Not sure what I would do,
if my words became unkind.

Stop messing with
the words, in my head.
I'll do the writing,
please assure they're read.

Words will flow,
from this aging mind,
hopefully, words will be gentle
and not too unkind.

I gaze into her eyes,
and feel a despair
as I see my love,
and she's not aware.