Magazine Posts

Must I, live this way?
Away from my wife,
for time as a whole,
creating all this strife.

Go out the door,
escape from this din.
Oh, what a mess,
you have yourself in.

I won't seek religion,
not something I'll do,
for no matter what,
no progress, in keeping you.

A vision of loveliness,
appeared, in a long coat
and a hat.
I wanted to capture,
with my camera,
but didn't.
I met her few minutes ago.
She said she would,
wear it, once more.
I await the day to see,
if my reaction is the same.

Long lay the attitude
of ignorance.
What to do?
Spend a lot more money,
but that will never happen.

Who said you need sleep?
Sure, wasn't me.
Three hours last night.
Went up, to my place,
here at the home.
Crawled into bed, at seven.
Someone knocked at eight.
Got up, showered,
now having breakfast,
at nine fifteen.
I miss my wife.
Hope she is ok,
wandering the halls
at night.

Our love is long.
Our love is true.
Not seeing you,
makes me blue.

Long were the days,
when I knew the real you,
all, which I've thought on,
everything I knew about you.

I've wandered the valley,
climbed the highest hill,
but when I see you,
it's exciting, such a thrill.

The World, once his Oyster,
now broken and apart,
he vowed to keep on living,
in matters of the heart.

As life is still ongoing,
it may end before the start,
becoming his damnation,
in matters of the heart.

Trying to do things wisely,
and to be working smart,
all his efforts follow,
in matters of the heart.

A long life together,
living now apart,
while love still exists,
in matters of the heart.

In the world of History,
studies of the art,
the World is indifferent,
In matters of the heart.

The love for another,
a quest to be a part,
an overwhelming desire
in matters of the heart.

When I arise in morning,
the horse before the cart,
I write down my words,
in matters of the heart.

I long for the days
of the past,
of slow dancing,
picnic at tables
in the Taneum Creek area
and breathing, sans mask.

Ah, the days
of tricked up cars,
Smitty's mufflers
with large, echo cans,
all chrome and noisy.
Racing on country roads.
No money involved,
just wanting to win.

Writing simple rhymes,
is what I try to do.
My writing is more simple
and why I love you.

Help me, please.
I won't pretend,
my literary skills
are at an end.

No matter how.
No matter the time.
Why do I write,
to have words rhyme?

Could I not
write words whole,
which moved your spirit,
while helping your soul?

Perhaps I'll try,
to remake myself
and avoid being,
placed on a shelf.

A shelf of words,
covered in dust.
My mind, once sharp
has begun to rust.

I see you in the morning.
and in the evening too.
Why oh why,
do I still love you?