Magazine Posts

Off we did go
into the gloom,
the night was still,
as if in a tomb.
An eerie feeling
came over me,
when a noise heard
up ahead,
should I wait
or just flee?

Stay awhile, oh creature mine,
for you know
the difference that does entwine,
with your reactive eyes,
perky ears, big by design
to hear the smallest sound,
of predators, in this World
you have now found.

Writing now, with no
purpose in mind; telling
what I see or feel, at this time.
A loss of words that
escape and flee,
doing their best
to make a fool of me.

When day is done,
she has gone to bed.
I sit here, alone,
thoughts racing thru my head.

What to do for her?
No ideas to shed,
for moving her away,
my life will be dead.

Times are there,
with words now unsaid,
where moving her now
brings on the dread
of not seeing her here,
but with daily visits instead.

Word after word, feed my Soul.
Words that are too many
that spill from the bowl
of this aged mind,
no longer can tell
difference between Heaven
and a place in Hell.

Roaring in, from the East it came.
An ill wind, that will ever remain,
carrying a virus, no plan in mind
except the destruction of today's mankind.
Ill prepared were those left in charge
to face the attack and heavy barrage,
attacking all without reason or rage.
preying on those who were of old age.

Fly away.
Fly away from here.
Leave now.
Do it soon.
Hit the bricks,
as we would say.
Scratch gravel,
White Wind,
When leaving a place.
Run far,
Far as you can.
Keep running, then run some more,
For there is no escape
From the stranger at your door.

Floating in the air
as a moth to the flame,
when he arrived here.
It was never the same,
as he spoke in riddles,
when people gathered around.
His words that he uttered
were very unsound.
"Pay to me your homage,
pay every day or I will
turn this World into pain."
He had no compassion
for woman or man
and lies and stealing was
his primary plan.
Tell them what they want to hear
but do not deliver or keep your word
and soon they will make a King out of you.

A single, lonely Moth
flits to the flickering flame
Gone

I'll tell you a story
or spin you a tale,
about what is good
about being a male.
Not much to say,
not anymore
for lies and cheating
are part of the lore.
Give me your money,
I'll take it from thee,
for I am the Man,
now give it to me.
Don't tell me about
the socialist state
for I am the one
who you must berate.
I create messes
both near and far,
the wreck of a man,
a television star.
I'm not the man,
for that's not me.
I am ignorance and bliss
that's what you'll see;
a cowardly man
a self buffoonery.

I now question what I see,
as I'm seeking some originality.

It was dark.
It was cold
and once the
story was told,
you became aware
it was old.
Not as bad
in the fold,
like a fungi,
or even mold.
I'm quite certain,
this could be,
end of life
only for me.

When you leave this place
at the end of your day,
will you stroll slowly
or run quickly to say,
"Goodbye to all,
that I know well;
I'm on a pathway,
going straight to Hell."