Magazine Posts

What thought are these?
They are not mine,
For the pain I feel
is well entwined.
Go from me, you Spirit dark.
Run away, it's time to part.

The thoughts, now in my brain
are not mine, not the same.
Stay out of my head you must.
Leave me now; turn me to dust.

Talk not, to me
about aches and pain,
for you, understandably
must complain.
If you feel at a loss
of words,
then you may understand
how absurd.
It is, don't you see,
the loss of a dementia patients
own memory.

When I wrote verse, many years ago,
our young Son's would tease me so.
It influenced the shyness in me,
as I quit writing incessantly.
The writing I did, some forty years
long past, were put away.
Then a good friend told me about
Kudos365.com. and I began to
write again, for you all to see.
I had many folders, that had been
stored, but the pencil I used
then, had started fading away.
Now, here I sit, with pen in hand,
trying to write about the past
so you would now understand.
Perhaps I need to write more
with out any kind of a whine
and do it after a glass of wine.

Back in time, to the days of yore,
I'd get home after 6 P.M.
Up to the bedroom, to change.
Out of my work clothes and
into my running gear,
shorts, Self wicking top
and sox, depending upon the weather.
A windbreaker, I would don
and find me a baseball cap.
Put on my shoes, out the
then out to the course.
I had 3 courses of 5 miles, 7 and 10 miles
to choose from. I changed courses based
upon my training plan and to keep from
getting bored. This allowed me to stay
focused.
Working hard the first 20 minutes which
was uphill until I reached that pace
when my body, miraculously, as my breathing
got efficient. A pace that was easy,
not hard and I knew or felt like I
could run at that pace forever.
It's a strange euphoria that occurs
in the body. Did it happen all the time?
No, it didn't, but when it did it was
such a good feeling.
There were always some hills on each
course. Hills were always a challenge,
your steps tend to get choppy and shorter.
The key is to just keep going. No stopping
to walk. Shortly after crossing the top
you regained your breath and fell back
into that wonderful elated feeling.
If you gradually increase your miles,
not over 10 per cent a week, your
conditioning improves. You will be
more fit at the end of 4 weeks.
As my running continued, my friend
and I would put in one long run,
usually on a Sunday. We both
got to the point of doing 45 to
50 miles a week.
You can also do this with a walking
routine.
Hope you enjoyed this brief respite
from the usual stuff I post.
Here's to good healthy future.

MFish

The curly haired waif,
Wandered the street,
Looking for anything,
Or something to eat.
No food past her mouth
For at least three days.
Her stamina now, was
in a very tired phase.
Get you warm food
Some water right here
And you'll feel better,
Now that I'm near.
For I will love you
For many a day
While you are mindful and pray.
Pray to the Lord, Our Father above
For he will bring you, everlasting love.

The tide, ever changing,
the smell of the Sea.
The view so remarkable,
it's calling to me,
to return to the place,
that is heaven to see.
The warmth of the water
is so comfortably,
that I must return
to the Islands, so free.

There go I, if it hadn't been for you.
For you helped me show what I could do.
The shy, retiring, bashful, young boy,
is now an adult with a lot of joy.
A joy that lives with me, I know not how.
Much thanks to you. I say that now.

Into the sunset, he did flee,
as if there was something chasing he.
Where to go? Where could he hide?
For he needed shelter, for this ride.
Nervous was he, this lonely man,
running away without a plan.
What must I do to start over,
for I am now very much sober.
I'm just a poor man, all alone,
out on the street, not even a phone.
There was a time when I'd share,
a place with Rats, under the stair.
I did not choose to be this way,
but hard times came on that day.
I'd get a job, using my finesse
but the employer needs an address.
Housing is not something I can pursue,
so a PO Box will have to do.

The wand like scepter
in his hand
was made for him
and by his command.
A simple thrust,
a break of wrist
and your thoughts,
tremble and twist.
Who are you?
was often said.
His response was,
"I am Death,
you are dead."

The time spent in this place
has not been divine,
but has been one of love
that our spirits entwine.
A place of love and hate
with friends, yours and mine
are but a lost memory now
best viewed with a glass of wine.

A fair wind blows in
from the sea.
The smell of life's death,
comes wafting to me.
What is the connection,
when there is an urge,
to return to the water,
to hear the waves surge?
An urge with much eland
to come back to the place
where life began.

My thoughts of my friends
and great co-workers, like you
that spurs me along,
for if you only knew,
the love that has carried me through
was the love from many not just a few.