Magazine Posts

Walking down the path,
at night; all alone.
No flashlight,
not even a phone.
That eerie feeling
when you're in the dark
and this in jest,
no walk in the park.
Thank God, the moon
is back in view,
after going behind
a cloud or two.
This writing that
comes into my mind,
has no meaning,
but allows me
to unwind
away from the worries,
that occur every day.
Oh, I wish I
was just a kid again,
so I could go out and play.

It is dark on this moonless night.
Only the stars to provide your light.
Off I go, with flashlight in hand,
Looking for my lost wedding band.
How I lost it? I am unaware.
I must find it now, over there
Where I was sitting, hours ago.
The ring I had then; that I know.
Shine the light down, under the board,
There it is. Thank you Lord.

I was born in the valley,
on the dining room table.
I can show you the house,
while I'm still able.
No hospital or Dr. you see,
for a Midwife is the one
who delivered me.
Bundled me in a blanket,
to keep this child warm.
Then so gently she
gave me to my Mom.

The long, slow, ebbing tide
covers the mud flats; glistening with
a mirrored surface. The smell
that comes with the change
of tide, brings forth the primal ooze,
of life and decay.
I love that Sea aroma as it calls
up the memories of our origin.

I come from a family of seven,
Being the oldest child
Of all my Siblings.
I may not have been the most wild,
But I set a path for them to see.
Our ranks have thinned, over the years
And we are fewer in numbers.
Losing a brother, at the age of two.
Our younger brother, his name is Steve
He was the second sibling to leave
At the young age of fifty-eight.
A life of abuse of his body to ruin,
Never to recover his own failings.
His many children do live on
And his memory will always be
In my heart for eternity.
Miss you little brother's.

If I could capture the beauty
in this World of ours,
it would be in the image
of flowers that grow
on this Earth.

I don't understand you.
Not anymore.
When you speak in riddles,
Unlike before.
Discussions have become
A guessing game.
You are talking about someone.
I'm trying to guess the name.

I found myself growing short
in my answers to the questions,
I heard over and over again.
Repetitious, as she doesn't recall,
what I told her a few moments ago.
I realized that I cannot be short
with my reply to her questions.
What if these are the last conversations
I have?
I need to treasure all my discussions,
as the precious moments they are.
I love you, my dearest one.

Years ago, very early in the day,
The month was December, icy cold.
Up before daylight, put on my clothes.
Put my gear in the truck, all covered with frost.
Stop for a coffee and something to eat,
Then driving to Monroe, to the river Sky.
Get out my rod and lures, I started to fish.
The rigging I used had surgical tubing for the weight.
An artificial lure, a long cast up stream,
Now this was fishing; you know what I mean.
The elusive Steelhead was waiting for me.
All I needed was the fish to see
The lure, moving close to the bed.
After several casts, my line would not move.
Looking at the rod tip, I looked twice
And found that the guides were covered in ice.
The line wouldn't move, not much for me,
So into the water, the rod tip went and now it was free.
Back to casting and I noticed my hands were cold,
Even with fingerless gloves, they'll work I was told.
Fishing for hours, with absolutely no luck,
I returned to the confines of my old truck.
No Steelhead for me on this fine day,
So back home I went to see the Seahawks play.

My mind is going, that is for sure.
I am uncertain how much I can endure.
Sorry if this sounds like an old refrain
But I tire, seeing all of the pain
She goes through, every day.
It's not pleasant for her, in any way.
She keeps saying, "Put me in a home."
That's not happening...

When I was young
and would eat my lunch,
I would grab a book
and read a long story
of adventure and glory.
For reading was a
small boy's passion
and was an escape
to a land so grand
it was filled
with milk and honey.
With words and visions,
my imagination was
for me a way see
the World, through
an author's eyes.

Who, who, I hooted from the tree.
I am awake and it's half past three.
Nocturnal is the best time for me.
With my night vision, I see movement instantly.
When I catch movement or hear a sound,
I'll spring from the limb, down to the ground.
My movement is quick, so please don't worry.
Pouncing on a prey, I do in a flurry.