Magazine Posts

Old Clown
Promises he won't keep
Lie he must.

Where are you now, my mysterious child.
We met years ago, when we were wild.
In an age when long hair was offensive,
While the romance at times was pensive.
Do you remember the longest hair,
Bell bottom pants, tie dyed shirts to wear?
Those times of so called "Free Love"
With alcohol infused thoughts not from above,
Determined our views between right or wrong,
Many of our words became a protest song.

I don't wish to write about Politics.
I do want to comment on the dirty tricks.
I know for me, it's been awhile,
But Politics are so juvenile.
When lies are truths, according to them,
My mind coughs to get rid of mental phlegm.
Tell me please, what you will do.
Don't disparage all your opposition,
I only care about your personal opinion.

I’m incredibly honored to have a piece included in the third issue of GRN TEA Magazine featuring James Beard Nominated Sawyer Seattle — where an anything-goes menu features inspiring comfort food crafted by Chef Mitch Mayers.

Navy life was a time for me,
To learn about life and our Country.
On board our ship DE699,
Life was good and it was fine.
A Destroyer Escort, the USS Marsh.
Built in Michigan, 1n 1941, I recall,
Floated down the Mississippi, for launch and all.
The Navy routine, at Sea or in Port,
Was a constant chore to maintain
The appearance of this Ship of ours
And we chipped and painted for hours.
Chip off the paint with a hammer,
Then use a steel brush,
Apply Red Lead, as a primer,
Then cover it all with Battleship Grey,
Put on in a slather.
This was an ongoing task for our Ship
As the pride for our Ship was Hip.
There were other tasks that we did too,
Depending upon specialty rate and you.
I was a Radarman Petty Officer 3
And the resident Postal Clerk for our DE.
Pick up the mail when we weren't at sea;
Selling stamps and money orders on pay day.
My Post Office was a nice little room
And gave me some space, the size of a tomb.
Those days, long gone, sometimes come to me
And I hear the "Sirens Call, Return to the Sea."

Do we rush into senility?
Is this life's final humility?
It is nothing, no futility
But will end a life in finality.

A spirit lies deep within
To help my resolve
As I face each day.
The sorrow I see
When she is awake,
Is more than this
Grown man can handle.
A confused look in her eyes
As she tries to recall
In her mind,
The pills she must take;
The things she must do.
Task that we do from rote
Are not there for her.
She can still shower
And dress herself,
But will sometimes
Ask for my help.
"Something is wrong", she'll say.
I'll respond, "Put on your shoes".
That's not always the case,
But my choices are few,
As some issues are
Clothing related.

I see your refection in the mirror.
You don't see me, as I stare.
A mirror is an object that captures
Images but retains them not.
You look in the mirror; See an image,
Then it's gone. Much like life
Is on these days of remembrance.
Why does the fragile nature of life
Cease to enrapture and keep
All those things we hold dear?

Just a small Bear,
He was quite little.
Happy, without a care,
No thumbs to twiddle.
He was alone,
A solitary Cub,
Without any friends.
To play and cavort,
Alone, without any support.
He had fun and more.
There were many things,
On the forest floor.
Run through the Ferns
And around the trees,
Walking upright,
Or down on his knees.
Hiding in grass
Taller than he,
Looking at flowers
And at some Bees.
No one there
To yell and shout,
So he continued
To walk about.
Finally, day turned
Into a black night.
Now alone, in the dark,
A slight little fright,
He fell asleep;
And was out of sight
Of the creatures of the night,
Who travelled afar,
Seeking their respite.
Suddenly it was morning
And this day's delight,
Was to play once again
In the warm sunlight.

I have discovered this special trick
When I have broken a branch
from a flowering plant. I cut
it by a node ,at an angle,
plunge into powdered root hormone,
then into soil,then water.
There is a chance for that
to grow. I did that about a
month ago, two pieces of "hot lips",
hormone and into the dirt
and now have leaves and flowers.
I must now wait, keeping my patience
and repot in another month or so.
Watching my clumsy mistake start to grow
in to a beautiful flowering bush,
that was done very inexpensively.

Here I am, pen in hand, writing
my thoughts to paper. Bringing memories
forth, from so deep inside, that no
matter how long those memories linger.
Grab that small thread, ever so gentle
while tugging and pulling until the
whole thought is there, in your head.
Write it all down, clear out your
mind, put your writing pen and pad away.
Return back to your warm comfy bed.
After all this, I see the clock
it's now three-thirty and I must sleep.

Not much of a swimmer
But I did like to swim.
It was hard to determine
The predicament I was in.
Swimming in California's Mission Bay
I found myself drifting away
From the shore, I could see
A Rip Tide had ahold of me.
I remembered a lesson, I had before
When caught in a Rip, don't swim towards shore,
But swim parallel to the shore line
And everything would soon be quite fine.
So I swam quite awhile, with a side stroke
And it wasn't long before the tides grip broke.
I turned towards shore, going to land
It was quite soon; I felt my feet in the sand.
A scary time, when I look back
I saved myself, no panic attack.