Magazine Posts

Trying to practice what I preach.
Keep your feelings, just out of reach.
Stay strong in your thought and deed,
While striving hard to succeed.
Your life will be better then
When you start where you began.

Oh what a day.
Oh what a night,
As the darkness rushes
Towards the daylight.

There is still one thought, I cannot see.
It pertains to the rhyming of poetry.
No matter the journey; No matter how far,
My task is putting my thoughts into a jar.
A jar that when I remove the lid,
Will emit words of the adventures, I did.
Writing down this most random thought
I am always interested to see what I wrought.
Sometimes these words are just sitting there,
Magically they would appear, out of thin air.

This raging fire, lies within my chest
And despises what we have become
As a Nation, under God,
That treats others, not our kind,
With hatred, ignorance and crazed mind.

I am afraid. My mouth is dry.
Not going to weep nor will I cry.
I'm six years old, wondering why
My parent's left me with no goodbye.
Great grandmother Fischer was sitting with me.
I didn't know her language was from Germany.
Was I afraid? More than likely, I think I was,
No reason, I'm sure. Probably just because

I was seventeen or in between
My eighteen years. My father
had bought a truck, a 39 Ford,
One and a half ton, with V8 and
A two speed Eaton. Dad had
A contractor install a bed,
That could be elevated to drop
A load of Peas, Corn or Wheat.
I would pick up workers and take
Them home from the Pea Viner's.

When working, hauling Wheat, out
Kittitas way, heading to the
Grain elevator, to dump my load of
Wheat. The State Patrol had a road block.
I was pumping my brakes to make a stop,
But the weight of the Wheat was not
Helping. Needless to say, "No Ticket."
Went to the elevator, dumped the Wheat,
Back to the field for another load.
I would drive alongside the Combine
And the wheat would come down a
Funnel and fill up the bed.
Repeat this task until all the Wheat
Is gone and only straw remains.

What is this life that has been lost?
Was it worth the hateful cost?
Will the life come back on the morrow?
Or will your life go on, in sorrow?

When I write that my mind is unsound
I try not to imply, there is something wrong.
It's just the worry that comes to me,
What I'll do when I no longer can be,
The support, that she needs.
A puzzle? Sure but not one to lose
As there are options that we can choose.

The water swirls and gushes
Over rock and stone.
I stand on the bank
But I'm not alone.
There are trees of Pine
And some Bramble bush,
While the water moves
Quickly, with melodic rush.
I stand there, fly rod in hand
Making cast after cast,
Seeing where the fly will land
In the right spot,
The back of the eddy.
With fingers touching the line,
I await and am ready,
For the tap, from a fish,
That wants this fine morsel.
If it bites, I'll have my wish
And soon be on my way,
With a most delectable fish.

A midnight meeting; a rendezvous,
A quiet setting, for me and you.
Excitement as blood coursed thru my veins.
The sight of your beauty still remains
Locked in back of this aged mind,
Recalling you. Your exotic way,
To this day, I must now praise,
The friendship, that was ours to choose.
Still remains here, win or lose.

Rain falling
Puddles all around
Wet feet

A beautiful flower
Appears. I'm unaware
Of where it came.
Friendly bird?