Magazine Posts

When you are ill
And care no more,
For that sound
Of a closing door.
Many friends, are gone
Not here, anymore.
Our children now,
Do ask and implore,
To reduce the amount
Of earthly goods,
As we prepare to
Downsize, where we live.
The chores that
I did with ease,
Are harder now
And hurt my knees.

Wind blowing, through all the trees.
Shaking dead branches to the ground.
It is not a sound that will please,
As the Widow Makers do abound.

Note. A widow maker was a large branch that could fall from a tree and
severely hurt a person on the ground. In the old days, it was a logger.

The small mouse, sits under the tree,
Looking for something to eat, once again.
Keep you eyes open, as you scurry about,
For danger exists in the air above
And all over the wet, soggy ground.
An Owl will see your movement, or not
Or a Fox will track you down.
So, stay close to the shelter you're in
And don't become a meal for them.

Rain falling
Ground muddily wet
Rubber boots

It's not OK, that on this night,
I sleep for an hour, no more.
My brain is fried yet keeps
Spewing words until my ears roar.
Writing more nonsense about,
A door or words
Sleeping on the floor.
What's next, I ask
On bended knee,
As I wrestle with my sanity.
Please let me
Get some sleep,
Or this will soon
Be the end of me.

You said to me,
I said to you,
That life can be,
So untrue.
Not the way we
Meant it to be.
Harmony will soon
Be the newest tune.
Run from here,
If you still can,
For here he comes,
The Flim Flam Man.

The wind swirls around my neck,
As I walk, in the early dawn.
The coffee that I drank
Is not keeping me warm.
Pulling my hoody over my head;
Tying the string, under my chin,
Will curb the outside chill,
But not the chill within.
The fear, I feel, is by my side,
Every night and every day.
All I can do now, is to pray
To God, that the disease will go away.
I know it won't but I must try
And I must not let her see me cry.

My heart is broken.
Split in two,
When I realize,
I'm losing you.
You've lost your memory,
I did too,
While losing our history,
What to do?
There is a theory,
Told to who?
About regaining reverie,
That's not true.

Of snakes, dragons and dinosaurs,
Those tales of old, that are no more.
To have walked once, where they trod,
Would be an experience so very odd.
Just imagine, if you will, in your mind
If you could see them all, one at a time.

I love the way you smile at me.
Watching you, live out your life,
In spite of the onslaught of this disease,
Give's me strength to see the beautiful
Wife that God provided for me.
I will cherish and hold you, but that's
Harder to do, as you don't like touching
Or hugging, of you.
I will always remember, the way that
You were, when our young love
Was in view. I especially love talking
With you, hard as it is for you
To remember. Stay strong for me, my
Sweet wife. I'll stay with you
For the rest of my life.

Beautiful flower
An ode to Spring
Colorful

My alone time is no longer mine.
The attention to another, though sublime
Has taken away my alone time.
That appears selfish, I do admit,
But not having privacy, not one bit,
Is more harmful to me and my wit.