Magazine Posts

Crashing waves
Seagulls shrill cries
Tranquil

I rememberl a friend of mine say,
"We need to run a marathon, one day".
My reply to him, as I recall
Was not me, not me at all.
We were already doing a short training run,
An experience, I would never call fun.
This was in December of nineteen eighty nine
And our training rules, we'd need to refine.
Running at least eight miles each day
With a long one of fifteen, I would say.
Rest on Sunday, because our set routine.
Our goal was to make our long runs
Every other week to protect our and ankles and feet.
The length of the long run, soon became twenty
And I can say that we did run many.
At last the race day was almost here.
Into the car, we made our long foray
To Vancouver, BC for the run of our year.
The next morning the air held a freeze,
So designer sweats of a Hefty garbage bag,
Over our head, it covered us to our knees
And we could shed it with great ease.
Off all the runners went, at their own pace,
With the coolest of air, blowing in our face.
From the Convention Center to Stanley Park,
The struggles were there, no longer a lark.
We ran with the comfort of our training
Time, now being felt, up to the
Lion Gate Bridge to North Vancouver way
A left and a right, turning to the East.
Then looming ahead, not a favorable sight
Was the East Bridge, with lots of height.
Down the bridge, legs feeling good.
My breathing was not labored, I misunderstood,
When an elderly man, watching, yelled at me,
"Breathe" which I thought I was doing.
My body was laboring, my breathing was hard.
We turned the corner, with the Finish in sight
And we sprinted towards that beautiful sight.
The elation felt when crossing the line,
I will always remember, till the end of my time.

I lay in bed, in the still of the night,
Knowing not, why I am still awake.
Was it something I ate, prior to bed
Or a worrisome thought stuck in my head.
I rise from our bed, not using a light
And go someplace quiet, so I can write
Of the words, rushing into my brain,
Like the picture of an oncoming train.
My Dad used to tease me, sometimes at night
To wear a stocking cap, on real tight,
So when the wind was really a blow,
My ears, like a kite and off I'd go,
Into the air, like a string less kite.
All teasing aside, I know don't you see
My Father really did love and support me.

You are the Captain of my life,
For my spirits fly, when with you.
No matter what this life brings,
The joy I see in your face
Is more than I should be entitled
To partake. You were the one,
I was looking for, to love and honor
And so much more. What to do
When the life of ours does end,
Will remain for others and our friends.

A lonely tear ran down her cheek,
The news was bad, not one to seek.
Why do those, that know not now,
Would comment on and then disavow,
The strength of one, so very frail
To the news that came by US Mail.
Wonder not about those things so sad
When A. L. S did take her Dad.
He was then, only sixty five.
Yet his mind was so alive.

Full Moon
Brightness through trees
Peaceful

(Please understand that I am a religious man but wrote this during a time of frustration)

When we say God is Great
And that God is good,
I may have just misunderstood
Or perhaps, I just can't relate,
How God can allow this state
Of pain and suffering, at this date.
Many will say, " it's just fate".
Spare me please, from all this drivel,
The effect of Dementia, is pure evil.

Daylight breaks
Shadows are now gone
I'm alone

How do you write about an emotional plight,
When your mind, in dead of night,
Wakens you and you try, once again,
To describe the actions of your fight.
Try harder and prepare before you begin.
Easier to say but harder to do.
It is for me, how about for you?

The forecast for the next several days,
Is for sunshine, cold as it may be.
It's great to see the bulbs fight away
Against all the snow and the chill
Of each of these frosty nights.
There is a special place for me
That will be under the Maple Tree,
Where I await the beauty of
The Bluebells, I planted last Fall.
I see a few small plants, perhaps
Twelve or so; I planted about sixty,
So we will see, what Mother Nature
Provides to me.

The days are gone, the nights are too,
The weeks go by, much too fast.
While month after month, won't last
And then it's a year, one and two.
Before you know it years have passed.
The kids are grown and their kids too.
The next discussion becomes about you
And where to move the aging one
Before his life is over and done.

When love does bloom
It brightens the room
And radiates up high
To rapture and sigh,
Of all the things
Not requiring rings
Of bells or flame
Or one to blame.
It's not to be,
For there's no certainty
Of our life's desire,
Until we do expire.
I wish I had
When a young lad
Expressed love to another.
For it matters not
What I have begot,
If it's kept away,
From those who say,
It will not be
Until you are free.