Magazine Posts

Maintain that fire, that is lying within.
Stoke up your engine, let it begin.
Change the direction; go into the wood.
Discover yourself as only you could.
Become that one person, you know who;
Be the one people look up to.

Dementia

I wish not on anyone,
be you woman or man,
this hideous disease,
we do not understand.

I don't want to say this
But out of the gloom,
Senility, most certainly
Has entered the room.

Things have to get better,
No matter the time,
No matter the place.
If I give you a word,
You'll have to rhyme,
If you are to save face.

Not certain about the words,
That I wrote.
Commit them to memory,
Remember by rote.

A mess of words,
That are to be,
A way for me to
Maintain my sanity.
A futile attempt,
Don't you see.

I'm not getting better
And soon I'll be,
An example to share,
For sake of history.

When did love abdicate,
to be replaced by hate?
Love for one another,
be they sister or brother,
needs to be done.
Then we'll know who won.

There is a darkness in the light,
Seeing the ash left from fire bright.
The loss of life in California's Paradise,
Brings forth the sadness, tears and cries.
We need a better way to fight
Those fires that rage in darkest night.
Prayers to all our Sisters and Brothers,
God speed to you and all the others.

Living long, in this day and age,
When the homeless abound on the street,
Means our society must turn the page
And fulfill obligations that we must meet.

A beacon of light, in the darkness.
A guiding light, is what must be,
If we're to continue to be free
Of the hate, existing in this mess
That is being stirred, in this way
By a leader that's trying to stay,
Atop of his party, that will condone
The whims of one, that should atone
To this country, that's a great nation
And to stop this hateful aberration.

Here, I do sit
A powerless twit,
That is afraid to say
About this day
And about tomorrow's dawn,
Or life beyond.
The fear I have,
Comes every day
And just won't go away.
I hate the weakness
Inside of me
And pray that God
Will also see,
A man who is trying,
Even though he's crying
Inside, so no one can see,
His intense fight with agony.

When I was twenty-two,
I thought I would live forever.
At the age of thirty-two,
Life was ever so grand.
When I was forty-two
A convertible was my ride.
At the age of fifty-two,
Life was good again.
When I turned sixty-two,
Retirement intrigued me so.
At the age of seventy-two,
The love was life and care.
When I was eighty-two,
Aches and pains were there.
As I await ninety-two,
I worry not, about life's vision,
For that will be God's decision.

I tire of always being tired.
I know that I'm not wired.
My hands and fingers, work no more.
My body aches; my legs are sore.
Believing that my mind is sound,
I have gone short to ground.
What's this mean, you may say,
That life may soon go away.

It is always a surprise to me,
Seeing those who follow demagoguery.
They deny every fact or chance,
To embellish a so, so performance.