Magazine Posts

Come sit with me,
here on the floor.
I will tell you stories,
from the days of yore.

Tales of an early
sunrise,
when day is abloom,
with a million sighs,

Sighs of I love you,
fill the morning air.
Words of joy,
none of despair.

Words which capture,
what you have done,
in the early morning,
with heat from the Sun.

Alone in the dark,
no stars in the sky,
sitting close together,
we.

What thoughts are there,
about the passing by,
the closeness of you,
we.

Long are the memories,
of this life, ours,
at last were together,
we.

The scooter, sat by
the garage door.
If you were looking for trouble,
it was there on the floor.

The floor, old and wooden,
full of holes and broken nails.
If you were looking for smoothness,
be very disappointed, it fails.

What does it mean,
to write words of today.
No matter the reason,
a written word will stay.

Write ye tomorrow,
of the grandest days
and you'll find words,
of love, adoration and praise.

Turtle
Dove
Love

Shadows, in the dust,
on the wooden floor,
of the vacant house,
next door.

He lived here once,
I heard someone say.
He lives here, no longer,
for he's gone away.

Will he ever return?
People have asked why?
I shrugged my shoulders,
letting out a sigh.

Sailing through the waters
of this uncharted life, led,
causing little worry about
all the words I've said.

Where in the World,
would you like to go,
if you wished to see
a new Magician Show?

The curtains were drawn,
moodiness was low,
when we heard,
voices exchanging below.

You were once my hero,
there to set me free.
Look for duplicity,
it's where I will be.

No matter what happens,
in this crazy world, ours,
look toward the heavens,
you'll be counting stars.

There will be no tomorrow,
if you let today go away
and don't forget,
there's nothing, without a yesterday.

Writing of days, yonder,
before our time began,
is difficult, in telling,
of a first one-night stand.

There was something exciting,
a rendezvous, a scene,
straight from the movies.
Thank you, James Dean.

A small cafe, a cozy room.
He was meeting someone,
in the rear, by the door.
A planned meet to become,

the richest moment,
in this young man's life.
An exciting event,
meeting his wife.

A love of remembering,
a place of romance,
to be repeated,
as Life's last, slow dance.

Words flow from my head,
by my choice, not chance.
Longing for my love
at life's final dance.

You said you would go with me,
I know I would try.
For all of your promises
your statement was a lie.

Your words, were appealing,
your charm did amaze.
You swayed my emotions.
What was the phrase?

I'll always love you,
as you said it to me,
It's what I will do,
but you left when I went to sea.

A hodge-podge of words,
spill from my head,
down my arm to paper,
so they can be read.

These words, now
precious to me,
will help me explain,
what I would like to be.

I hear music, not
a song or a hymn,
but more of a classical,
more like a whim.

A piano concerto,
rings in my head,
telling me to return
to my bed.

What kind of nonsense,
is this I write?
Not words so precious
but words, quite trite.

I stare through
the broken glass,
of a misplaced,
windowpane
wondering how
I arrived in
this place of pain.