Magazine Posts

If you think you know me,
better think again.
I will always trust
you, as my friend,
but friend or not,
no money will I lend.

We met,
in past life.
We were married,
You weren't my wife.

My memory wanes,
thoughts I once knew,
are now gone. My
question, who were you?

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He went West,
towards the rain.
He ached all over,
racked with pain.

Wait one minute,
let me explain,
at the worst it was,
an ankle sprain.

Acting up,
was his style.
Watching him,
made me smile.

When Worlds collide,
what will happen to,
all the broken pieces?
Is there enough glue?

Will there be litigation?
Who will we sue?
Be careful now,
it maybe you.

When will we know,
what must we do?
Perhaps eat a dinner
of vegetable stew.

He said, "Don't mince words,"
as he shaved his chin.
"If you do, oh
the trouble you're in.

"Don't parse words,
when in a crowd,
unless, of course,
you want them loud."

"If you think,
you are in control,
you best think again,
re-examine your role."

When words I write,
come out to play,
thoughts keep coming.
What do I say?

There are no thoughts,
on this day,
except my cramped hand,
telling them to go away.

"Maybe you’re not like me — and geez, I hope you’re not — but I’m at that juncture in life where reminiscing is a better pastime than daydreaming about the future. I know, I know, Be Here Now, practice Mindfulness, yeah, yeah, but I’m 72 years old and there’s a lot more in the rearview than what’s up ahead and okay, I realize I need to keep my eye on the road for what’s coming up. Nevertheless"… Read more

The unusual clanging,
of the Chapel bell.
Ringing out the message
about the path of living well.

Long were the years, before,
well over 6 decades.
of a beautiful life,
in a penny arcade.

We lived well, for those years,
Two children, yes, we did.
Granddaughters, two,
twenty-two skidoo. Oh, you kid.

The dirt, between
my fingers and toes.
Mud was my thing,
when as a child,
I would run
playing, wild,
like a weed,
growing in your yard.
Cut it down or
let it grow.
How it develops,
you may never know.

For the past several years, my wife Michele and I have had a running debate about how much stuff to hold onto and whether or not to give away (or in some cases, throw away) some of the rarely used excess items lying around the house.
Michele has a long list of what she considers to be totally unnecessary items that are no longer being used, just taking up space, and should be given away. I’m cautiously optimistic to report that as of this writing, I am not one of the items on that list. But I suspect I’m on the bubble........ Read more

I'm lost,
alone,
forgot
your
name.
When,
we meet
again,
will it
be the
same?