Magazine Posts

If I say, "I have read,"
it sounds like head,
or I will read,
sounds like deed
or perhaps a reed.
By adding a "Y",
the word becomes ready
and is pronounced like "Betty."
It does not mean I've read,
more like I'm ready to read.
Funny this English language is.

If I say retreat
or turn back.
Try to release,
letting it go
or redo,
do it again
and repeat,
do it once more
or reword,
supply a new word.
How about reduce"?
making it smaller
or use resize.
I like remain,
staying here
or remaining.
A different meaning,
the word result.
How something did end.
Then remember,
capturing an event.
Relive,
to live once more
or use resurface,
to change a cabinet
or floor.
Review,
to see it again
or resow,
spreading more seed,
or replant
a new deed.

Never make passes
at girls who wear glasses.
I dated a girl.
A girl who wore glasses.
She was a beauty
and she wore glasses.
I tried to give her a kiss.
She tried to do the same.
Raising her head,
as I dropped mine,
my nose struck the bridge
of her glasses,
making a loud noise,
which woke the masses.
This is why you
never make passes
at girls who
wear glasses.

I will see you again,
as our Souls are now linked,
by sinew, muscle, bone
and on paper with ink.
Another story of lost love,
is not what you think,
for it will pass all of time
through life, as I sink,
into the sorrow of missing
you and move to the brink,
for my love will live on
faster than you can blink.

If I'm cooking in our kitchen,
there will be no bitchen,
for this space belongs to me.
Don't mess with sauce cooking,
when I am not looking,
no adding salt to my gravy.

And there he was, plain as day,
with a 6 pack, in his hand,
asking a question, a smile on his face.
"Hello Mrs. Smith. Can Bobby come out to play?"

I awoke in the morning
my brow covered with sweat.
My nose has been runny
and my stomachs upset.
I hope what I caught
will pass quickly today
for whatever it is
I do not like.
My hair is disheveled.
Is this even a word?
For at any moment,
it is now absurd.
Back to bed now
as it's after 4
and I need to sleep.
Sleep, sleep, once more.

Of all of the what's
and all of the how's,
why is it now, I'm up
before all of the cows?

I do not like the word extraction,
when you are talking to me
as you plan to remove my tooth,
which is much older than thee.

I am trying,
I really am,
to write more words,
as I know I can,
but a problem is here
and it is troubling me,
for all I here in my head
are words; a song by Jim Croce.
I hear, "If could put time in a bottle".
Now, please understand, those maybe exact
or merely close to the actual song
I hear. "If I could put love
in a bottle, the only thing left in this World for me
is to make every day, a beautiful one
and I would do all of that, for thee".
Perhaps, by writing his words or
the words I hear, will provide relief,
to this different type of mental block.
I hope so, for I am disappointed
when I can't write prose for you.

This life is amazing.
This life is a blast,
for these inked word,
absolutely will not last.
Gone on the morrow.
No more to be seen.
Written by hand,
not a machine.

When the body rejects
the food put in your mouth,
does this have any meaning,
as your life's trending South?