Magazine Posts

You are a wild one,
you most certainly are,
for your eyes reflect,
what you see
and I can tell there
is no interest in me.
This is good news, as I see
for I am not interested in thee.

If I say I need you,
it's not all in my head.
If I say I knead you,
I must be making bread.
The "K" is silent in
English, I know,
instead of being "guttural"
in the Germanic style.
The word kinder
is German for child.

Jump up and down
you old, aged clown.
Please leave us now.
Just get out of town.

When your stomach starts
talkin trash to thee,
your lactose intolerance
may be a new allergy.

My thoughts are a jumble,
No longer from me,
for I've lost control.
It's now time to flee;
to run from here,
as quick as I can,
and become for the moment,
the old Nowhere Man.

Should I worrry
When she says,
"I have to go to
The bathroom" and
Then says, "Where
Is it?"
Should I worry?

The grey-blue
of the VW van,
shows primer spots,
with a little paint.
The metallic side,
is smooth; plain
with paint removed.
A great find today,
as a new ride may be
on its way. Hooray!

I lay in bed
with a thought of Ewe
in my head.
For counting of sheep
is supposed to help you sleep.
I hear a neigh in my ear,
for I can't disappear,
as the evening is nigh.
Oh, wait. I need to explain,
I'm talking of reign;
not talking about rain,
for if I do there,
it will be pain (ful)
as I place my head through
the window pane.

Looking out the window pane,
the streets are wet
with a Springtime rain.
As I lookout I bet,
the newspapers
may be dry, hopefully not wet.

From the cold waters of Lake Lenore,
come the voices from a bird haven.
Dark as night, not a Crow but a Raven.
A bird who will blot the Sun from the door,
saying over and over again, "Nevermore."
What sayeth now? I asked of him.
He wouldn't say but he looked grim.
"I have no words, to say to you,
for I know you always abhor,
a bird who talks, saying, Nevermore.?"

I'm alone in the dark,
years before cell phones.
A small flashlight,
it's called a "pen",
for it resembles,
the instrument
of its name.
Not much light
but I can still see,
the small patch
of ground, near my feet.
Not much help,
not to me,
but anything will do,
at a quarter to three.

I stood there looking at thee.
I watched you but couldn't see,
For I was lost in my reverie,
What has now happened to me?