Magazine Posts

Swallow, hollow,
hill and dale,
are in our vocabulary,
so is yard sale.

What does it mean?
I haven't a clue.
Just trying to find a way,
to be near you.

These are words,
I'm trying to write,
as I find a reply,
both jaded and trite.

I waken, hearing
a noise in my ear.
One not heard before,
or maybe last year.

A soft noise,
perhaps left by her.
A pleasant noise,
a very soft purr.

I look at my pillow,
it's then, when I see,
a small, furry kitten,
looking back, at me.

A Cat lover?
Never, I'm not,
but the love I see,
could never be bought.

Once was an arm,
where your foot, use to be.
Your anatomy is old,
you ugly, sand flea.

Bother someone else.
Do you not hear me,
you ugly excuse,
for a sand flea.

Please run,
please flee,
for you are
the ugliest sand flea.

A wobbling Sun.
What does it mean?
Prescriptions, making me dizzy,
must be here, at the scene.

Strange words,
at a strange time
in this strange life,
of my strange mind.

Life isn't simple, so
be nice to each other.

Here I sit,
alone again,
waiting for the
phone to ring,

of word from you
and how you miss me.
I won't hold my breathe,
so don't worry, I'll be fine.

Humor must be in a place,
when we write of our emotions.
If not, are we human?

The earth turned,
the butterfly flew.
What in the world,
did you just do?

You created a ripple,
in the Cosmic array,
causing discord to love,
on the very next day.

"When I first arrived on the South End, my biggest concern was finding a job. I’ve always maintained, and still do, that the only thing worse than work is looking for work. The best days of my life are those where I quit or gave notice or just walked off. The worst were the days following when it dawned on me I would now have to go searching for another dead end minimum wage position". More at The Skeeter Daddle Diaries ➜

Where do you hide,
when there's no place to go.
Do you head to a restroom,
or other places, unknown?

A silly question,
which pops into my mind,
for I dislike being stalked,
when I'm not inclined.

Stalked as if smothered.
is a loving act,
when your presence is not
wanted, a fact.

My brain is fried,
to a medium well,
as I resume my journey,
to the denizen of Hell.

What do I do, my faith,
has been changed,
while my mind becomes,
slowly deranged?

Bats in the belfry,
a screw loose in my head,
makes me think,
there's no life ahead.

In my heart,
I know it's not true,
for in this life,
I no longer have you.