Magazine Posts

When in the yard, I'll hear a caw,
That tells me about where you are.
I'll reply, "I hear you now"
And then, it's when I see
You on the limb of the Maple tree.
I hear your voice telling me,
That you are hungry, very hungry.
I'll find some Peanuts, not in the shell;
Place them on the ground, where you see well.
Then I wait for your mate and thee.
As you alight, so cautiously,
I say, "Don't be afraid", I say to you
And I leave as I have tasks to do.

If Batman had a grandma....

Get up now, you lazy one.
It's 6 AM; your days begun,
But the thought is in my head,
It's Sunday morning; go back to bed.

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It matters not,
where you have been.
If it was, done for love
or a conjugal sin.
My sight is dimming,
as my hearing goes
and my body's a mess.
The hair, once luxurious
has started to leave,
as balding approaches.
My ears are starting to sag,
with skin now mottled
but this much I know,
as the climate keeps warming,
some of us must go
to that place of sugar and spice
as long as we have plenty of ice.

Sometimes when I'm writing,
I would swear, my mind
Has thoughts of it's own.

With pen in hand, I write
The words that pop into
This brain of mine.
Writing fast, scribbling here,
Unable to read the words
As they fly by, as I attempt to
Write. Oh my goodness
There is no period in sight
To end all this rambling
Prose. There. Finally one
Did appear, but what happened
To the commas?
Did they disappear?
I wish I knew, for it would
Make it clear, that my
Writing sense is not here.

The cold air chews through my clothes,
gnawing on these old bones.
The air crisply attacks my nose
as I shiver with the coldness.
A warm hat on my head
with flaps to protect my ears.
Gloves with a warm lining
keep the fingers writing.
I don't like this Winter chill
especially when it's still Summer.

Marmalade heaven, oh let it be.
Marmalade toast and a cup of tea.
Silly jingle with simple rhyme.
I could eat Marmalade toast
Almost every time.

Pulling into the Chi Chi Jima Harbor, I could see
a rusted hulk of a tanker, sitting idly
in the harbor of this beautiful island.
It has been many years, quite awhile
and thinking of it, made me smile.
This island, all hilly and green
was used to fuel the propaganda machine.
This all happened, as I suppose
you have heard of that person, "Tokyo Rose"?
The radio tower, is down on the ground
and no longer broadcasts a musical sound.
The propaganda was full of inaccurate news,
but the music was good, so what's to lose?
Directed at young men and our boys,
Rose played with their emotional toys.
Those days now gone, no longer here,
all I wanted now, was the free beer.
The Captain had provided a picnic lunch
and we obliged by eating and drinking, a bunch.
Budweiser and Philippine San Miguel beer.
That's all the news wanted here,
of course, excluded were some men on the ship,
as they "had the duty" and missed the trip.

Can you tell me this per chance?
Have you ever seen a chicken dance?
I may have, when they scratched and dug.
Was that their version of cutting a rug?

We were young and a pair of fools,
Who played hard, when we could,
Breaking all the known rules.
Frank was my close friend.
He became my best man.
We would go out to drink beer,
From bottles, not from a can.
Frank had a 47 Ford, Turtleback
And mine was a 47 Plymouth Coupe.
We would cruise through the 'Burg,
Around the block, doing a big loop.
We liked the noise of the cars
And would exchange our mufflers
With Smittys, glaspaks and
Were nice sounding with Echo cans.
We would cruise the town, like LeMans.
Noise from the Smittys were not crass
And when we cruised by the stores,
We could rattle the window glass.
Those were the days; no more to see
For most of my friends
Are now sweet history.

In the navy, back in the day,
on board a ship, all painted grey.
Our ship, the USS Marsh, Destroyer Escort,
tied up to Buoy 21, when in port
of San Diego. Many sailors, at this time
would have Liberty for shipmates mine.
Not wanting a uniform was the rub,
civilian clothes, banned on our ship,
not wanting uniforms, to look hip.
Joining a locker club, where you could keep,
your clothes on hangers, not in a heap,
on the floor. The Seven Seas was the club for me,
where my civilian clothes would always be,
when we were at sea. Liberty would
be the call, to lockers of steel not wood,
where we could change clothes, most certainly,
at the Sevens Seas for a small monthly fee.