Magazine Posts

I recall, from so long ago,
being at a local establishment,
one evening so clear,
that I was dancing with my Mother,
and it was dear.
I said to her, with a grin,
"Mom how come your wedding anniversary
was in June the same
year I was born, in December?"
She looked at me and said, "The first one
comes at anytime, the rest
takes nine months", you see?
I said to her, " most certainly."
I was thirty-two, while she was fifty-one.
I miss you Mom.

Down in the Yakima Canyon,
Oh my sakes alive,
Did that speedometer
Pass ninety-five?
Back in the day,
Gas was 29 cents a gallon.
No emission equipment,
No four cylinder banger,]
Just big V-8's,
With plenty of horses.
Mufflers were replaced
With a Smitties, glass packs
And shiny echo cans,
Protruding under the back.
Did they make noise?
You bet they did,
After all we were still
Being a kid.
I liked to drive fast
And race if I could.
Not legal of course,
But we understood,
That we were,
Invincible.
The folly of youth
Was where we were at.
The king of the road
Or something like that.

The story was...
From out of the heavens, it did fall.
A mysterious object, that's what I recall.
It wasn't located for many a year,
So the search, no longer did appear,
When by chance, on a Spring day,
It was discovered by children at play.
The object, was oblong, three feet in length
And took several children, using their strength,
To hoist into a wagon, a Radio Flyer.
The wagon was pulled through rock and mire,
Arriving home, where the dirt was hosed off.
Washing away they heard a small cough;
Now getting louder, from this space thing,
When the object suddenly began to sing.
Getting out tools, a gentle process began.
Suddenly there appeared a small little man.
A man/woman, unlike you or I.
The small creature then uttered a sigh
And said in a unique, accented tongue.
"Are you adults? For you appear very young."
This creature was thin like an axe.
For practical purposes, we named it Max.
We kept Max hidden, long after that,
It's size was about like a feral cat.
Many days and nights became years.
The lesson learned, was Harness Your Fears.
Max is gone now, I don't recall how,
But the lessons learned, we could use now.
That's our story, so in the end
Let's call it a happening. Let just pretend.

My mind is running away from me.
I think I need a pre frontal lobotomy.
Thoughts that are stuffed in every place,
Wedged in cracks or any empty space.
I need some time. Time to think
Or I may have to turn to drink.

Here I am at the Starbucks drink bar,
When you walk in, like a movie star.
Your hair was quite long, not in a bun,
The clothes that you wore, were beautifully done.
A long, thin face, with a Roman nose,
The lovely eyes, that were very composed.
My God, I said to myself, as I
Waited for my drink, standing by you,
Awkward in feeling, not sure what to do.
I did not wait there very long,
For your drinks arrived, then you were gone.

Is there a roto rooter for your mind.
Words of hate, of our fellow man.
Can it purge these words, most unkind?
I wish there were. I even plea,
Clear out my mind, do it for me.

There is a gnome
living in our yard
who appears to be stoic,
trying very hard,
to be alert
when the rabbits
come out to eat.
He guards against bugs,
and crawly things,
but doesn't like slugs.
Keeping an eye on
Cats that walk by,
on their prowl.
The Cats ignore,
they don't even growl,
as they search
for their usual prey.
All in all
the gnomes
will play every day.
If you are alert,
like I usually am,
you can see
They're out of place.
The quiet gnome
have made this
garden their home,
and that's all
right with me,
as we live
together, most happily.

Look at me.
Look this way.
Can you not see me?
I wish you would say,
I'll be right with you,
Instead of looking away.
Don't ignore my spot in your place,
Please I came here to eat,
Not just be a face,
That you choose to ignore.
This probably sounds terrible
But have I become invisible?

Don't mock me or the clothes, that I wear.
Please don't even mention my hair.
My hair, is not the bluest of blue
Kind of a mixture or purple hue.
I wear my yellow morning coat, you see
And the polka dot tie that goes to my knee.
My pants are a lovely shade of emerald green,
With pointed shoes, that would impress the Queen.
Why do you stare at poor, lonely me?
I dress this way because I am free.
Free to do what ever I like,
I even have a bright yellow trike,
With bells and whistles, setting the scene,
For I'm fulfilling my only childhood dream.
So off I go, on the short, little trip,
You must admit, that I do look quite hip.
So tell me now, If you possibly can,
Am I your picture of an elegant man?

Could I be your friend?
Would you please be mine?
I am a beautiful Porcupine.
A strange little creature,
That's what I be,
But I am friendly,
That you can see.
You must be careful
If you try to hug me,
For my quills will engage
And will come free.
A painful thing for you,
But won't be for me.

There lies a crazy, mixed up pile of prose,
that may have beauty but not like a rose.
Be careful now, don't step on my toes,
for I need them to dance, I do suppose.

Over the hill, down through the Glen,
is a quiet place, hidden from men.
A most beautiful sight, rounding the bend.
Solitude for travelers, that will never end.
If it's unreal, then let us pretend,
The place is for all races of women.