Magazine Posts

I once was young; a lovely
Shade of red.
Now that my life is spent,
My shade of red is dead.

I am just a wee, little mouse,
Living outside, not in your house,
But if, I can get into your place,
I'll explore, all over, leaving a trace
Of my droppings, that let you see,
That visitor you had. Well that was me.

Give me the sliders, hold the bun.
Is this what my life has become/

I sit on a lily pad,
looking at the blue sky,
watching for shadows,
that catch my eye.
If I see a shadow or movement,
then into the water,
I'll jump, again.
I am a Bullfrog;
proud as can be,
for I'll sing my song
and I will sing it for free.
The sound of my voice,
along with my Frog friends,
bring a rapturous melody
so I can pretend,
that if kissed by a Princess,
my Frog life will end.
Are you a Princess, I ask thee?
If you are, please oh please,
just kiss me.

I'm in San Diego, as I do remember.
The time of the year? Mid December.
Walking down Broadway, in Civilian clothes,
My first Christmas season, spent not at home,
for here, at 20 of age, I was alone.
There were other people here, just like me,
in the U. S. Navy, serving our Country.
Broadway Ave, was the street I walked down,
when I ran into a friend, from my hometown.
What a surprise for me to see,
a friendly face. who was alone, like me.

It's a terrible thing, this image I see,
When crawling through brambles,
On hand and knee.
There I am, in darkest night,
With my only weapon
My Ray O Vac. flashlight.
Shining the light, slowly ahead to see,
I see my friend, looking back at me.

Some whiskers that were on my chin,
have rebelled and are off again.
Unsure the way they left, or how,
but they're back; up in my brow.
Growing North, South, East and West.
I wish they would grow, with the rest.
There never was a brow that was dark
so I assume this growth but a lark.

Oh dearest Mary
where are you now,
when I need you most?
Is your spirit here
or is it your ghost?

Walking through a stand of trees
Snow is deep, up to my knees.
Keep on moving, if you please,
Moving so my toes don't freeze.
This happened prior to Gore-Tex days
When snowy water wet your boots,
Soaked your socks; froze your toes.
Why we did this? No one knows.

Walking through the woods,
late one night,
When I caught a glimpse
that gave me a fright.
The shadows, the shape I saw,
brought chills to my spine.
When I looked again,
I swore it moved,
But then as I came close to see,
I found it was a gnarled tree.

Another story, another line. A string
of words, that are inclined to
capture these fleeting thoughts of mine.
Some words, just appear. Where others
remain, hidden in the shadows of
my mind.
There is a tendency, that stays with me
to write in verse or rhyming poetry.
I'm not sure why but I will say
it is ingrained in patterned words
that fall to paper, instantly.
I try not to think, too hard,
but like a broken pot or a shard,
will drop to paper, with scratching pen
and then will be the place I began.
Why I write in this way,
is still a mystery, most every day.

I would like to run
and to hurdle,
but I cannot,
for short, stubby legs
I have got.
I am a Turtle,
don't you see.
Running fast
is just not me.
Pull in my head,
legs and feet,
now I'm safe
in my retreat.