Magazine Posts

Have you heard a song,
not too long
and the words stick in your head?
I have and it happens
quite often,
and takes it's toll
when all I hear are the words
of "It's a small, small world after all."

A sadness has come over me,
when I see the loss of another tree.
The beauty that bounds with growth
of leaves, fir needles, was a
sign of Spring and of the new youth.
As the year progressed and needles shed
I realized the beautiful tree was dead.
Call up an Arborist, coming to see me,
for I need your opinion on this, my tree.
It's dead and we will remove it for thee.
Oh by the way, this is our fee.
Ouch! I said for unlike a mouse
I wanted the tree down; Not build a house.

I hear these words, in my head.
"It's 4 AM, go back to bed.

A little lizard lived in the sand
Under a rock, in an arid land.
Hiding in the coolness, his hiding site,
Waiting for the darkness, comes the night.
Scurry, scurry, then stop and stare,
Making sure no snake is there.
Find some insects or other food,
Then hurry back to where he stood.
Crawl under the rock, to sleep away
And be ready for a new day.

I'm in the mud up to my knees.
I know that my Mom would not be pleased.
Wiggling my legs, feeling the sea breeze,
I slip out of my boots
As easy as you please,
I now feel mud, between my toes.
The smell of the mud, so not like a Rose,
But more like today, the smell of decay.
I pull up each boot out of the mud,
One at a time and wipe off my feet,
Freeing them of grime. I'll have to
Go clamming again;
Some other time.

My mind is slow
Like an antique clock.
All I have now
Is Tick, no Tock.
What do I do
With my writer's block?
When my mind Ticks
But does not Tock?

In years past, I travelled for work.
At that time in life, it was a small chore,
To leave home Monday morning and go afore.
Sometime by plane, but mostly by car.
Being the newest to the job, I got the oldest car.
It ran OK but leaked oil and smoked a bit.
When at a light, it was a sobering scene.
The smoke all around, the color of cream.
Smells from the engine would run amok.
You could smell me coming for almost a block.
I talked to my boss on many a day.
He told me to park on the lawn and I would
Not have any crab grass. A joker he was.
Complaining a little, was all I could do.
Then I received news of a car that was new.
Drove to Seattle, as quick as I could,
And a new Chevy Bel Air, I quite understood.
Those were the days of good cheer
And good friends. Of small happenings
As the love did long endear.

A tiny creature, lives in that house,
Scurrying about, exploring; the tiny mouse.
An unusual creature, so little, so small,
Kind of short; certainly not tall.
Roaming about on his tiny little feet,
Searching, searching for something to eat.
Looking in cracks down on the floor,
At last he arrives at the Pantry door.
Finding food particles, he ate and ate
Until his tummy, he finally did sate.

It was in Hawaii
In the Kona Hotel, that
I saw my first, Feral cat.
Long legged, grey with striped fur,
Strutting about; Putting on an air
As it ambled as if it didn't care.
As I sipped on my Mai Tai,
In the evening Sun.
I recall a friend saying,
"Bet you can't drink more than one."
I ordered another, got up from my chair,
Went to the Loo with nary a care.
When I returned, walking wobbly about,
I said to our host, "that Devil Rum
In this Mai Tai, you serve here,
Is clouding my head", I had a fear
That I must start walking away from the scene,
As I anticipate an hangover
That was going to be mean.
I made it to bed early that night
And remember that I didn't sleep tight.
The lesson learned and I do not try
To ever again, drink a Kona Mai Tai.
At least not more than one.

There he was, so wan and pale.
Born with long ears but no tail.
A rail thin, spotted dog was he,
Full of love, simply wanting to be
Your companion, that you'd look
At endlessly, while doing what it took
To offer him shelter and protection,
He would bring love and affection.
Some people laughed at him, being unaware
That he was plain but didn't care.
The love of humans he did choose,
A love that he would never lose.

I recall when I learned to ski.
Went and bought equipment for me.
Boots, bindings, skis and pole
And sweaters, ski pants, you could see.
I looked the part, of a skier, of course,
But needed lessons to assure me
That I didn't break a leg or hit a tree.
Down the hill I went for a spin
Not realizing the trouble I was in.
Snowplow, she said over and over to me.
A basic move to do on that day,
To slow my descent down the hill.
I tried my best in my own way.
The following weeks, I learned to adore
The snow and the slope, like never before.
Making cutting turns, became a breeze,
When I did the right thing with my knees.
My Son skied with me; remember I can't;
Until I hit a bump and did a head plant.
My days of skiing are now years past,
But the memories hang on and will last,
To the end of my days, please let it be,
While I remember the first day I did ski.

Perhaps it's the boy, in this old man,
That plays in dirt when ever he can.
By playing, I mean, out in the yard,
Where a love of gardening, is not hard,
But a desire to see plants to keep growing.
No matter the fact that it soon will be snowing,
I found that I do not like a Fall chore
Of raking leaves, waiting, then raking some more.