Magazine Posts

Like the fragile, ice of winter,
As the Sun heats up the day.
Like the moistness of a dew drop,
That evaporates away,
Into nothing,
So are the loves of summer,
Short lived.

I remember you,
From years gone by;
I see you now;
and cannot lie,
You are more beautiful,
Than even I,
Would have dreamt.
Your approach to life,
Seems to waiver not.
My spirits soar and rise
When I see the
Bluest eyes.

I wish for you, a special place,
Of happiness,
Where trouble will not be
Welcome.

Please don't leave me,
Stay for the day.
You know that I love you,
So don't turn away.
Why must it always,
End in this way?
Why do I have to
Beg you to stay?

Softly, blows the breezes,
Coming from the sea,
Bringing breaths of
Freshness.
Hear the seagulls,
Calling
And their shrilling plea,
While soaring,
Ever graceful,
In the twirling,
Swirling breeze.

It must be nice to have talent.
To write, without searching for a word
Or sing, not knowing music
And care about what is heard.
It must be nice, to be witty,
To speak, without notice,
Saying words that capture moments,
As they happen.
That would be nice.

March remembers
The coming of Spring,
While changes of weather,
Occur every day,
As coldness from Winter,
Is warmed by the sun
And rain drizzles down,
From ponderous clouds.

Today's pleasant
Moments are the
Fond memories of
Yesterday, that we
Recall tomorrow.
Hold them dearly,
For they can be
Elusive and escape,
Forever.

An East wind
Chills the night,
Laden with breaths of
Snow and frost.
The leaf's death rattle,
Tumbling through branches,
Mars the quiet.
The tree, with branches
Spread, stands barren
And alone,
As do I.

Animal people, all around,
Here I sit, hands all bound
With mental rope and chain.
Unencumbered, am I now,
Except for an addled brain.

You are there,
Beside me.
I sense your
Presence,
Through my pores,
A scent of
Your fragrance,
Precedes your appearance.
I know you're there,
Without seeing,
Like the candle,
Knows the flame.
I hear your step,
Before your footfalls.
I know all this,
But not your name.

God, the frustrations that
Lie inside of me.
I would like to believe
That at my age, a person
Would know what he'd
Like to do.
Perhaps, I'm living in the
Wrong time and place.