Magazine Posts

Does love abide?
Does love abound,
Through silent nights
with daylight sounds?

May all your ills tomorrow
Be cured by the rising Sun.
May all your bad deeds be forgiven
And all your work be done,
For here's to a new beginning,
With no worry; just have some fun.

Black is the color
of this moonless night.
Black is the heart,
when he takes flight.
Fear not the darkness,
welcome the fight.
Life will be better
at Dawn's first light.

Disparage me not,
you, my true love,
for I care for you.
That is my trove.

I sit, all hunched in the chair;
elbows on knees, hands to my head.
Worried now but still unaware
of all of the words, blue and red,
flying about through the Winter air.
Why is it I am not able to see,
the words to this life's mystery?

When the rays of light,
in the broad, Western sky,
fades into black;
another day has gone by.
If the clouds coat the night
or if it is clear,
a sky of starlight will appear.
No matter what is said,
there are more in the scene,
who are awaiting the missing vaccine.

Drive your car through the water
with the tires breaking the surface,
of the waters, smooth as glass.
Write about your new adventure.
Do it now, while memories last.
Think about the new tomorrow,
by bringing back your old past.

The wind is blowing, from the South,
Grains of sand, attack my mouth,
Pulling the hood, atop my head,
I watch closely, to where I tread.
As I step on the un-firm sand,
I return, once more, to journeys end.

Care not for I,
as I say goodbye
to life's sweet sorrow.
Away it will fly,
to a better time,
on an evening nigh,
while all you do,
is sigh and sigh.

When Dawn's light shines through the pane.
When I mutter, "I slept in again."
I rise quickly, fast for me,
Before the daylight will flee,
For I have many tasks to do,
Before my next visit with you.

Barren the earth.
Cold is the night.
A bramble of branches,
Are naked in my sight.
The leaves are all gone.
They lay on the ground
as Song Birds sing
the most joyous sound.

I am not a poet,
I am not a bard,
for many of my writings
are actually quite hard.
So difficult to write,
not many but a few.
I will write for myself,
but do write for you.