Magazine Posts

Hear the wind.
It whistles loud,
through open window.
Bringing more rain
to wet the ground
that slakes the thirst
of our gardens flowers.

Where do you go my darling
When you slip away
to another space in time
and into an eternity?

The glowing dot of an ember
appears in the ashes.
The wood begins to smolder
when flames start their dance
with the wood in the pit
as it's new fired romance.

Nothing I say.
Nothing I write.
Nothing I do,
Will keep me
Away from you.

I am beginning to see so well
this, recurring, slow ride to Hell.
Dementia rears it's ugly head,
makes me think I am dead
to all those loves from before
are now laying on life's floor.

I remember, as a child
Rain falling on our roof.
No attic or insulation above
Just bare boards and some Tin.
The noise of rain, up above
Would be our lullaby song.
Sleep was pleasant with no pain
When I could listen to the rain.

I try to tell you
of what I do,
to better your life
as I listen to
the girl that I married;
one that I adore.
Please let her live
many years more.

I sit here in the chair
with my hands to my head.
I wonder why, in this land
that fate brought pain to thee.
I relish every moment,
we have in this, our life
and dread the day that it is gone,
for you are my inspiration
of what I now do.
What will I be without you?

A bright Moon,
silver orb in
the Southwestern sky,
watching the Earth
as clouds pass by.
What stories you'd tell,
if there was a way,
to hear all the words,
there were to say.
Please, oh please
tell us
for we want to know,
the secrets you hold
within that silver glow.

It's a strange World we live in,
Full of truths and of some lies,
That may appear quite different
When seen through another's eyes.

A World of great frustration
Or of a lover's sighs.
No matter, what your thought,
We all must now realize,
We are all quite different,
But it should not be a surprise,
That we are all the same
When seen through our God's eyes.

Some sunny days,
Some cooler nights.
Down came the rain
To my delight.
No watering needed by me
To keep the plants
And grass so greenly,
Except the plants
Under the umbrellas.

When the evening sun has set
more than a thousand times
and when days are as many,
as the grapes upon the vines,
will you remember of me
the good times and the bad?
Thinking pleasant thoughts
but never those when sad.
After all the other lovers
have left before they came,
will you still think about me,
and recall my name?