Magazine Posts

I've written down words,
Some strange words galore,
About leaving these writings
On the cold, cold floor.
When these words, spring into my head,
So rapidly that my eyes can't shed
The tears that gather on my eye lid.
So I write fast and if they did,
Stay on my eyes, as a vapor
And not fall down upon my paper.

North of Ellensburg, not too far ahead,
Is a creek, with lock and gate,
Referred to as the Naneum Watershed.
When I was young and liked to fish,
I would go through weeds with dread
To wet my line and make a wish
For there were Rattlesnakes around
Lying somewhere on the ground.
To catch a fish, with hook and line
For fishing was a love of mine.

The Moon hides behind the cloudy wisps
As it plays out it's Solar game.
Air is chilled, as a Northern wind
Places frost on window sill and pane.
The false Spring encouraged plants to grow.
This cold snap, a test of will,
Should soon be over, so warming Sun,
Heats the ground, creating many colors.
My inner feelings tell me to till
The soil; sow the seed and plant
The Primroses to brighten the drab garden,
Until the perennials are in bloom again.

Long years ago, with days no more,
Became our history and "days of yore".
Tales we could tell of our adventure,
Would more likely, be one of censure.
These stories could stand on their own
And probably never be told at home,
For life, which can be a mess,
Can also be one of happiness.
That my friend is up to thee
And your choice is for eternity.

Do the words, I write, touch you?
If they don't, it's OK, to turn away
From this page and plan to renew
Your own vows to live another day.

Where do I go,
What can I do,
With all the love,
I have for you?

I found a support group, you see,
I thought it might be good for me.
Boy was I wrong, it was much worse.
For me, it brought out all the misery
Of loss that Caregivers, face every day.
I know, I felt so lucky to be
With my wife who has many issues
Of losing most of her memory,
Not one who yells or swears at me
But the gentle soul, who still loves me.

Alive I have been, for many a year.
The waking up part is not a fear.
Some aching, creaking parts of body mine
Have started and continue the aging decline.

Forsake me not, she said to me.
Life will be what it will be.
Tell me not to change my way,
For now I live, just for today.
The morrow will be coming soon
And the night brings, the darkened Moon.
Fear of life, I keep hidden inside,
Searching for peace, for my life's ride.

The tip of a plant
Pushes through the snow,
Telling of growth below.
A warming Sun can't
Hurt, that I know.
As the weather warms,
There are seeds to sow
For new plants to grow.

The moonlight with off colored white,
Brightens the layer of ground covered snow.
White wisps of clouds, interrupt the light
That are reflected in the shadows below.
It is truly a most marvelous sight.
A look from my window, with tired eye
realizing that sunrise is nigh.
The Moon slowly moves from my sight
as the World abounds with false daylight.
Little to say, on this grayest of days,
Except the approach of Spring does amaze.

It is what it is and yet
I tell you I will never forget,
The Call of the Wild, in my veins
As sure as I recall, Seattle rains.