Magazine Posts

When the wind blows, through the trees,
It's not a gale but a breeze.
The wind will help, with it's refrain,
Now all we need is some rain.
Rain, is the nectar, of the best.
It puts the green, in the Northwest.

Life drifts by, like on a boat,
Our main goal, is to stay afloat.

Into the blue and well beyond,
I'll search for you, after you're gone,
Your smile, will be, my guiding light.
I'll search for you, day and night.

For all our friends, far and near.
Those friendships, that we hold dear,
That mean the most. I must implore,
That we meet again and do explore,
A relationship, that will still last,
Although, so many years are now past.

Who said, "When it rains, it pours?"
We need them back, as we need more.
To go without rain, flowers have died.
The flowers we have, are all dried.

Words, that I thought, were long dead,
Are now swirling around, in my head.
My mind is like and empty bin.
Words go out and come back in.
Words, mostly of love and sometimes grim,
Are fat and meaty or very thin.
What meaning, does that provide to me,
Is thus: What will be, will be.

What poets feel not, when they make,
A pleasure in creating,
The world, in its turn, will not take
Pleasure in contemplating

Matthew Arnold  (1822 - 1888) English poet and cultural critic.

Why do I, care about you?
Must I do, what I do?
Life's mystery, of love and passion,
Fortunately, is still much in fashion.
The love for you or another,
Set up, when young, by our Mother.
Life's mystery, grows, each and every day,
Bringing love, along with heartache, today.
What's important; life must go on,
When the memories of yesterday are gone.

When will it be over,
When will it be done?
Will I, go on caring,
Over you, my only one?
Questions, arise in my head,
About what was to be.
Questions, so full of dread,
Answers, don't come to me.

It's okay to wonder,
It's okay to share.
It's okay to ponder,
It's okay to stare,
At peoples faces.
People, of all races,
Some, never seen before.
All with different customs,
All from another shore.

Writing words, about all of the dread
That tries to control, my confused head.
On this occasion, I'm easily led
For it is easier done, then said.

How much more water, does it take
For shrubs and flowers thirst, to slake?
This heat wave, we are in today,
Is stressing my plants, I must say,
Less heat is needed, on this day.
When will the weather, stop the pain
And provide us relief, with some rain?