Magazine Posts

Is there love within the limbs of trees?
When the wind blows and branches quake,
While leaf's are all a flutter
As seed pods, spin to the ground.
Now I see new sprouts growing
And the sign of new life is here.
I must weed; removing this offer
Of new trees.

Gone are the days,
Gone far away.
A simpler life then,
Running and to play,
Kick the Can.
Fun at twilight
As the Sun descended,
Into the darkest of night.
Playing hard; do it again,
Running fast towards,
Kicking the Can.

Another story, another line. A string
of words, that are inclined to
capture these fleeting thoughts of mine.
Some words, just appear. Where others
remain, hidden in the shadows of
my mind.
There is a tendency, that stays with me
to write in verse or rhyming poetry.
I'm not sure why but I will say
it is ingrained in patterned words
that fall to paper, instantly.
I try not to think, too hard,
but like a broken pot or a shard,
will drop to paper, with scratching pen
and then will be the place I began.
Why I write in this way,
is still a mystery, most every day.

When the bloom is off the Rose
Perhaps it is time to stop and pose
The question of an aged mind,
Who is old but still quite kind.
What is the meaning of life, today
When most of your friends stay away.
Some from fear of how to be,
The kind of friend, that remembers thee.
It's hard to know what to do,
When you see Dementia from a different view.
Stay strong my friend, stay strong for me,
For I do recall somethings from my memory.

Working in the yard, late this morning,
I noted that the Hydrangeas are showing.
Fertilize and water is a must at this time,
The plants will develop hardy roots.
If they do then you will be rewarded
With beautiful blooms.

I would like to run
and to hurdle,
but I cannot,
for short, stubby legs
I have got.
I am a Turtle,
don't you see.
Running fast
is just not me.
Pull in my head,
legs and feet,
now I'm safe
in my retreat.

Have you heard a song,
not too long
and the words stick in your head?
I have and it happens
quite often,
and takes it's toll
when all I hear are the words
of "It's a small, small world after all."

A sadness has come over me,
when I see the loss of another tree.
The beauty that bounds with growth
of leaves, fir needles, was a
sign of Spring and of the new youth.
As the year progressed and needles shed
I realized the beautiful tree was dead.
Call up an Arborist, coming to see me,
for I need your opinion on this, my tree.
It's dead and we will remove it for thee.
Oh by the way, this is our fee.
Ouch! I said for unlike a mouse
I wanted the tree down; Not build a house.

Are words alive?
They seem to be.
I write them down
For you to see.
Is there a meaning
For you and me?
Or just the words
That are there for thee.

My heart's irregular beat
within my chest.
A physical event or feat
causes me to rest.
The soul I know, lies within,
undisturbed momentarily.
It's anguish will soon begin
when observing the futility
of fighting a disease this grim,
that borders on absurdity.
But fight we must, I say
It must readily need to be
for our life this way
is not certain; this we see.

Footloose and so fancy free,
Is what life was supposed to be.
What happened to this life we know
When your mind will no longer grow?

#sunset  #sunsets