Magazine Posts

This raging fire, lies within my chest
And despises what we have become
As a Nation, under God,
That treats others, not our kind,
With hatred, ignorance and crazed mind.

One quick Pony, will do the trick,
If it keeps you happy and doesn't lick
The back of your head, with it's tongue.
Why do they do that when they are young?

Flowers surround this golden path
As the wind whips the colorful mass
Of all the Buds and Blossoms entwined.
As I walk this Nature's path of mine,
Blooms of Daffodils and Tulips have gone away.
Not returning until next years, Spring Day.
There are other beautiful flowers to see,
Shasta Daisies and Esters shine, readily.

I am afraid. My mouth is dry.
Not going to weep nor will I cry.
I'm six years old, wondering why
My parent's left me with no goodbye.
Great grandmother Fischer was sitting with me.
I didn't know her language was from Germany.
Was I afraid? More than likely, I think I was,
No reason, I'm sure. Probably just because

The kitten played and he tugged
With the yarn ball on the rug.
He batted it with a tiny paw,
Snipping and biting with his small jaw.
A string was exciting, he started to prance,
In doing so it was much like a dance.
Tiring, after he played, he'd go to my lap
To fall asleep, short like a nap.
The joy that this kitten, did bring
To my life, was a wonderful thing.
Thanks be to God for this happiness,
In this World that is in such a mess.
Be good to each other, is now my plea,
So you enjoy your life, like kitty and me.

You were a silhouette in the Sun.
I didn't know that you were the one,
Or the destiny we were waiting for.
To love, honor and to adore.
The years have passed, too quickly now.
I pledge, again, my troth to thou.

My mind is locked at this time.
I won't weep or become sublime
But will stay to this craft,
Unless, of course, I'm becoming daft.
Always possible in this day and age.
Don't like it? Turn the page.

I was seventeen or in between
My eighteen years. My father
had bought a truck, a 39 Ford,
One and a half ton, with V8 and
A two speed Eaton. Dad had
A contractor install a bed,
That could be elevated to drop
A load of Peas, Corn or Wheat.
I would pick up workers and take
Them home from the Pea Viner's.

When working, hauling Wheat, out
Kittitas way, heading to the
Grain elevator, to dump my load of
Wheat. The State Patrol had a road block.
I was pumping my brakes to make a stop,
But the weight of the Wheat was not
Helping. Needless to say, "No Ticket."
Went to the elevator, dumped the Wheat,
Back to the field for another load.
I would drive alongside the Combine
And the wheat would come down a
Funnel and fill up the bed.
Repeat this task until all the Wheat
Is gone and only straw remains.

What is this life that has been lost?
Was it worth the hateful cost?
Will the life come back on the morrow?
Or will your life go on, in sorrow?

When I write that my mind is unsound
I try not to imply, there is something wrong.
It's just the worry that comes to me,
What I'll do when I no longer can be,
The support, that she needs.
A puzzle? Sure but not one to lose
As there are options that we can choose.

I dislike this part of growing old,
When our friends are dropping
Like flies in the cold.
Another class mate
Has now gone away.
It will soon be my turn,
Just not today.