Magazine Posts

We were told to be good, behave
And from this life, our Souls to save.
The hardness of our life, I see
Is full of fear of life's reality.
Remember that a person, should not deride
The feelings that others, have trapped inside.
We all have our life to live,
No matter what, we have time to give
And support family and friends, I know
That we must do that to save our Soul.

"Be a good steward of your gifts. Protect your time. Feed your inner life. Avoid too much noise. Read good books, have good sentences in your ears. Be by yourself as often as you can. Walk. Take the phone off the hook. Work regular hours."...................Click  to read  Maria Popova's Brain Pickings article about  Kenyon’s "A Hundred White Daffodils: Essays, Interviews, The Akhmatova Translations, Newspaper Columns, and One Poem"

Valentine Day is coming.
To dinner we will go.
I promise you no singing,
For you and I both know,
This might be last, in this life,
To dine out as man and wife.
I love you my beautiful one
And will always stay with you,
Until this life is done.

I have so little time to write
That I grab any moment I can.
Not the most favorable of settings,
But most certainly is better than
Not writing at all. Please understand.

Snap and crack
Down came a branch
On the street

You say, I need to go away
To a place where I can stay.
It's not fair for you, she cried.
I said, No, I'll stay by your side
Until there is no more night or day.
I'll be with you, all the way.

She cried tonight and then did say,
Don't want my friends to see me this way.
That becomes hard for me to emote
When I feel hands around my throat.
The anguish that's felt, I can't write down
My heart is breaking as I look around
And see our friends and family.
I hate this part of life's finality.

Was I lost and have now been found
Or was it something less profound?
Who is to say? Certainly not me,
For on today my mind runs free.

There sat a small bird.
I'll call him Fred.
No chirping songs heard.
Hopping around on the deck,
Seeing something; making a peck.
Got my sack of seed,
Scattered some on wooden planks.
After awhile Fred is back,
Looking at me and my sack
Of bird feed, held in hand,
Acting like he is now
in his own promised land.