Magazine Posts

If my whining about life doesn't stop.
I may have to set up a shop.
A shop that's full of sorrow and pity,
And isn't the only one in this city.
Now if I write a sad ditty
And then you might think I'm witty.

When I was a young man,
some would say "frisky",
I would do activities
that could be quite risky.
Remember when you were young
and reason not, to succumb,
doing things that were probably dumb.
There was never a pretense
nor lacking a common sense.
Doing these things in reality,
young men revert to boys,
more often than not, quite frequently.

Here sits Lenny the Loon,
under the light of the moon.
Hatched from an egg
I'm sure you see.
Not born of a Mom,
unlike you and me.
A difference that's not
really wasted on he.
A story of a life,
for all us to see.
A story that could
aptly soon be,
one of the many humans
so much like we.
From the color of his feathers
to the shape of his beak,
can you please, just tell me
about his webbed feet?
He's not one of us,
that's plain to see,
so he doesn't belong here,
some old goose said,
take way his children
from the Mothers who dread
said the old goose,
we'll keep them with others,
so they never get loose,
nor see their Mothers.

Drink to the heavens, so far above.
Drink to the beautiful, unfettered love.
How did I lose someone like thee?
I will never know, what I can't see.

Things that were here
are no longer there.
They vanish from view,
even as we stare.
Where do they go?
I wish I knew.
What I do know,
it was just you.

Don't be so spiteful,
a man once said to me,
for nothing you do,
will set you free.
That may be true,
was my lone retort,
but in real life,
it's time to abort.

Well now, here we are, once again
with a new daily onslaught of rain.
Rain falling from the grey skies above,
Is Nature washing the rain, with love.

If I were you
and you were me,
would I see freely
what you think of me?
Would you see the
love in my eyes
or hear my frightful cries?
Would I know you
as you know me,
in this abstract of uncertainty?
I don't know.
How about you?

I'm up very early
at a quarter of two
and all I can do
is think about you.
I recall your smile
and your gentle grace,
as I call forth a vision
of your beautiful face.
What can I say
about this tepid relent?
I wish that I knew
what is fates intent.

I feel my life,
slowly ebbing away
and wish to return
to an earlier day.
A day where my emotions
are not in disarray.
Please understand me,
as I write in this way,
what is happening to me,
is not mine to say.
Oh please, my dear Lord,
help, by letting me pray.

You don't know me at all
and most certainly not well,
But I feel that my soul
Is being pulled towards hell.