Magazine Posts

Sometimes I write the words that flood my head, not thinking, just writing.
Here is an example.

Words that cling,
words that fled,
have caused an avalanche,
in this old head.
Words we use every day,
are here now, and
here they'll stay.
Words that stick like Velcro
or like "a rolling stone."
No Moss to gather, all alone.
What is this gibberish
that you write,
are these words wrong
or are they right?
Talk to me now,
you Spring delight
for I will not leave
without a fight.
OK then, say what you will
but for me now, it's Good Night.

Dance with me as you did before;
A slow dance with music you adore.

She glanced at him,
as he walked by.
He looked at her,
knowing not why.

A single encounter,
as if by chance,
could this lead to,
a new romance?

He stopped again,
as if to try,
she said no to him,
with a sigh.

"Please don't bother me,"
she said to he.
"Please go away,
and leave me be."

Off in the distance,
I hear a sound.
Not knowing what or where
a sound so unique,
of soft and loud.
Melodious for my ears,
long will I remember
the sound I heard.
I won't explain
it now to you;
for it matters not,
as you must know
the sound of life
in a death throw.

The life in her eyes
faded and dim,
tells me the story of what
happened to him.
A long lost love of
so many years ago,
that she misses now,
waiting to go.
Missing the boy who
stole her heart.
He left her there
many miles apart.
A childhood love, gone
from her door.
He no longer visits here,
not anymore.
Nothing left for her
to see,
just an image of him
as a memory.

My words escape me.
They have gone away
and will not return
when I will say.
I'm sorry for what
we have now lost
and will make amends,
no matter the cost.

Across the Valley, atop the hill
comes the shrill call of a Whippoorwill.
The haunting cry, give me a chill
up my spine; it always will.
Gone from my mind; that was until
I heard the cry of the Whippoorwill.
Long did I wonder, why time stood still,
when I heard the cry of the Whippoorwill.

The Rooster was a Red,
of that I am sure.
What happened next,
I had to endure.
A rural scene, out in our yard,
I was just playing around,
when I heard a noise;
a loud, scary sound.
I turned to look
for what it might be
and saw a Red Rooster
running at me.
I stood up, as quick
as I could, thinking
the Rooster misunderstood.
My mind told me to run,
not just to flee,
for that big Red Rooster,
was coming for me.
I ran to the house
and grabbed a broom
fighting off the impending doom.
I went out to play
on the very next day,
uncertain if the Red Rooster
was far away.

My grandfather would say
on a warm Spring day,
"you can feel the rain
as it is on the way."
I didn't understand then
but I do now,
for from the wind
a coolness could be felt
on the warm Spring day
and soon the rain
was falling in it's way.

When I was young,
not quite a teen,
I thought I knew
what a life did mean.
But now with years
gone, so quickly by,
I know not of life
nor can I try
to explain to you, my friend
how suddenly this
long life will end.

Dear God
I pray in the next life
you treat her with care,
for at this moment,
I'm filled with despair,
about the loving God
that hears not, my prayers.
So I'm left to go and shout,
"Why are you doing this to She,
tell me please, this aged lout
for I don't understand, let me see
why She must suffer so,
which hurts her family."

"I don't need this,"
she said to me.
"For in a home
is where I must be."
Not happening at this time,
for the danger that lurks,
are not good, not sublime.
The risks that are in a home,
are too high for her,
so Assisted Living
I must now defer.