Magazine Posts

There is a strange feeling
that comes over me.
A feeling or connection to
the person I'm with.
I don't understand what
is at work at that moment.
I only know the feeling
is good when you are near.

Off we did go
into the gloom,
the night was still,
as if in a tomb.
An eerie feeling
came over me,
when a noise heard
up ahead,
should I wait
or just flee?

Stay awhile, oh creature mine,
for you know
the difference that does entwine,
with your reactive eyes,
perky ears, big by design
to hear the smallest sound,
of predators, in this World
you have now found.

Writing now, with no
purpose in mind; telling
what I see or feel, at this time.
A loss of words that
escape and flee,
doing their best
to make a fool of me.

An inland sea provides great delight
when the stars; those seen at night,
those twinkling gems, in the sky,
bring forth memories of you and I.
A star so bright, in heavenly array
comes to us from light years away.

Hello there, you people.
Give me a shout
and I will tell you
what love is about.
Love is what you do
when you stay in,
rather than go out
to be with your friends.
No matter the time,
no matter the end,
when you are in love,
It's not "Lets Pretend."
Love is for real.
It can start any place,
regardless of color,
regardless of race.
No matter who,
no matter where,
when love is in bloom
it is everywhere,
so step up to the plate,
let us see very clear,
for a long love,
we suffer and endear.
I love my children.
I love them all,
short ones, tall ones,
but most of all,
I'll love you tomorrow
for don't you see
true love is but a memory.

There is always a time.
There is always a place,
For these words to rhyme
when I see your face.

The new flowered Tulips
move and sway
on this cold,
cold April day.
The Sun is out,
that I'll say,
but the chill remains
and will now stay
for a few more,
of a Winter/Spring day.

I look out the window
and I see,
a three-quarter Moon
looking at me.
It is in the morning hour;
a quarter past three.
I am going back to bed
to be close to thee.

When day is done,
she has gone to bed.
I sit here, alone,
thoughts racing thru my head.

What to do for her?
No ideas to shed,
for moving her away,
my life will be dead.

Times are there,
with words now unsaid,
where moving her now
brings on the dread
of not seeing her here,
but with daily visits instead.

Word after word, feed my Soul.
Words that are too many
that spill from the bowl
of this aged mind,
no longer can tell
difference between Heaven
and a place in Hell.

Rid those of this disease you have,
for I abhor what I now see.
When you are in the "Sundowner Phase"
you ask many questions off the wall.
Questions that I know not at all.
"Do you remember that young man?"
I'll say, "I can't recall, unless
there are more specifics, for my guess".
I'll say, "Recently or long ago?"
She will say, "I don't know."

For ever more
I'll wait for you.
Please don't tell me
What I am to do.