Magazine Posts

I look at you and I see,
this resemblance
that looks like me.
Why is that I say to you,
when I'm with the monkeys
at the Woodlawn Park Zoo?

Roaring in, from the East it came.
An ill wind, that will ever remain,
carrying a virus, no plan in mind
except the destruction of today's mankind.
Ill prepared were those left in charge
to face the attack and heavy barrage,
attacking all without reason or rage.
preying on those who were of old age.

The Daffodils swayed,
The Tulips did dance,
In the filtered Moonlight
Of a garden Romance.

Fly away.
Fly away from here.
Leave now.
Do it soon.
Hit the bricks,
as we would say.
Scratch gravel,
White Wind,
When leaving a place.
Run far,
Far as you can.
Keep running, then run some more,
For there is no escape
From the stranger at your door.

Floating in the air
as a moth to the flame,
when he arrived here.
It was never the same,
as he spoke in riddles,
when people gathered around.
His words that he uttered
were very unsound.
"Pay to me your homage,
pay every day or I will
turn this World into pain."
He had no compassion
for woman or man
and lies and stealing was
his primary plan.
Tell them what they want to hear
but do not deliver or keep your word
and soon they will make a King out of you.

A single, lonely Moth
flits to the flickering flame
Gone

I'll tell you a story
or spin you a tale,
about what is good
about being a male.
Not much to say,
not anymore
for lies and cheating
are part of the lore.
Give me your money,
I'll take it from thee,
for I am the Man,
now give it to me.
Don't tell me about
the socialist state
for I am the one
who you must berate.
I create messes
both near and far,
the wreck of a man,
a television star.
I'm not the man,
for that's not me.
I am ignorance and bliss
that's what you'll see;
a cowardly man
a self buffoonery.

I now question what I see,
as I'm seeking some originality.

From across the ocean.
it came to be,
the loss of life,
for an eternity.
A virus so bold,
no one could see
the impact on our destiny;
of lives we've lost,
never more to be,
amongst their friends
or their family.

Rain once more,
a Spring so cold,
sunshine missing
this is getting old.

It was dark.
It was cold
and once the
story was told,
you became aware
it was old.
Not as bad
in the fold,
like a fungi,
or even mold.
I'm quite certain,
this could be,
end of life
only for me.

When you leave this place
at the end of your day,
will you stroll slowly
or run quickly to say,
"Goodbye to all,
that I know well;
I'm on a pathway,
going straight to Hell."