Magazine Posts

This writing craft;
I love it well,
but at this time,
It's a living Hell.
My brain is bereft
of new words to write.
If there is grey matter left,
will cause me to mumble
but not to cry,
for I need some answers,
If I am to try
to keep writing this drivel,
by focusing on thee,
not what is now
worrying me.

He rode hard, down this trail of love.
A lifetime, a journey
Blessed from above.
Through canyons of sorrow
And much misery
To the happiest hills,
He would ever see.
For the love of family,
That he would cherish forever.
Dear God, please let it be.

A wonderful day.
A sleepless night,
We'll get through this
And all will be right.

The joy of the garden,
Where I love to be
Is starting to get the
Best of me.
My hands ache now
And also my knee
For once I get down,
It's hard to get up
Without some company.
Oh I love to look
At the beautiful flowers,
But right now
I'd like some rainy showers.

Your writing is crazy,
you crazy, old lout.
Don't be so lazy,
give a loud shot.
Let your old mind,
run free as the breeze.
It is not kind,
listening to you wheeze.
You reach for a word,
eluding this prose.
Keep in mind, all flowers
smell not like a Rose.
Do what you do,
don't just suppose.
Get off your rear;
at this I arose
and out to the garden
where everything grows.

I am not very good
at what I do,
but know that I need
to do it for you.

I've come to understand,
somethings driving you
to behave strangely,
as you often do.

Having a choice seems
to create this refrain,
so I must simplify now,
to reduce the pain
and to spare you from
having that discussion again.

You told me again
just like before.
"I know you don't like me,
not anymore".
She says that quite often;
I've heard it before,
"I know you don't like me,
not anymore".
I don't like her for what
she has become,
but I do love her,
every waking hour
and will love her today
and the day after tomorrow.
She cannot help the words
that she will say,
for there are no filters
to get in the way.

Is there someone living inside
this shell of a man,
who writes without thinking
about others who can.
Putting words to the paper
that rests on his knee.
Help me, please stranger
who is inside of me.
Help me free up my
feeling when I think of she.

You terrify me with your beautiful eyes.
I don't understand nor can I surmise
of the rapture I feel
when I hear your sighs.
Sighs of pleasure,
they were for me.
Oh help me now
for I soon must flee.
Flee from the eyes
making my pulse dance.
Free from the pain
of an ending romance.

The quickness of wit,
The sharpness of tongue,
Being physically fit,
You were the one,
Who drove me to drink.
No not in a car,
But that sharp tongue.
I went straight to the bar;
To the bar for a drink,
Which I did very well
On this my journey
To alcoholic Hell.

Forget me not, she spoke to me.
I ask questions for I have no memory.

He writes of love.
He writes of hate.
He writes of life.
He writes a date,
About all his worries
Of concerns in life,
And the slow demise
Of his lovely wife.