Magazine Posts

Clothes are strewn every where
across the bed, upon the chair.
Try them on, toss to the floor,
try something else and try more.
Don't put them away
that's not your chore.

Gone forever,
Gone beyond,
Gone across mountains,
Hill and pond.
Nevermore to see,
The light of day.
In God we pray,
Far across the vast sea,
Beyond this World,
Nevermore to see,
What love has brought
For you and me.

Sometimes we are lucky.
Sometimes we're just good.
Sometimes our good fortune is
Sometimes misunderstood.

Tulip tops chewed
new planted bulbs
darn Rabbit

I sit on a stool.
I sit on a chair.
My head is spinning
with words everywhere.
Words that will pour,
from this aged brain
are still sitting here
and will remain,
as long as I write,
as fast as I can
to capture the words,
where they began.

A flame flickered, dancing away
in the pit with red embers,
on this cold, wet, dreary day.
The warmth of the fire;
I ponder what to say
to her Doctors about,
not trying to portray,
her recent behavior
on another forgettable day.

Why am I here?
What can I do,
to ease this transition,
we're going through?

You slip away slowly,
not hearing what I say
as your memory fails
both week and day.

I worry not
about what I see,
but am concerned,
when near thee.
Your memory recall
is no longer there.
You ask of me,
"Do you remember?"
Then can't supply
any information,
so it's left to I
to guess what,
you asked of me,
as I try to use
my memory.

What have you written,
my little smote?
Stay away from religion.
Don't discuss the vote.
These words that I write,
make no sense to me,
when I wake up at three.
Back to bed will I go
for I'm tired of this time
and do not like it
when my words do not rhyme.

Among the paths through
our garden here,
where Perennials planted
far and near.
Daffodils, Tulips, Hellebore ,
Columbine, shades and hues,
Grape Hyacinth; Bluebells too.
Hot lips or Salvia, draw forth,
Humming birds, for nectar sip.
Azaleas in shades of pink,
in this lovely garden space.
Rhododendrons towering above,
bringing colors of purple face
while I till the soil, in this garden space.

Dark clouds of evening,
blot out the light.
There is no moon on this
dark shadowed night.