Magazine Posts

Past adventures, as they are
Racing the Moon
in that very old car.
Oh what a life
we had then.
I miss you so,
My old friend.

Well here we are
alone at last.
Time to discuss
all of our past.

Going down a trail,
when I was young.
A trial of mud slick
ruts, on which to run
astride a Honda Trail 55.
No helmet required
for the ride. Wet clay
and mud on that day,
a good thing to stay away.
When tires are narrow
they'll slip and slide
which provides a
sloppy, scary ride.
Down the hill, did I go,
slipping and sliding,
oh what a show.
Safe at last at the
muddy bottom
on this fine day
one early Idaho Autumn.

I'm thinking back to my
Navy days.
The memories are to still
there to amaze.
I was the Mail P.O. on
this small ship.
A Postal Clerk who
distributed the mail,
from my small pantry
sized jail.
I would sell money orders
on Pay Days, to those
who wanted to save.
When in Port, my duty
was to go to the FPO
or Fleet Post Office
to deliver/pick up
the US Mail.
When we were at sea,
there wasn't any activity.
On occasion, my Superior,
an Ensign, as I recall,
would tell me we were
going to make a Guard
Mail Run. Guard Mail
consisted of Confidential
or Secret information,
that was used for
upcoming fleet operations,
or our ship movement.
When this occurred, I would
strap on my Colt, Model 1911,
45 caliber, automatic and
follow 5 paces behind the Ensign.
I was there for protections. Problem
was there was not any ammo in my clip.
If something was to happen, I suppose
I would throw my gun at the attacker.
No such event occurred, but those
were very different times.

Away all boats, that was the call.
Away all boats to the far Atoll.
This wasn't a war but that command,
was in my mind when approaching glistening sand.
Our ship was anchored in a Tropical Lagoon
and Liberty Call would be announced soon.
Liberty for us, on this Tropical Isle,
would be to walk about, for a long while;
to observe and to help where we could
and to make sure that we understood,
that those we met were simple but good.
A brief glimpse, from my aged mind,
of an adventure, that will often remind
the differences, we can now see,
between the Races, more different than we.

What thought are these?
They are not mine,
For the pain I feel
is well entwined.
Go from me, you Spirit dark.
Run away, it's time to part.

The thoughts, now in my brain
are not mine, not the same.
Stay out of my head you must.
Leave me now; turn me to dust.

There is no noise.
There is no dread
About the sounds
Within my head.

A melodious sound
Both near and far.
It calls to me,
"Stay where you are
Don't run away
Stay here and fight;
Take the battle
Into the light."

Brighten the day
With morning Sun,
Tells the World,
Life has begun.

The moss, on this side of the tree,
is unlike the love inside of me.
Clinging to the rough Bark hide,
my soul has withered and has died.

Talk not, to me
about aches and pain,
for you, understandably
must complain.
If you feel at a loss
of words,
then you may understand
how absurd.
It is, don't you see,
the loss of a dementia patients
own memory.

The long legged cat
passed on the trail.
He was quite elegant,
but was missing his tail.
A tail he had
when quite young,
but lost it when fighting
during the setting Sun.
If you see this elegant cat
with his stub raised high
give him some room
and let him pass by.

No more cries, ere the
morning light.
No more whys of this
present plight.
No more random talks
without a notion.
No more discussion
with no emotions.
No more ringing
of the bell.
No more consideration,
gone to hell.
No more talks,
about anything.
No more happiness,
will it bring.
No more of life,
we know today.
No more my wife,
who will go away.

An interesting time, it was then
when the beach was in view.
Thankful for the time I had with you.