Magazine Posts

I grasp the pen
within my hand.
My wrists complain
with pain.
It now appears
that arthritis
is back again.

There will be no tomorrow
if you're not there.
There will be no tomorrow
or a love to share.
Be safe my love,
be safe and free,
for in the morrow
I'll wait for thee.

My mind is a flutter,
Clogged with lots of clutter.
I need a mental enema,
That is for sure.
Stupid words.
No rhyming in season
What is the reason,
That my heads hurts
In the morning,
But not at night.
My back is aching,
Until a hot shower.
I feel like a horse,
Rode hard and
Put away wet
And yet,
These are words
That I now get.
Why is that?
I ask the Lord.
Is it because
I'm mentally bored
Or that this writing
Will be so abhorred?

My mind is wandering
far and wide.
Running from something
I cannot hide.
Trying hard to forget
and the plight
that seems to visit
only at night.

Would I?
I would.
When I think of you
and all the things
we used to do.

This is the time of year
when I would like a fire near.
A fire that is burning bright
To defend against the chill of night.

The crying of a Seagull;
The musty smell of the Sea
Creates a picture, in my mind
Of Beauty, sea spray and tranquility.

I rake the leaves
from the grass,
while silently, they fall
behind me.

Sometimes I act like a rudderless boat,
moving so slowly but still afloat.

Are you a Snail?
Why, yes I am.
Can you deliver mail?
I suppose I can.
"Why do you ask?"
Sayeth he,
"For I am slow,
Unlike thee."
I am not a Frog
Who awaits your kiss,
I am just a Snail
That will deliver the mail.

What a tenacious flower you are.
Haven't planted any new for 3 years.
Volunteers do appear.
Some early in the Spring
Some just three days ago.
You are always welcome in the garden.

"What comes next?", she said to me.
"For I must leave this place of We
to go to a home, that I know will be,
a place where they will take care of me."