Magazine Posts

I water the plants, that are in our yard.
Watering is easy; pulling the hose is hard.
With my I Pod playing and the buds in my ear,
I listen to music and then I do hear,
Willie Nelson, a wailing, like only he can do
And his song brings my thoughts, directly to you.
This is an old, sentimental song for me.
My eyes start to moisten, I hate that they do
But the words being sung, remind me of you.

Petals yellow
Centers brown
Brothers, sisters
All around.

When you are young
there's little more
to say about those
days of yore when
we ran free
like the wind.
It mattered not
to you or I,
for the love we knew
happened in a flash
and was more of
puppy love, not to last.
Infatuation could be
a great surprise,
as emotions ran so high.
The only thing
happening was
finding a new love,
once again, as this
life's cycle, would repeat
as love or lust
was on our minds
passing us again,
one more time.

Could I be your friend?
Would you please be mine?
I am a beautiful Porcupine.
A strange little creature,
That's what I be,
But I am friendly,
That you can see.
You must be careful
If you try to hug me,
For my quills will engage
And will come free.
A painful thing for you,
But won't be for me.

Stay away from me.
I heard someone shout.
You know nothing, you see
Or what I am about.
Leave me alone
Please let me be.

Well before the leaves turn brown,
Colors will be all around,
Turning shades of yellows and reds,
On their daily grasp of life.
When the brown is at its best,
The Fall winds come from the West,
Shaking limbs and branches readily
And brown leaves fall to the ground,
A sea of dryness, all in brown.

Why am I back awake?
It's 10 minutes past 2.
What in the world am I going to do?
I'm tired, I'm sleepy,
But I'll tell you this;
I'm a long ways away
From eternal bliss.
I worry about the slow demise
And pray that she will see
Another Sunrise.
The mental acuity that's in her head,
I am most certain is nearly dead.
There is little rational, connected thought
And childish pleasure when something was bought.
What can I say? Not much for sure,
I do know this, I must stay and endure.

When your ego is the best
and you worry not about the rest
but lie your way to what you seek
and the future, makes not a peek,
your life will be about what you sowed
and in time that debt, will be owed.
So prepare yourself, your not my friend.
I will rejoice when you meet your end.
Not a Christian thought, you say.
Sorry but those are the rules of today.

There lies a crazy, mixed up pile of prose,
that may have beauty but not like a rose.
Be careful now, don't step on my toes,
for I need them to dance, I do suppose.

When I look into your eyes
and see your angelic face.
I see no recognition or surprise.
Going forward, as I surely must,
Place my faith in our God's trust.
A cure is an option, Not
For no medicine can be bought.

Patience, oh patience
be there for me.
I need you now,
more than I say
for this challenge in life
is not going away.

Over the hill, down through the Glen,
is a quiet place, hidden from men.
A most beautiful sight, rounding the bend.
Solitude for travelers, that will never end.
If it's unreal, then let us pretend,
The place is for all races of women.