Contributor Posts

I don't understand you.
Not anymore.
When you speak in riddles,
Unlike before.
Discussions have become
A guessing game.
You are talking about someone.
I'm trying to guess the name.

I found myself growing short
in my answers to the questions,
I heard over and over again.
Repetitious, as she doesn't recall,
what I told her a few moments ago.
I realized that I cannot be short
with my reply to her questions.
What if these are the last conversations
I have?
I need to treasure all my discussions,
as the precious moments they are.
I love you, my dearest one.

Years ago, very early in the day,
The month was December, icy cold.
Up before daylight, put on my clothes.
Put my gear in the truck, all covered with frost.
Stop for a coffee and something to eat,
Then driving to Monroe, to the river Sky.
Get out my rod and lures, I started to fish.
The rigging I used had surgical tubing for the weight.
An artificial lure, a long cast up stream,
Now this was fishing; you know what I mean.
The elusive Steelhead was waiting for me.
All I needed was the fish to see
The lure, moving close to the bed.
After several casts, my line would not move.
Looking at the rod tip, I looked twice
And found that the guides were covered in ice.
The line wouldn't move, not much for me,
So into the water, the rod tip went and now it was free.
Back to casting and I noticed my hands were cold,
Even with fingerless gloves, they'll work I was told.
Fishing for hours, with absolutely no luck,
I returned to the confines of my old truck.
No Steelhead for me on this fine day,
So back home I went to see the Seahawks play.

My mind is going, that is for sure.
I am uncertain how much I can endure.
Sorry if this sounds like an old refrain
But I tire, seeing all of the pain
She goes through, every day.
It's not pleasant for her, in any way.
She keeps saying, "Put me in a home."
That's not happening...

When I was young
and would eat my lunch,
I would grab a book
and read a long story
of adventure and glory.
For reading was a
small boy's passion
and was an escape
to a land so grand
it was filled
with milk and honey.
With words and visions,
my imagination was
for me a way see
the World, through
an author's eyes.

Who, who, I hooted from the tree.
I am awake and it's half past three.
Nocturnal is the best time for me.
With my night vision, I see movement instantly.
When I catch movement or hear a sound,
I'll spring from the limb, down to the ground.
My movement is quick, so please don't worry.
Pouncing on a prey, I do in a flurry.

Butterflies and moths have been around for millions of years. They used to be a common sight in gardens, but numbers have declined since the 1940s along with our other native wildlife species such as bees and hedgehogs.

It will come as no surprise to hear this loss is due to destruction of natural habitats such as wildflower meadows, peatbogs and ancient woodlands in favour of intensive farming practices, roads and housing developments that have stripped away the majority of their nesting and foods sites. Climate change is partly responsible for butterfly decline too, producing wetter weather that alters the distribution of certain species.............Click the image below to read the complete article at DIY Garden (https://diygarden.co.uk)

My nerves are a tingle.
My hands start to shake.
I am uncertain
if I'm dreaming or awake.
A terrible thing; most unkind
as thoughts race through my mind.
What happens to us,
if this Nation of We,
becomes that beckoning light,
that flickers and dies?

The greatness of this World is seen
with every sunrise with daylight in between.
What greater view, for which to strive,
then to watch the World come alive.
The musical notes, of the song
bird, float on the pure morning air,
as Bees and branches of trees,
stirred by the wind, are heard everywhere.

I was in a dream.
On a path, I chose to follow,
until I came to a pond,
with a large log, all hollow.
The opening much taller than I .
Outside it was covered with moss,
I moved to the mouth and did try
to enter the log; I heard my name; calling
and in a few steps, I was falling,
landing on my old knees.
In front of me, a sight that could please,
was the face of a friend, no longer here.
I struggled to rise from this musty place,
trying to crawl one knee at a time.
The air became heavy as if from smoke,
then suddenly, from the dream, I awoke.

In this dark World, the light you bring
Is happiness and love; It's everything.
The way you talk to people
Strangers and friend,
Sets the stage; where you'll
be at the end.
The end of life's journey,
Shortens every day.
Be thankful to those who helped
Along the way.

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.