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A flash of light.
A flicker of flame,
Calls out to me,
Asking my name.
The odor of wood smoke
From the embers a glow,
Brings forth the memories
Hidden away, long ago.
Stand close to the fire,
You will I suppose
Have the smokie aroma
All over your clothes.
Remember the smoke scent,
Unlike the smell of a Rose.
Pull up your blanket,
Hide beneath the covers,
Showing only your nose.

Must a writer of verse,
perchance be quite daft
or be like the cold
you caught in a draft?
Perhaps it's not a cold,
only allergies or hay fever.
In any event, take my word.
Be a loyal and a true believer.

Why do you ask
about my new task?
Can you not see
I'm wearing a mask?
Do I like it now?
Of course I don't
but it's better to be safe
then rocking the boat.

The rain splatters against the window glass.
Showers today. They aren't supposed to last.
Another appointment to the doctor today,
Not for me but my wife's turn; her play
A follow up call, to a Geriatric place.
My land, I see another aging face.

You have brought me love and affection,
when you bring a fresh baked confection.
I am joyful when looking in your direction.
Apologizing now for my need for attention.

To wit,
too wit,
two wit,
which is three
ways to write,
to be right,
when I scribe,
words for thee.

Is it one
or one more,
making it four,
like saying before.
Are these words,
those which will soar
or like Poe, in "The Raven"
saying "Nevermore/"

What can be said,
has been said before,
some words are silent,
other words roar.

"What's going one?" is often said,
when you go out and "Break Bread."
Breaking bread? What does it mean?
To have a conversation with a friend,
is a good way, which will lend
itself to share your precious time
and in an effort to make this rhyme.

Am I sick within my head?
I ask this question, with no dread,
For the thoughts in this old brain,
Are like the proverbial run away train.

My emotions and thoughts are in between
An old man and a love struck teen.
I wish and pray; What does it mean?
Should I speak or flee the scene?

Do you dance?
Will you dance with me?
May I hold you close,
as it used to be?
No more contact, near or far.
Six feet is the distance,
stay where you are.
Wear your mask,
do it now.
There will be no romance
until the Virus is gone,
along with Number 45.
Goodbye Mr. Trump. So long.

The air I breathe,
in the cold, dead of night,
nips at my nose,
causing me fright,
for all of my fears,
don't freeze my ears.

I feel bad. Earlier today, I did something very hurtful – and to my own daughter, no less. I sent her a terribly insensitive text. What was the hostile, insulting thing I wrote? “Hope you’re doing well. Would love to see you sometime soon.” ......... Continue reading