A rawness,
a rasp,
crept from
his throat,
using his voice
when he first awoke.
A pain
deep within
was all
which he felt
in spite
of those,
who watched
from place
quite safe.
No matter
the time,
no matter
from where,
if you knew
or weren't
even there.
Say not
to me,
one word
or two
about this
rambling bit
of adieu.

A shiver ran down my back.
It's been so long, I lost track.
What caused this rippling of nerve?
Is it a new feeling, I don't deserve?
A shiver of nerve, followed by this,
at a time in the World,
when I had my first kiss.

The wayward Sun, is like our Son,
full of music with a dose of passion,
for he has always been a guitar man.
An acoustical one, playing in his fashion.
Progressive Rock and Roll he says he plays.
Spending studio time to create a CD Action.
His musical talent, as he plays his songs,
brings forth a noise; to me a distraction,
but he loves it so, he will play
as his band becomes the latest music attraction.

Is it domino
or domani.
A time to go,
a time to flee?

How do you write about aging,
when you have gotten so old?
Do you write of mistakes you've made,
or tell all the tales, you were told,
as you wandered through life?
Down life's jagged path,
recalling the memories of your
checkered past. A part
of mundane events and mistakes.
Oh, it's time to leave,
as we take another break.

I am strong,
I am bright,
at least my mind
believes I am right.
Here to write a new ode,
about a woman,
who dwells in my abode.
Her Dementia, on this day,
has gone into the Sundown
phase as I do say.
She starts to look
at old paperwork
or a new book.
She will ask questions about
life long friends
and when she asks
about their name,
I will tell her so,
again and again.

If I mangle
your mango,
is it mangocide?
Stupid the words,
still I tried
to make this verse
become justified.

I run.
I hide.
I cannot flee.
I am stuck here.
I do not see.
I am her keeper.
For an eternity.
I have no life.
Neither does she,
for my sweet wife
is to always be,
her guardian protector,
a time for me.

There is some light,
but there is no sound.
To hear the music,
of life's sweet abound.
Go where you must,
get out of town.
Enjoy yourself now,
while there is time.
Be happy in life
and toe the line.

The rocks were slick
with a slimy green.
I placed my boot,
in the rushing stream,
where it moved and slipped,
as if a bad dream.
I lost my footing,
fell into the water,
over my head.
Fortunately, my waders,
with belt around my waist,
prevented water from
rushing in.
I re-found my footing,
now I was standing tall.
I'll tell you this,
waters are cold in the Fall.
I survived my bath
in the rushing stream
and when I awoke
it was just a dream.