Where will life's path lead,
after you're gone?
Loneliness will be my companion.
I will move along.

The dreams we shared,
so long ago,
have disappeared from
our shattered world.

My memories, of our life,
now past, in sublime,
but now all the memories,
are simply mine.

Four score and eight years ago,
I was a writer of verse and
did portrait sketches, in pencil.
My writing is back unrehearsed.

At this moment, I am trying
to remember the joy
of sketching, when capturing
an image of a woman or child's face.

I expect it's too much
to do everything well.
At this moment, my life
is a living hell.

I need this skill if I am
to keep my sanity.
I hope it's not because
it's for my vanity.

Jumping on the Frick frack,
climbing up the trees,
searching, ever searching,
for the bee's knees.

Where will life's path lead,
after you're gone.
Loneliness will be my companion.
I will move along.

I'm done.
I'm finished.
Leave me alone.
Just stay away.

I sit here,
as I lament.
Have cheese with your whine,
it comes with the rent.

Driving North, with a shipmate,
on our way to the Yakima Valley.
My old friend, Virgil, is from Grandview.
He had purchased a Hudson Hornet,
a 4dr Sedan.

Driving North on highway 99. It was dark,
no ambient light, no moon, or stars.
Pitch black and driving fast. When a fuse blew
and we had no lights, Nada, Zilch.

A funny thing occurs when it goes suddenly
dark and the realization you have lost the
sensation of movement.
Applying the brakes, thinking you have stopped,
and you haven't realized it. Exiting the car can
be interesting when your feet hit moving ground.
We finally fixed the fuse and were on our way.

There are happenings in
this life, I regret.
Not being young and single
when we first met.

It has taken time,
which I have little of,
for me to realize,
my lot in this life
is to help others,
strengthen or discover,
what their path in life is.

It is not my role to
tell someone what to be.
It is to help them
over hurdles, using knowledge,
I have gained through errors
or mistakes made in my life.

The day prior to ,
the night before,
was yesterday,
or the day
before yesterday.
Oh, the sorrow,
no tomorrow.

Emotions, gone crazy,
feeling mildly depressed.
A sadness I can't explain.

I hypothesize, it's my wife's
continuing fight with Alzheimer
disease. Not sure, there is no
conscious thought. It's
"the woe is me" syndrome. I
need to shake it off, as it is
a very unpleasant feeling.

Sitting in a bar, in Pendleton,
at the Silver Saddle Saloon,
when the door opens, and a man
rides a horse, into the room.

Now, a horse doesn't know how
to walk gently through a room
with tables and chairs, so
those items began to tumble,
all over the floor. The customers
scattered, to get away.

The horse kept on walking,
disappearing out the side door.
Patrons returned, set up the tables
and chairs, as if this were a regular
occurrence.
It was.

Forlorn the land,
Forlorn my mind.
So much wasteland,
too much one kind.

Re-live the memories
of our yesterdays.
I can remember,
yours are gone away.