A path between good and evil,
winds through the conscious mind.
A direction, taken in error
may be a detriment to mankind.
What evil lies, in the hearts of men,
who care not about the lives they see,
resulting in a lack of common decency?

The lost moon,
a void horizon.
An empty sky;
Where's the brightness
to catch my eye?
Come back now.
Return to me,
for in the darkness,
I cannot see.

I heard the Owl,
who saw the Crow,
on the Azalea
playing in the snow.

My thoughts now run amok.
No hate, just a wonder
of where in this life
did we run asunder?

Where to start, where to begin,
When do we talk about
The poison within?
It lies deep inside, this body ours,
Manifested by fear and hate.
Trusting no one; only what you see,
Believing liars and their hypocrisy.
Avoiding the truth; idolizing the aberration
And the internal root of our Nation.
What good things still remain inside,
The hateful vengeance; what we see,
When someone else, decides to disagree.
The pent up hate, inside a Soul.
The pain and anguish will take its toll.
They hide amongst us, oh they do,
Being friendly but not liking you.
We must rid the hate from within;
Living our lives; free women and men.

A young boy, shy and forlorn,
quiet since the day he was born.
His only shoes were quite scuffed,
clothing was clean but tattered and torn.
He played with others
when ever he could,
but most of the time was by himself,
behind the house, deep in the Wood.
This shy, retiring , bashful guy
would get anxious and
sometime he would cry,
for someone to help him.
To tell him "this is your day."
Play when you want and
do whatever you say,
but treat all people as a friend
and if you do that for life
it will be real and not "Let's pretend."

Where have you been, my darling wife?
You left again. It was last night.
You body near me, mind gone away.
I miss our talks, not here today,
For logic and reason, aren't in play.
You'll get better, for this I pray.

The heart will always know
where it would like to go.
The brain, has the pain,
saying No more, once again.

The image, mine, in the mirror,
was slowly fading; about to disappear.
"An omen?" Someone asked me.
"Your spirit" I said, "We agree,
is going; slowly now, from thee.

Fate can be funny,
It can be sad.
Sometimes it is good,
It also may be bad.

My favorite, during isolation,
was the discovery we made,
which brought us great elation.
The Rooster Bakery out
Woodinville way, on the East
side of Highway 202, as you
head South from Woodinville.
It is an oasis; a refuge,
with it's open patio, surrounded
by high walls of grape vines.
During clear days the patio was
lovely. When there is "foul" weather,
we go indoors, to a cozy setting,
amongst the many antiques.
Both proprietors are friendly,
courteous, warm and gracious hosts.
They have taken an interest in my
wife, who has Dementia and treat
us like Family. For this I am very
grateful.
As an aside, their wine and spirits
are made on premise. There is a
lovely arrangement of baked goods
including a wonderful Lentil soup.
A tasting room has wine made in the
old style and a broad assortment of
brandies.

When someone calls you Dumb"
Consider the source; who it comes from.

What was it like, when there were
no cars?
When the Gods we worshipped, were
Venus, Jupiter and Mars.
Would you wonder, what a strange
World was out there,
Or just be indifferent and continue being
so unaware?
All of the years, which have passed through
those ancient eyes,
were there questions, unanswered and
left to surmise?
Don't you wonder now, how we
became so unwise?

A timeless path,
travelled by man,
starts at the time
our birth began.

We begin crawling,
walking before we ran,
as life goes by,
like the shifting sand.

What happens now,
when we no longer can,
provide value to all
and a burden again.

When you support tyranny
to subvert Democracy
your being complicit,
in your own hypocrisy.

Some times we're like animals,
but lest I repeat,
we can behave like
dogs coming into heat.
There are many emotions
down by our feet,
of jealousy and anger,
which are not a treat.
Some numb the senses,
like love so complete,
then a deep sadness,
causes one to retreat;
run from this life,
once more a defeat.

What are the words, you now write,
full of platitudes, just didn't seem right,
like a shirt on your old body,
has shrunk again; now it's too tight.
Why writing these words, have become trite.
Try as I will; it is my plight,
to do better with all my might,
not writing these words, an oversight.

I see the far away look in her eyes.
I've seen that look so many times before
and I will not show any surprise.
Where have you been, lovely one, mine.
You know the World for you to entwine.
To be better or worse, in our life sublime.

A long shadow
from the recent past,
has caught up with me,
now I must move fast,
away from the noise;
the hate I do see
from an election pose
which is missing from
this child with no toys.

The barn sat back from the road,
surrounded by pasture; there was no abode.
The weathered boards had once been red
but are now mottled; old boards from a shed.
What mystery stands there by the tree?
What's the history of this building I see?

If you like what I write,
it is OK to comment, I say,
just write out your words,
don't run away.