My life will be over.
I won't even pretend,
When the time comes
And I can't pick up my pen.
Can I have a small prayer
and a hearty Amen?
If you do that
I'll always be your friend.

The path down the hillside,
through the slippery shale,
was taken carefully then,
but with little avail,
for my feet began sliding
down the rockiest trail.
Brace your feet in the stone,
don't let them sail,
as it can be dangerous
to avail a trail with shale.

The same old story,
retelling an old joke,
about a man on a tractor,
who was smoking a toke.
What does this mean,
you may ask of me?
I do not know,
for I write what I see.
I saw the tractor
and saw the bloke,
though his head was enveloped
by a large cloud of smoke.

A letter of love
I received an e-mail,
saying if I don't pay up
I will be going to jail.
I don't like it you see
when they say, now marry me.

Can you help me?
Can you help me, please?
Must I go to the ground
and get down on my knees?
For I need help, from someone kind,
as I search for relief
from this life, which I live,
with my old, old brain
so much like a sieve.

Hey there good looking,
would you like to dance?
Those questions are gone;
won't be given a chance.
Dancing is not allowed
during the modern romance.

Give me a topic.
Say the word to me
and I'll write out for you
a small, little personal ditty.

The new trucks are silent,
running on Natural gas.
The noise when emptying cans,
rattles the window pane of glass.

It is now 5 am,
which is all I will say.
My time for some sleep
has eroded away.

I look at the towel bar
on the bathroom wall,
realizing it isn't level;
not level at all.

A sip of brandy,
a beer and wine,
will tide me over,
until the Sunrise.
I normally don't drink a lot
but these days
are challenging my resolve,
to keep fighting
the good cause,
for that is all I've got.
A sip of grape brandy,
when starting the day,
will get the juices flowing,
it is what they all say.

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?

When I was in my forties, I routinely worked 55-hour weeks (commuting an hour each way), taxied my kids to soccer practices and dance recitals, mowed the yard, paid the bills, and worked out five nights a week (some things are sacred). I knew exactly where my day had to go, and I made sure it went there....Continue reading