Sit you here,
write down the word,
be it trite, simple
or just so absurd.
Your role is to write
words to paper.
Thoughts are elusive
and they will fly
away from you,
if you don't try
to capture them
when you can
or else you will become
a lost an lonely
wordless man.

Why is it now?
What is the need?
When your inner soul,
Has a need for speed?
Not speaking of drugs
Or of smoking weed,
Just a burning desire
And a need for speed.
Loud, rumbling engine noise,
Creates desire and the need
To race against others
And your need for speed.

This time of the year,
the smell of ovens heating;
a Fall harvest of fruit,
stuck inside a pastry shell,
makes us again, to think of eating.

My beloved's
thoughts are gone.
Broken sentence,
which make no sense,
as the words spoken,
elude me now.
She woke me at a early hour,
asking me why her underwear,
was in our bed?
Did I have plans for its use
or was this just a drill to see,
if I would lose my grasp
on the contiued attack on my sanity?

Why do the days pass
slowly,
while the weeks move
quickly
and months close with
speed?
The year is almost over,
done,
here I sit writing down words,
alone.

She says, "I love you"
over and over again.
I want to believe her
but I won't pretend,
for she remembers nothing,
of what she just said.

The roar of the wind,
through the top of trees,
can be entertaining, as
the tops will twirl and sway.

When I write,
I feel fine.
When the words stop,
will I remain kind?
I don't know.
Why am I asking you?
I'll keep on searching,
for it's what I do.
There are so many words,
but I will only use a few.

Don't worry about me,
words which once said
will bring forth,
the opposite instead.
I worry about you,
what else can I say?
Thank you for caring.
Have a good day?

The Heron
stood motionless
in the ponds
brackish water.
Patiently awaiting
for the careless frog
or curious fish.
This prehistoric bird,
is what it must be,
still in this World.
It won't go away,
from the smell of the water
and it's brackish display
of decaying vegetation,
it smells every day.

I gaze out the window
at the impending gloom.
Darkness was falling,
lamps flickering with flame
for the burning of candles,
was not the ultimate game.
Why wouldn't you ask?
Discover who has the blame,
destroy it now
and take back your name.

For want of some fun,
a brother died.
He Lived the good life,
what he tried.
Drinking booze and using drugs,
to his inside.
The abuse to his body,
trying to deride.
Too late was the recovery,
my brother died.

Long will I wander,
as long as I can,
to seek new adventures,
to see more of now
and ease the hurt,
when I don't know how,
to do it alone.

I believe my mind is
going through a progressive
stage of dry rot.
How do you contain the spread
of dieing cells within the brain.
There is no warning.
There is no pain.
So here, on this Earth,
I must stay and remain,
a humble servant,
with so much to explain.

My life is over,
once more, again,
As my emotions
are torn, into bits
from trying to discuss,
the medical history of my wife.
When she asked me ,
"What happened in 2013?"
I explained,
as best I could,
knowing what I said
would be misunderstood.
It was.

"There is gold,
in them, there hills,"
would bring a rush
and tingle your skin,
as you dreamt of riches,
in the grounds depth, there in.
My grandfather, my father,
several brothers too,
had claims of land
and searched for gold.
The area was east of CleElum,
off the Blewett Pass Hiway;
a small venue town of Liberty.
Swauk Creek, where gold was
discovered in 1873.
Swauk Creek, was the place to be.
It had been dredged and the creek
bed was marred with large piles of
rock and debris.
It would not pass today, environmentally.
Many a "stake" was made and a claim
would be filed. Usually the object was
to dig a mine, the assumption being
the gold washed down from the hillside
above the creek. You, the claim owners,
were required to show, a specified dollar
amount of investment, annually and track
the amount of time spent.
To discover the gold, which still remained,
was a wild idea and it was your claim.

Once upon a midnight,
I was weary
and forgot to close the large garage door.
Someone stopped by for midnight shopping
and decided they like my golf clubs.
When I awoke the next morning I looked
out the window and saw three different
colored objects, that looked like my golf
hats which I had put on top of my late clubs.
I sit here now,not being teary for I hadn't
played golf for 4 or 5 years as I lacked the time
and was a full time care giver for my wife
who has Dementia.
I was going to sell the clubs as that is what
those who play at golf like to do. My only
regret was they took my YES putter which I
had grown sentimental about.
The value of the clubs as old as thesee wasn't
too high. Unfortunately the replacement costs
are close $2800. Oh well perhaps it is someone
who can make use of the idle equipment and enjoy
the benefit. Hope not but, please return my putter.

As we sat on the bed,
folding laundered clothes,
you looked at me
and said, "Are you my wife?"
I told you , I am
your husband.
I asked you if you knew my name?
Your said, "Joe" who is our oldest
Son. You tell me you love me
and I believe that you do,
but I am almost as confused
as I find in you.

Must I way
or simply weigh?
Must I wait
or add on weight?
Can I pound a stake
or pound a steak
to tenderize.
Interesting questions
so I now surmize,
I may not be back.
Now, that's a surprise.

I am falling asleep,
as I sit here and write,
so do not be impatient.
When I am slow to respond
to your questions,
you ask again and again.