Public Posts Seattle, WA Seattle, WA (zoom)

All the words,
he thought were dead,
are still lodged,
within his head.

Words oft used,
like thee and thou,
remained imbedded.
My thoughts were how.?

How could a word,
seldom used to write,
could remain there,
tucked away, out of sight.

Words are forgotten,
left and right.
Knowing this now,
it will be alright.

It would appear, I moved
to a state of mind, enraged,
about inequity of life,
when viewed from the World stage.

A sad song tomorrow.
A sad song today,
about losing your memories
and now gone away.

All the tomorrows,
all the todays,
lost in sadness,
of the yesterdays.

Memories for two,
only now for one.
All her memories are,
over and done.

The writing of words now,
is running amok.
Words describing
a pregnant duck.

Nothing to write about,
no words in my head.
Perhaps, my brain cells
are asleep or dead.

No matter the words,
lost and won't be back.
All memories are gone.
What do you think about that?

There is no light,
I cannot see.
My hearings gone,
so I must be,

no longer here,
my body's free,
away from life,
as it must be.

Long the ship,
lay at anchor,
in the foreign port,
alongside Buoy 17.

It would soon be
time for the water
taxis to bring,
passengers and
crew members,
to board the
ship and leave
port for a
destination, yet
unknown.

Who would
sign up for a
cruise to an
unknown
destination?

What incentives
must there be
to entice a person
to embark on
an adventure to
an unknown
destination?
Who indeed?

(to be continued.)

Left is port,
Right is starboard,
with mid-ship in between.

Aft is the ships rear,
also known as the stern.
Forward is the bow,
or front end of a ship.

Stairs are called ladders,
and never the twain will meet.
Doors are called hatches,
The windows are round and called Ports.

Dungarees are a Navy term for
real, baggy jeans, which
you roll up when swabbing
the deck or floor.

Chipping paint, continually,
brushing, priming with red
lead followed by USN
Battleship Grey.

This is done because you
do not want coats of paint
when fire occurs. For paint
will burn, like no other.
Anchors Aweigh.

Before the Sun hits the desert floor,
Before the shade from Cactus grown,
Before the end of the hottest day,
Before my love has flown.

Time will tell our life's results
Time will run for all who see,
Time will be each of us,
Time will be the end of we.

Fractured the words.
Broken apart,
into small piece,
like my aching heart.

Words can be repaired,
replaced or torn apart,
but they shouldn't be said,
in affairs of the heart.

When the life we have,
is like a flag unfurled,
what happens next,
when your Soul is curled?

Curled up, in twisted fold,
never will it be,
when life returns
and is no longer free?

The wind was cold,
an Artic blast,
he remembered
a forgotten past.

Too many years,
a time so vast,
a magic spell
had been cast.

Time had flown,
persistently fast.
A new beginning?
It would be his last.

Light beamed, from out the dark,
through shaded windows, a part
of the old houses charm,
to soothe his broken heart.

She lived across the road
in a rural way of life.
He fell in love, pursuing her,
wanting her to be his wife.

A small-town girl she was,
full of vigor, free of strife,
They had wed, becoming a couple
and man and wife.

They lived in simple times,
most years of their life.
Dementia came
and their world became trife.