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A flame flickered, dancing away
in the pit with red embers,
on this cold, wet, dreary day.
The warmth of the fire;
I ponder what to say
to her Doctors about,
not trying to portray,
her recent behavior
on another forgettable day.

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A long day into night,
the darkest I've known,
blots out the light.
No Moon up above,
no moonlight to see,
no reason to love,
this plight that we have
amongst women and men.
In the Spring, Summer or Fall
on this longest of days,
I'll pray for my friends and
enemies, I'll say,
"I'm not sure about me,
but I am about thee."

Somewhere, oh somewhere
lodged in this aged head,
I see an image of my
Great, Great Grandfather, Frederick or Fred.
He came to this Nation,
with family intact.
Twin boys, their wives
who were Sisters (Brix),
a daughter and son.
They emigrated to northern Iowa
and Southern Minnesota, (Lyle)
to settle into this new country,
in the year , 1875.

From the depths of the bottomless pit
of broken hearts, shattered dreams
and unkept promises, comes a resurgence
of thought, old ideas melted together
with technology that will promise the
Moon to all the dreamers of a new life.
We bog down with the displeasures of
yesterday. The long denials of what we
did to make the World a better place
for all it's citizens.
Then a wanna be, self anointed demagogue,
disrupts the norms and quirky perceptions
of the Golden Rule of treating others
like you want to be treated.
The hatred and vitriolic behavior of
one who leads, spreads out like
morale vomit, by a "Stable Genius",
who is twice removed from human decency.
No loyalty for others. Use them and
discard, with no sense of responsibility.
Backed by a Senate with no control
or courage to make a stand.
Ruination of a long lost Party, runined by
one man, with hundreds being complicit.

Seems like the happenings today
are filled with hatred of some.
Makes me wonder about
the Nation we have become.

A lurch in a church.
A significant smile.
Those beautiful eyes
you use to beguile.
What words are these,
flowing from my mind?
Neither helpful or hurtful,
perhaps even not unkind.
"I like you not", to me she said,
but I'd like you much more,
if you'd change your head
of hair, that you currently wear,
when out and about,
but I'd still love you,
of that there's no doubt.
Sit by my side, she did say.
Stay close to me, please
and don't go away.

Why in this life,
that used to be swell,
has become so much
like a living Hell?

Where do thou go,
when you're talking to I?
Your eyes become dim,
your breath is a sigh.
A sigh so forlorn
that I won't even try,
as I watch you fade
without a goodbye.

Raining so hard
most difficult to see
wet feet for me

I hear it again,
I hear it now.
Telling me words,
Telling me how.
Letting me know,
How very absurd,
When letting go,
Of this place,
It is very nice,
In being seen.
Where ever I go,
I know you,
Can't you see,
That knowing who,
It must be,
I love you,
Do you love me?

Shades of Shale,
a flat type
of volcanic rock,
that would slide
down the hill
where ever you walked.
Yards of rock,
on a side hill,
careful to be
on Nature's spill.
Take one step,
balance a must,
shale will slide,
gliding on dust.
Down the hill,
so carefully,
learning to walk
or how to ski.
Noisy it was,
a rattling sound,
frightening the animals
who were still around.

Over the river, through the trees, they came.
We were being over ran, in this war game.
We fought in the trenches, side by side,
but at battle end, we all had died.
Please say a prayer for my dear friend,
He fought bravely for you until the end.

A bone chilling wind
branches laden with ice
power outages

I'm in the room.
You're there too.
I won't talk
unless you do.
There's no reason,
that is true.
Conversations, no kiss
except "what day is this?"
The TV listings
are her guide.
Lord, I don't know
what's now inside,
That beautiful mind
you always had,
Much smarter than me.
The loss of memory,
You're going through,
I can't imagine
what I would do.

What is this Din of noise, of late,
Filled with the rhetoric of racial hate?
Who are you to cast aspersions,
to cloud the news, is that your diversion?

It matters not, the things you've bought
When your memory goes, they're all forgot.

Coldness of days
frigid nights of snow
warmest of heart

There will be a tomorrow,
that is most certain.
In spite of all the sorrow,
there won't be a final curtain.
That curtain of black cloth,
blocking the morning Sun.
Searching the broad horizon,
looking for our life's fun.
"Is it me?", she said one day.
"I'm sure I'm not the only one,
or can I be sure and say,
my life has now begun?"