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

Do you dance?
Will you dance with me?
May I hold you close,
as it used to be?
No more contact, near or far.
Six feet is the distance,
stay where you are.
Wear your mask,
do it now.
There will be no romance
until the Virus is gone,
along with Number 45.
Goodbye Mr. Trump. So long.

The air I breathe,
in the cold, dead of night,
nips at my nose,
causing me fright,
for all of my fears,
don't freeze my ears.

I feel bad. Earlier today, I did something very hurtful – and to my own daughter, no less. I sent her a terribly insensitive text. What was the hostile, insulting thing I wrote? “Hope you’re doing well. Would love to see you sometime soon.” ......... Continue reading

The streets are wet.
So are my feet.
My rain jacket,
is quite neat.
It keeps the rain
off of my back,
but my pant legs
are now quite damp.

How old must you be
to stop having a fantasy?
Is there a certain age
to be used as a gauge
and stop behaving like a teen
age boy or somewhere in between?
Perhaps there is a notion,
as we age there is no emotion.
For me, it isn't true
as I feel connected, to you.
Emotions help you to relate
and avoid being a reprobate.

Can you avail a whale,
who's wailing at Sea?
Another stupid question,
as I now see,
the difference in words
of the wailing whale, formerly.

She walks with the grace
of a nubile dear.
A walk she has practiced
for many a year.
It is so easy for you,
to see her now.
Her movements are smooth.
I can only sigh and bow.

Another day of ugly smoke.
Another day, when I awoke.
Where is the love to see,
when we approach our history?
I tire of these words today,
hoping life is good, I say
find another to write about.
I'll find my own way out.

So the Covid-in-Chief knew how deadly the virus was back in the beginning, just didn’t want to scare us. The Head Cheerleader wanted to paint a smiley face on the coronavirus, tell us it would fade away, tell us it was contained, tell us we didn’t need to wear masks or avoid crowded bars, assure us there was nothing to fear here. Right. This from the Town Crier whose doom and gloom messages about everything from immigrant caravans to socialist takeovers are intended to scare the pants off every undecided voter in the country. Continue reading

The well is empty like my head.
There are no words, but instead
Just a desire to go back to bed.
My sleep is long but I toss and turn
For trying to sleep I must earn.
I know if I do not get some rest
The sleep I'll get may be a test
Of my will, or well it will depend
Upon what you say, my old friend.

I'm having a difficult time
trying to write, as all
the words and music are
rattling in my head. " A little
more conversation.." in my brain.
It is something I can't explain.
A little more thought, a little
more work and the words
I write will pollute the air.
I am trying to breathe.
Sorry for the rant. I thought.
There I go again, thinking, if
I would write what is now
in my head, I could free up
some space and write my
words instead.

I need you now.
I need you to see.
I am not the wretch,
You thought I would be.
I am better than before.
I wish there was a way,
I could divide in two,
For I have so many things
I now need to do.

It takes a steady hand, it will
to put a thread through a needles eye.
In my youth, I acquired this skill
but find myself, on this day
unable to put the thread away,
into the eye, no matter how I try.
With shaky hand and a tremor there,
I find the thread goes everywhere,
except where it should, through the eye
and so I continue to try, try and try.

I live with your Mother,
she has a wandering mind.
If you do not call her
she'll think you are unkind.
Our days are numbered
on this Earth divine
so please call your Mother,
any old time.

A floor,
a door,
four walls,
will do.
A place
to meet
with you,
says who?
I miss
your smile
and say,
stay here,
all day.