I must be the proverbial,
old fool, of a man,
who's taken in, by others,
with a money making plan.
This story hasn't happened to me,
but I have received e mails,
directed to me so personally.
Promising riches, you can't believe.
Just send us some money
and the fortune will be,
put into your bank account,
your friend at the Embassy.

A fortnight ago,
it said in the book,
so I decided I should
take another look,
to determine casually
what did the word mean
or would I use it
in my next writing.
I looked up the word;
this is what I found.
"A period of two weeks,
used after the name of a day,
to indicate something will take
place, two weeks after, that day.

An exercise for the mind.
In Latin, the word "Porta",
means gate or door,
while the word, "Bella"
is the word for war.
My memories of Latin,
are not good, but poor,
so I best not write
about Latin words any more.

"Jumping on the Jim Jam",
throwing on the brakes,
we will rid this Country
of all those who hate,
for the life of our brothers
we do not control their fate,
to provide a fair environment
as it is, what we can make.

Another long hour.
A shot in the dark.
An hour of lost sleep,
When your life is stark.
I return to my bed,
Though I know there are
Words locked in my head,
Except for those words
Missing the letter "R".

Gazing out the window,
on this dreariest day.
Brings the realization,
Winter is here to stay.
Will this be a season
of rain, all of the day?
A season, so somber,
I need to say,
"Give us some sunlight
and many days without grey".

Word after word
drops from my head.
It's ten minutes to four,
go back to bed.
Get you some sleep,
fall asleep soon
or you will still be
sound asleep at noon.

It matters not, from where the wind blows,
or if it is rainy and then turns to snows.
I only want to keep my ears warm
and have on my boots, protecting my toes.

Why are the dreams
or nightmares to you,
wrapped in my head,
from out of the blue?
Not recalling anything bad
or a worrisome review
of all the happenings;
words about being "Past Due".
It will come to me, once again.
I just hope it's not 3 A.M.

The winding road,
curved through the trees.
Serpentine is the description
that comes to me.
The dirt was red,
with bits of yellow.
A pleasant sight now,
but when it was wet,
you would lose traction
and slip and slide
was your foot's reaction.

I love how your eyes sparkle.
I love the sound of your laugh.
The issue is with your accent
Which would choke a giraffe.
It isn't funny, I know when I say
But sometimes my mind works that way.

Driving at night,
through a driving rain.
Those words in print
are hard to explain.
Don't worry now;
try not to upset,
the use of the words,
"Lest we forget."
Lest is a word,
I do assume.
But from whence
it came is obscure.
Remind me now
of what it must be,
being a "purple cow'.
Oh, I do see,
the difference in words,
coming from our history.
This writing makes
very little sense,
for as I write,
my head is quite dense.
So off I go;
I'm off to see,
if these words, I write
are just, crazy, old me.

No more the words.
No more the "harrump."
I care not to discuss,
Donald J. Trump

You can say it's a bow,
like three in a row,
or you can call it a bow,
by asking about how,
or if it sounds better,
just say how, now.

Waste not your time,
Do not you tarry,
For I'm on my way
To see the beautiful Mary.
She has never used this
Name, in her long life,
But it is the first name,
Of my lovely wife.
A legal name on
Her drivers license, you see
Now all the doctors,
Address you as Mary.
The name you don't like,
The name you don't use.
When they call you Mary,
It will just continue to confuse;
Not something she needs,
When her Dementia's the worry.
So please correct you records
And please don't you tarry,
For I tire of her reaction
To her first given name, Mary.

I cannot sleep.
I want to deride,
The crazy thoughts,
In my head.
Thoughts so inane,
Mustn't be read,
For they're private.
I'll fib instead.
I see hurt,
Something I dread.
I want not,
Tears to shed.
I will now
Return to bed.

I've lost some weight.
I didn't try,
To lose this much for
This old guy.
It's OK for me to say,
As I reply,
I can now see my toes,
When I try.

May I talk to you
about the tree, Yew?

When the words spill from old me,
my brain is now, running on empty.
Random thoughts, peruse this old man's brain,
the train left the station, here I remain.

A journey too long,
One trip to far
When traveling by car.
It matters not who
Or where you are,
If you end up
Back in the Bar.