I am beginning to be
a Curmudgeon at heart.
A grumpy, lonely, old man
who prays for life's journey,
to live for awhile
and let me again see,
my true love's smile.

There are many words
stuck in my head,
encumbered by doubt
about events I've read.

Why are your words
stuck in your throat?
Are you afraid to say,
too proud to emote?

Don't be bashful,
just say the words.
I miss your love,
not being absurd.

Don't let the nay Sayers
climb up on your back.
Stick with the truth,
defend with the facts.

Rings in the Roses,
circles of light,
red is the color
of buds in the night.

Where did it go?
When did it stray,
Away from civility
And a loving Community?

Is the story true?
I'd like to know,
Is there really gold
at the end of the Rainbow?

An olde fable, I do suppose,
so many of those, we've been told.
Providing incentives to look
for the missing Pot of Gold.

Believe not all stories,
which you may find bold.
Hard work with others,
you'll find your gold.

A Western exposure,
a setting Sun,
reflections off our windows,
bringing warmth to someone.

My body aches,
shoulders and back.
Is it a disk problem
or my sacroiliac?

A hot shower helps,
as does CPD Creme,
which is a must,
for my aching hands,
both have arthritis.

"It's hell to get old"
I've heard many say,
but look at the alternative,
than have a good day.

A bend in your elbow,
a bend in the river,
a bending of the rule,
nothing like this,
for a doddering old fool.

I can't write,
meaningful words
as a mental healing,
is now in play.
There's no satisfaction,
when I attempt to
explain my feelings,
day after day.

All the water, in the Sea,
along the coastal plain,
with odors of life now past,
rise from the Ocean floor,
softened with Winter rain.
Long were the days and nights,
as wind sang it's sweet sounds.
Walk the dunes with shortened stride,
sandy beach, smooth and slack,
resurfaced by an incoming tide.