The rain falls;
laying in puddles,
filling street gutters,
as the drains,
overflow; bubbling up,
as if saying,
"No more rain."
The ground is saturated;
soil wet and deep,
but the sound
of the rain,
on our roof,
makes for a restful
night of sleep.

If you’re like most Americans, there’s a good chance you’re going to wear a cloth mask today. Doing so makes sense...... Continue reading 

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.

Random thoughts, fill the air,
filled with love and despair.
Be they good or be they unsound,
there they lay on frozen ground.
Does it matter? Not to me,
for I am here, loving thee.

A well is a subject, too deep
for a shallow mind.
I wrote these words,
not to be unkind,
but to remind us all,
of the actions we take.
All have consequences
and words can break.
Every reaction, creates an event,
which may create another reaction.
A new result created by a response
from your action.
Confusing? Sure. Just pick your word
usage, carefully.

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.

When I was young.
Young like a child,
I would go every where,
for I was quite wild.
There was no curfew,
at least not to me,
for when it became dark,
I knew where to be.
Home with my loved ones,
similar to right now.
Safe and protected
and still knowing how,
to take care of you.
So much like a child,
but you're no longer allowed
to run free and be wild.

I hate this life, as I have
started to succumb
towards a callous behavior'
with little aplomb.
I am not kind. I am just
a big jerk,
for I'm so tired my responsibility
I may shirk.
What good reason, is there for me
being casual with thee.
You don't deserve this life
we have shared.
I need to treat you softer
and be prepared.

Someone said, "The eyes are the window
into the Soul.
This thought comes from a place,
like any other.
A mystery this one, plain
but not forgiven.
Why now? You ask of me
for these words are soon forgotten,
while I await the coming dawn.
If only it were certain.
These words make no sense,
for they will be gone tomorrow,
as all the yesterday's gather
into the memories of happiness
and sorrow. Go from here.
Leave me be. Don't play games,
with those I love, for I know you
better than all who will follow.

Over the fields,
through the woods;
the paths I trod,
facing a reality here,
among a nation,
wrapped in fear.
A virus has taken
so many lives,
with the gnashing
of one's teeth.
A long sudden ride,
from the happiness
when we knew,
what was happening,
now. A fear
manifesting so soon.

Where are you now, my lovely bride?
It's 6 P.M. you were by my side.
Wandering the room, asking me why
or what's this object, catching your eye.
Asking the same questions, over again.
How many times? Lost track at ten.
Telling you the answer, one more time.
Nothing I say, "sticks". It isn't fine.
No matter what I am trying to do,
this conversation is usually just you.
Asking me more questions, once again,
what is the name of our friend?

It has been said by others, who repent.
When you want to lose your memory
and desire to forget, your past life
of errors and other life amends;
when the reality of this life demands
your attention to others; yours to do,
for my responsibility; taking care of you.

Woke up sleepy,
my mind in a haze
for I have only slept
a few hours,
usually during the days.

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".

Is it wrong to write
about a love for another?
Someone who is not your,
sister, brother or mother?
Perhaps, I ask because the
loneliness began,
not having an adult conversation,
since I know not when.

I seem to be having a terrible time,
as Depression creeps in
by using a tired rhyme.
My life before was uneventful
with out the presence of being sublime.
I'll pray again, as I need to do
for the choices I make will be mine.

The rocks are hard.
My feet are bare.
Where is the sand?
It was everywhere.
I need to hurry,
A very strong urge,
Watching the creatures scurry
Before the strong surge.
The Ocean, a Sea
With waves now rising.
Up to my knees.
The dream is over,
I'm awake in bed.
Why are my feet wet?
Dry is my head.
Another dream, with emotion
When I see the beautiful Ocean.

I have all my new writings
in this notebook of mine,
which I need enter into the PC.
So many words; so little time,
as I continue to write them
again, one more time.

The words are flying from my head,
although I am still laying in bed.
A site of words, elusive they are,
lay on the covers, near and far.
What can I do to retrieve them now,
except to rack my brain? I will avow
to reach out from within my mind,
hoping upon hope I can still find,
all the words, now missing from memory.
I'll keep reaching out until the end of me.