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"I read in the news the other day that the average kid text messages 200 times per day.  You might be skeptical of that number … unless you’ve sat in a room with some of these nimble fingerers.  They will ignore an incoming meteor before they put down their I-phone or whatever device their parents have empowered them with.  Hell, I even see the folks now just as addicted, drifting off from our conversation to check an incoming text message." More at The Skeeter Daddle Diaries ➜  

I was at a dance
the other day.
Wait it was at night,
what else can I say?

I looked across the room
thick with smokey haze.
It was hard to see
who danced to amaze.

I caught a glimpse
of a beautiful girl,
she had lovely clothes
and wore many a pearl.

I approached her,
and took my chance,
hoping she would say yes
to a little romance.

She looked at me
with beautiful eyes
and said, "you don't
look wealthy or wise."

Embarrassed I was,
I could feel my shames,
and had just experienced,
another, "Shot down in Flames."

There is a lesson
I want to share.
Don't give up,
there are more out there.

Oh, my Lord,
what a day.
Everything I do,
I am in the way.

My creative life
is now in the tank.
I try to write now
and everything is rank!
Phew!

Out the window,
over the door,
whomever it was,
don't live here no more.

I trip the light fantastic,
when I believe I can dance,
discovering my old muscles,
shouldn't try, no chance.

If I write you a letter,
would you still reply,
if you had feelings
for some other guy?

My sense of humor has
no bounds, so here is a
random writing.

Hit in the back
by a sack of rocks.
My oh my,
it rolled down my socks.

Author’s Note: As a nationally recognized expert on mental health and the proud owner of a doctor’s white medical jacket costume I bought on Amazon.com for a Halloween party a few years ago, I periodically share emails I receive from some of my patients in hopes it may shed light on an issue others may be grappling with. This is one of those letters.  More at View from the Bleachers ➜

In she walks,
an older woman,
probably born,
before I began.

Away I went,
engine a wail,
realizing not
I left a trail.

So, I was told,
to no avail,
to leave evidence,
of mental jail.

When I am gone,
left and not with you
Give the Devil his due,
and drink a brew.