I drew stick figures
things were simple

in a pencil world
mistakes were erased
you could start over

but an inchmeal awareness nagged
- the sky isn’t gray, it’s a liquid blue

but crayons were complicated
you couldn’t erase things
mistakes were irrevocable.

and there were 148 colors in the big box
keeping them in rainbow order was work.

growing up is hard

Dance me to the music playing soft inside our heads
rock me to the sound of words much better left unsaid

Catch me as our feet tread light on old familiar ground
starry eyed and moonstruck as you spin me round and round

Remember me in better days that now have come and gone
waltz me to forever so our tune can carry on

Kiss me when the lights have dimmed and the tempo starts to slow
dance with me one final time, hold me don't let go

Kindness is a luxury that all can afford.
So why is the world filled with so much evil?
Patience is an attribute not hard to acquire
So why’s everyone in a frantic hurry.
Forgiveness cures so very many ills
So why is revenge flavor of the month.
Happiness is an attainable state
So why is humanity so upset and angry.
God’s still in Heaven with hope to bestow
So why is humankind too stupid to know.
ljm

some days I grieve alone
as sunshine sounds obscene
no help or match for rain
not caring where it goes
to leave a chequered scene

the clouds hide their intent
build-up to manic heights
and storms attack our land
to savage crumbling shores
and saturate the nights

I stare in broken starts
I've seen too much that stings
with stoic eyes some pray
and mop the mud-soaked rooms
we wish our homes had wings

TRAVELLING ACROSS THE HOURS OF DAYLIGHT

the sea
herding its flock of islands
through a sunset

I fall to sleep
with a warm breeze for a blanket
a cloud for a pillow

a cloud
balanced on the tightrope
of an horizon

clouds
form their own mountains
above the mountains

a crescent moon chats
to the sleepy hill
a bird eavesdrops

the sun
bleeding into
a river

I travel across
the hours of daylight
to meet a harvest moon

moon and I
both arrive at the mountain
at the same time

moon rests
on the mountain's shoulder
I lie at their feet

birds
***** a barrier of song
". . .this space is mine...mine. . .mine. . ."

we march into town
the Present & I
the Past lumbering behind