A poem, a poem I've got to write.
But nothing seems to come tonight.
I guess I'm just not very bright
When it comes to writing poems.

I crumple paper sheet on sheet.
I think of deadlines I'm to meet.
I haven't time to sleep or eat;
I've GOT to write a poem!

The time ticks on --it's two o'clock
Our light's the last one on the block.
Perhaps if I could take walk
I could better write a poem.

Then suddenly I get a thought--
I put it down to the very last dot…
And then I think, "It's not so hot."
Why CAN'T I write a poem?

But then I say, "'Twil have to do."
The morn is come; the night is through.
I'm tired but proud, I can tell you,
'Cause I just wrote a poem.
                        ^^^

Inside out
Collar frayed
Ragged at the hem
Stitches showing through the thin spots
The cloak of civiliztion needs a laundering.

Buttons missing
Flapping in the wind
Dragging in the rainy mud
Sliding off stooped shoulders
The coat of civility needs a skillful tailor.

Hands disappearing
Sleeves way too long
Holes in all the pockets
Faded plaid in last years colors
The jacket of humanity is now on sale at Goodwill.

Building an inferno
Is a part time occupation
Finding retribution
Is a pleasant moment's pastime
Marrying the two takes more
Than just a pastor

Zeus is back from his vacation
And he wants a glass of water.

*******!  In my mind a hundred times a day it caws,
A black and flapping creature hopping awkwardly
Across the even furrow of my love.
Dining on the choicest seed, uncovering the rest,
Making sure no crop will ever flourish here,
As I stand and gaze,
Too weary from the endless days of planting all alone,
Too hungry from the meals I've missed to care,
I turn into an ineffective scarecrow
Who just watches.
                        LJM

I'm scolded even in my dreams
By the inner me who judges
Everything so harshly.

All I do is try to help
And even in my slumber
This is not allowed.

Sleep knits up the raveled sleeve of care
So Shakespeare says
But I unravel in my dreams.

I'm lost, I'm chased
In in a house of many rooms
And cannot find my way.

The clock is running out
And I'm not ready
So the wedding will not start on time.

And though I look, I somehow never see a bride
As I am searching for the candles
And bows I need to do my job.

Variations on a theme
That always spells inadequate
And failure to my sleeping mind.

Why am I so mean to me
Am I so bad, compared to all-
And who must I live up to.

What angry fire burns deep inside
That nightly roasts my spirit
In the oil of it's incompetence.

Why can't I ever win the race
Or find the prize in question
Or be the one to take the bow.

I am my own worst enemy
A therapist once said
Why didn't I believe him then,

Forgive myself and let me be-
To see if I could build a dream
That ended with me smiling.
                    ljm

Just a little more than half
The ration for my little cup.
I cannot say it's empty
But neither is it full.

The wine has been not always sweet
But mostly soothed my soul.
On other days its bitterness
Brought rawness to my throat.

The cup is cracked; it's handle's gone
But still it does not leak.
It holds what life's poured into it
And does not cut my lips

When timidly I lift it up
To sample what I've been given
As my portion in the little cup
That represents my life.
                ljm

She looked and looked at the storm-black sky
And couldn't visualize it blue.
But still somewhere down deep within her
She knew the sun would shine again.