I live my life alone with you
You're here, but not with me
You travel in a different orbit
That only sometimes crosses mine.

My cup of joy is not half full
It's cracked and liquid seeps away
To vanish in the same place as my tears
Though it looks pretty at a casual glance.

The things that once beguiled my heart
Now chafe up blisters on my soul
I try to tell you of my pain
But we don't speak a common tongue.

Our eyes don't look at things the same
Our ears perceive two different tunes
When I reach out to take your hand
It feels like 'dead man's finger' -

Childhood game in a grown up world-
A guarantee of shivers
In the eeriness of misperception
That so mirrors all we do.

Now I'm lonely in bed beside you
Back to back with dog  between
The distance that we've slid apart
Measures out in months and  years

And I long for a sharing touch
To tell me I don't live alone
It isn't there although I search
Leaving me empty, lost, and all alone.
                                 ljm

I thought it was the breeze
Sighing past my window
But it was only the echo
Of a rejected love song.
                vvvv

Doctor Ponsonby’s Patented Empowering Electrical Rosary

This ilke Monk leet olde thynges pace,
And heeld after the newe world the space.

Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales

How out of date are simple wooden beads
An upgrade is what the Rosary needs!

Something to give your meditations spice
Connected to your electronic device

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The Ave Maria is so out of date
It’s Ave ME now, ‘cause we’re all so great!

Make your prayers less about God, more about you
Signal yourself through sacred Tooth of Blue

A camera hidden in the crucifix
Enables you to take your selfie-flicks

The Pater beads count each joggery mile
Or kilometres if those are your style

The Ave beads are recycled with care
To save the forests, the rivers, and air


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Buy the first (as advertised on tv)
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Remember: for weddings, funerals, and daily devotions
Let RAM and ROM go through all the motions

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It may be time to go away
Too many cookies are uneaten
And a few are only nibbled

I baked all night for many days
And used up all my spices
But few customers appeared

I laid them on my very best tray
And priced them as a bargain
Now most of them are growing stale

I think it’s time to close up shop
The other’s cakes were obviously better
Their customers waited in long lines

It will be hard for me to stop
My hands are white with flour
And my apron’s tied so tightly

Still, no farmer wants to plant a crop
That never will be eaten -
Are cookie bakers not the same

Perhaps my wafers were too plain
And lacking decoration
I thought that flavor was enough

But recognition brings me pain
I felt my recipes were special
But everyone had better ones

It seems that I cannot sustain
The dream of being Mrs. Fields
When It comes to writing cookies
               ljm

The years are liars and they don't keep their word:
They promised me maturity,
But all I got was soft places where I should be firm.
They swore me wisdom,
But all I found was a different kind of foolishness.
They said I'd have new insights
But all I saw was how I miss the flowers of youth.

The years are untrue and make vows they don't intend to keep
They promised me contentment,
But all I received was a slower paced restlessness.
They told me I'd find fulfillment,
But all I've discovered is a bigger yearning.
They assured me these years would be golden,
But I can see through the veneer to the green beneath.

And I curse the days and weeks and years
For they lied to me and then ran away.
                                         vvv

How can you solve the needs of the world
When every window is a mirror
Reflecting only vistas of you.

How can you feel the pain of the hungry
When tail coated waiters serve you your meals
Hundreds of feet higher than the truck on the corner.

How can you embrace the common man
When you consider him covered in germs
Wanting a cheerleader more than a guide.

How will you acquire respect that’s not bought
When you function on a ten year old level
With a Junior High bully as your mentor.
         ljm

Living in a city where the trees have names
And blank walls and bus stop benches
Have a language of their own,
I wonder who I am
And wonder who will read the lines I pen
And if I'm writing in an unknown tongue.

Wandering among the spray paint
                           proclamations
That declare existence
And 'my gang can beat up your gang'
I try to fathom the kind of emptiness
That only tagging can implete,
But I was never, at my worst, so hollow