There is nothing
All the jars and cans
Sit empty on the shelves.
There is no hope for more.
The roads to everywhere are closed.
And Greyhound doesn’t stop here any more.

Everything is nebulous.
The equipment is all broken down
And rusting outside in the rain.
We ordered from a catalog
But never got a shipment back,
And our check was never cashed.

There is nothing in the pipeline.
The doorbell doesn’t seem to work.
The screen door has a hole in it,
Patched with pages
Ripped from next week’s calendar,
And the phone declines to ring.

Everything is over now,
The happy times
Are past and gone.
All that’s left to us is weeping
And the Kleenex box is empty,
So the tears make puddles on the floor.

All we see through tear filled eyes:
Another day in paradise.
            ljm

On a front-row-center throne
The Would-be King relaxes.
             Besides him rests his Lady-Queen
             In tsunamis of green satin.

He’s enjoying all the accolades
In the Hallowed Halls of drama
Surrounding their appearance,
                         Where the monkey trio entertains
    And fashion marches to and fro
    Clutching heavy bits of tinsel.

All is merriment and joy
Until the Jester makes a jape
   That earns a queenly frown
   Which stirs the King to wipe his smile
And stalk onto the dais
         Where he
                         slaps
   the Jester on his cheek,
  And wearing traces of a smirk
Marches back down to his throne.

The Jester lofts a lame response
Into a sea of stunning silence
      Then the air turns shades of Royal blue
                              And American TVs go deaf
                                               For thirty-seven                                                 ­                                     seconds
While across the seas the
  Audience enjoys the
    Braying of a *******.

Believing he’s impervious
Or maybe he is Sampson
         The King pulls down the ancient walls
                   Of cherished film tradition
Reducing what was dignified
           To a rank back alley rumble
Then later makes a fake obeisance
Awash with phony tears and snot.

                   All hail the King of Hollywood
   They should take back his golden prize
        To penalize his hubris -
                And let him know rules still apply.
And cause some real tears in his eyes.
           ljm

I’m so tired I could drop
But I mustn’t go to sleep.
Vicious dreams are hiding
Just behind my pillowcase,
Waiting for the perfect time
To tell me I’m inadequate
And guilty of egregious sins
That doom my frantic efforts
To create a perfect life
And move across humanity
In ways that make things better.
ljm

TRADE IN

I hate all this business
Of trying to do
What I want to do
And hampered by a
Creaky old body.

It ****** me off
When something hurts
And gets in the way
Of doing the things
I had carefully planned.

I want to complain
And go pound on God’s desk
And ask him for a refund
Or at the very least
Refurbishment.

I haven’t got time
To fall down in pain,
I’ve got hills to climb
And rivers to swim.
I can’t do that if I am crippled.

So dig out the warranty
Read the fine print
See how to get
Some replacements
So I can continue
To conquer this world

As the force of nature
That my Mama loosed            
On creation that
New Year’s day
Eighty-three long years ago.
     ljm

The tide goes out, and comes a little further in.
The tiny waves don’t make it past
The pebbles in the sand.
They just sink in and disappear.

The rubber ball mistakenly
Tossed out into the churning sea
Recedes and then it reappears
Always just a little out of reach.

Teasingly it comes and goes.
Soon it becomes invisible
Amidst the foaming of the brine.
And likely is forever gone

Unless it manages to journey
To that far and distant shore
Where little hands will gladly grasp it
And the end turns into a beginning.
             ljm