When the rising winter sun
Whispers a blush of peachy pink
On the evening’s steel blue clouds,
I know that I am home and safe,
In my small but ever busy world.
ljm

The
        sudden chill
    that marked
the
     end
  of last
         month
      surprised me
   because
   the weather
     forecast
  said
      it would stay
warm
  perhaps
warmer than
  was
   comfortable
     for
   this time
    of my year
I was surprised
but not
dismayed
       because my
   summer
   clothes
      were packed
     away a long
   long time ago
   and
I was not
          sure
If I’d find
something
safe for me
             to wear.
     ljm

The  purple ripples in the air
Advise you that there’s anger there
Anger that is not contained
By someone who was anger trained.

Listen to the things he shouts
He’s mad as hell without a doubt.
Here he comes towards your door
What is he so ******* for.

You didn’t barge into his lane -
To cut him off would be insane.
You only gently honked your horn
And now you get his shouting scorn.

He bangs the window of your car
And you now know he’ll go too far.
It’s clear he is a total ***
So stomp your foot down on the gas.

Leave him in a cloud of smoke
And give yourself the final joke.
Leave him shouting in the street
And tell yourself “Revenge is sweet”
ljm

With just
Two words to use
To say the things I must
I find my dictionary closed.
I’m lost.

A ghost
In search of words
That hide from Poet’s pens
And make contact impossible
For friends.
            ljm

The Clock Eater loves the taste of fine time
Sauteed in juicy New York minutes and served
With seconds spiced with instants and moments.
He’s a founding member of the Clean Plate Club.

The Clock Eater does not wear a watch.
To him there is only this moment in time,
Like a freshly baked roll it’s aromatic
Impatiently waiting to be devoured.

The clock eater has an evil, hungry soul
And he hides in unexpected corners
Waiting for a precious leisure moment
To stuff into into his greedy face.

The Clock eater doesn’t often share
The banquet that is on his plate,
Perhaps a nibble now and then
To ease the other diner’s wait.
ljm

Time for the sadness to find an end
Time for the hateful words to hush
Time for the wounded to find a balm
Time for universal love to blush

Time to find abandoned paths
And travel on them once again
Time to lend a helping hand
And plant new courage deep within

Time to act when there’s a need
To be the person who steps out
To bridge the rivers yawning wide
With cataracts of fear and doubt.

Time for the star that glowed one night
O’er the hills of little Bethlehem
To work a magic in our souls
Eliminating “us and them”

Time to bathe in gentleness
And soak in honesty
Time to set the world alight
With all the things that ought to be.
ljm

Whispers that morph into screeches
Disturb the strands that tenuously hold
The ragged edges of reality aloft
In storms of self recrimination and regret.

Slender stalks of rationality bend down
Beneath the weight of foolishness
Grown fat and heavy in indulgence
That is justified by cobwebs of desire.

The music in the background plays
On bagpipes and a penny-whistle band
While the conductor tries to turn them in
To violins and harpsichords, and fails.

A river jumps it’s muddy banks
And floods the playing field with muck
As strands and stalks give up their load
And it all falls to nothingness.
ljm