Like a newborn sparrow in a tall tree nest
You hunker down with your beak wide open
Chirping for a worm.
But you’ve broken my wings so many times
I can no longer fly
And I flop helplessly amongst the branches
Watching as we starve.
                   ljm

I went to the squantum faire.
A handsome lad was there.
He admired my raven hair
And seemed to really care
So I began to share
More than I’d ever dare

He seemed like someone rare
My excitement hard to bear
We made a fulsome pair
Alas he was just a snare.

Today I sit and glare
And sometimes even swear
That I’d been made a mare
And Motley’s clothes must wear.
ljm

I’m old and fat
And that is that
No saving grace
For my poor face
The past is gone
I must live on
And walk this road
With aging’s load
But I recall
When I was all
I’d hoped to be-
An answered plea
I was the best
Of all the rest
I reveled on
Then all was gone
But I’m still here
With mind yet clear
The years roll past
Each one more fast
But as they fly
I never sigh
I’ve had my fun
And now it’s done.
        ljm

Lured by the understated enticements
Of the fog that curls around my efforts,
I’m wondering if that could be the answer
To the questions that I’ve never ever asked.

There doesn’t always seem to be a floor
At the very bottom of the staircase,
So I’m wondering what I will find
When I step off of the bottom step.
            ljm

"Transporting a Dream" by Old Poet MK, brought back to mind an episode when I was in my 20’s, and working in an insurance office with a coffee house side job.  I was in love with a wandering folk singer who was then performing in a club in Oklahoma City and I missed him terribly.
He called late one Friday night and said why not come there and drive back to California with him.  At first I told myself all the reasons it would be impossible. Then my heart told me I had to find a way to do it.  I called my supervisor and told a fib about my mom having had a stroke and I had to fly to Washington State for a few days.
I emptied my piggy bank and the tip jar from my coffeehouse side job, but I didn't have enough for the ticket. I had a series E savings bond tucked away, but no where to cash it in on a Friday night. This was before I had a computer, so I had only my land line phone to help me.  
I called Greyhound and got their schedule and the stops they made along the way to Oklahoma City.
As it happened they had a 15 minute rest stop in Mesa, Arizona at 10:15 AM. which was about as far as my gathered money would buy a ticket for. Good enough!  I grabbed some clothes and raced to the bus depot. I gave them all my money, much of it in coins, and bought a ticket for Mesa, which was as far as I could afford to go. When the bus was loaded I settled in, and it rolled on through the night.  Too excited to sleep, I wrote several poems along the way.  When we got to Mesa for the rest stop the next morning I leaped off the bus and flew into a nearby bank (Talk about miracles - it was just across the street from the depot ) I pleaded with them to cash my Savings Bond. The handsome teller listened to my story and then called the bank manager over to hear it as well. That was the day I learned that pretty girls can do things ordinary folk could never manage.  Without knowing me or really checking out my ID, the bank manager and handsome teller actually cashed my savings bond for me.
Had they not done that I would have been stranded alone and penniless in a strange city.  Only the confidence of youth could lead someone into a situation like that.
I raced back to the bus as it was loading again and bought my way on to Oklahoma City. I wrote some good things as I looked out the bus window. on the way.
There was tragedy though. I filled one little note pad with  poems and was well into another when it came time to change busses.  I somehow left the first notepad on the bus as I got off and didn’t realize it until on the second one and away. All I could do was write a poem about lost poetry - which I did.
When I arrived I was met with love and wonderful moments.
The drive back to LA. was exciting and romantic.
What an adventure that was. The folksinger was a lovely period in my life, but alas, not permanent. He didn’t last but the love of Folk music music did.

Twenty five years later a similar adventure befell me, but that’s a story for another time.
LJM

Holding on so tightly to the final shreds of me
    I need to run and howl the forests down.
        I need to pound into submission
            Everything that jumps to bite me.
               I need to find a breath not gasping,
                  Hand on heart that isn’t racing,
                       Stomach free from panic acids.

Calamity stacked on disaster
   Perched atop catastrophe;
      Mishaps nestled in misfortune-
         Contretemps my middle name.

Fourteen traumas in a listing -
   Some stretch over several years.
     Stress points top the nation’s debt.
       Hated where I should be loved-
          Pushed harder when I should be resting;
             Attacked when I should be applauded-
                 Do I live in the Twilight Zone?

With the end of weeping, silence-
   Save the endless humming in my ears.
      Eyelids sore, too red and swollen
         Let the door and phone bells ring
            I have no things with which to answer.

How can fate keep spawning badness
   Coming up with innovative forms
      To slither out and trip me as I stagger by
         Trying to create tomorrow from the wreckage of today.
ljm