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I tried for days
To write a poem
That captures all
The joys that
We have known
And all the problems
We have solved.

I  made a list
Of all the times
Our tie was
Stretched near breaking,
And I marveled
At the unseen strength
That pulled us
Back together.

The years have not
Been kind to me
But you have been
Forbearing -
Always there
To lift me up
And keep us
Moving forward.

So as we start
Another year
We’ll face it all
Together.
In a bond unshakeable
That binds our love
Forever.
ljm
I'm not very good at love poems.  I was better in my youth.
Bills  Bills  Bills  Bills
Never a Sam or Clyde
I simply can’t get out of debt
No matter how I’ve tried.

Bills  Bill  Bills  Bills
They come in twos and threes.
I wish that I could get a loan
To help me pay for these.

My credit score is way too low;
It’s only six-o-five.
I know they’ll never loan the dough
That I need to survive.

I didn’t know which way to turn
Until I spoke to Frank
He kindly said he’d lend a hand -
And help me rob a bank.

We put disguises on my face
And he pulled out a gun
We got some money in our bag
And took off on the run.

But we didn’t get too far
The coppers had us nailed.
They hauled us up before a judge
And both of us were jailed.

The problem now has gone away
My room and board is free
I have no monthly bills to pay
So I’m the winner, don’t you see.
ljm
Nonsense from the non-sensible
For kicks I typed into Google my name followed by the word Poetry.
I was taken to a list of several sites showing my name, but the one that got my attention was  "Lori Jones McCaffery: Poetry."  I clicked on that and bam ! there was my whole chronological listing of titles, exactly like you'd find it here.  Anyone can access every poem by clicking on the title. Who put that list on Google?  Is everyone's list on Google too? I didn't give permission to anyone and I'm a bit upset.  It's kind of fun to have all my stuff available to anyone interested but I would have liked to have been asked first because I have been plagiarized before and had to fight for my writing.
I never hated on my mother.
Even though she never understood me.
I didn’t fit her mold or pattern
So she couldn’t accept me as I was.
Her world wasn’t very big
And I suspected there was more.
This led to arguments and battles
That spanned so very many years.
I always knew she loved me
And though she made my life a struggle
I never learned to hate her.

In my 30’s and in therapy
I began to understand how
She did her best with what she knew.
She was crippled by my Grandma
Who was hobbled by her mother,
And right back down the Franklin Line.

There were no butterflies or comets
In their genealogy,
Only standard plain-wrap people
Who knew the heights were not for them
And didn’t feel the need to miss it.
People who got on with things,
And never thought the grass was greener
Any place but where they were.

How could they know a dragonfly
Would fill the space where I once stood
and learned to flit on gossamer wings
And ride a southbound zephyr
To places, times and happenings
They had no way to comprehend.
They just wanted me back home.

I never hated them for that,
Especially not my Mother.
She even seemed a little proud
When my name was in the paper.
And she finally accepted that
My life was wildly different.
Any hate I might have had
While growing up a rebel
Was dissipated long before
I celebrated forty.

Then I wed above our station
And she was an outsider
Trying hard to learn the dance
And get in step with culture
That was foreign to her background.
Aided by her innate grace
She fit into the puzzle and belonged.

The years rolled on and life passed by.
I didn’t call her the way I should
I visited much less than I could
But love replaced all trace of disdain.
At Eighty-two she said goodbye
In agonizing bits and pieces.  
She didn’t get a graceful death,
The Christian rest that she deserved.
I still hate all the fates and furies
That robbed her of a sweet farewell.

I never hated on my mom,
Naive Carolina girl
Left to raise 3 kids alone
Encumbered by her heritage.
I understand it better now
And I have only love for her.
ljm
Sometimes you have to run really fast
To keep the dark from catching up with  you.
ljm - I think
I somehow can't remember writing this, but I found it on a scrap of paper - did I copy it from someone else?  I wouldn't think so, but.......
A The evil little voice still speaks… 8
B Says I can do it all alone         8
C Says I don’t need to call on God, 8
b That I can manage on my own. 8

A A twin to Job, I stumble on. 8
a The mental tools I need are gone. 8
B I cannot seem to find my way 8
b Or summon up the will to pray. 8

A I’ve lost myself along the way. 8
B I somehow didn’t read the sign. 8
a I cannot face another day 8
b With all these shackles on my mind.         8

A I need to fall on bended knee 8
a And ask the Lord to set me free - 8
B To give me back my confidence 8
b And help me climb down off this fence           8

A To help me overcome this angst 8
B And pity for the mess I’ve made. 8
C To help  me get back on my feet 8
b And get a new foundation laid. 8
                  ljm
The library had a poetry class one day. This was my effort.
"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 in San Diego with a night job as a waitress at a Beatnik Coffee House.  I was in love with a wandering folk singer who had left to perform at 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 being sick and I had to fly to Washington State for a few days.
I emptied my piggy bank and the tip jar from my coffeehouse night job, but I didn't have enough for the ticket. I did have a series E savings bond tucked away, but nowhere to cash it in on a Friday night. This was long before we had computers and cell phones, so I had only my land line to help me.  
I called Greyhound and got their schedule and all the stops they made along the way to Oklahoma City.
As it happened they had a 20 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 my E-Bond and raced to the bus depot. I gave them all my money, much of it in coins, and bought a ticket for Mesa. Soon the bus was loaded and I settled in as we 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 so I could continue on. 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 very pretty girls can do things ordinary folk might 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 and beauty 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 more verse as I looked out the bus window on the way. Some of it very good.
There was tragedy though. I filled one little notebook with  poems and was well into a second one when it came time to change busses.  I somehow left the first notebook on the bus as I got off and didn’t realize it until well away on the second one. I was heartbroken. All I could do was write a sad poem about lost poetry - which I did.
When I arrived in Oklahoma City I was met with love, music and wonderful moments.
The drive back to LA. was exciting and romantic as we stopped to admire the scenery and take photos of each other.
What an exciting escapade that was. The folksinger was a lovely period in my life, filled with other adventures and Whippet dogs, but alas, not permanent. The relationship didn’t endure past two years, but the love of Folk music and Whippets did.

Twenty five years later a similar adventure on a bigger scale befell me, but that’s a story for another time.
LJM
Hoping you won't do the math and figure out how utterly old I am.
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