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Twenty little sheets of paper
Some with one name, some with many.
Each a plea to God through Jesus
To be granted freedom from a need.

To be made well, to be set free,
To find the sun in a day of darkness,
To feel comforted in the wake of loss
To reach out and find a helping hand.

One at a time the names come in,
Sometimes maybe two or three.
Often their story is attached
But most assume that God will know.

My avocation is to pray for them
Unworthy as I know I am.
Why should Jesus listen to me
When I beg for things for someone else.

Weak and small as I seem to be
I offer prayer to meet their needs
And hope that Heaven answers us
And lifts me up with all the rest.
ljm
I firmly believe in that old saying:  Prayer Changes Things.
The tiny river in the gutter
  Flows inexorably  on
   Crossing over two wide streets
    In it’s determined journey to
     The storm drain in the cul de sac.

Rocks impose no barrier;
The river simply flows around,
  Creating little islands in the stream
   That make the water ripple in the sun.

The small end of a cigarette
  Becomes a tiny  boat
    I watch it as it sails along
     On a journey to oblivion.

I follow to the storm drain grate
  Where the falling water makes no sound,
   As it slips quietly down the maw
    To become part of some other flows.

Will it end up at the Waterworks
  To be freshly cleaned and sanitized
   And pumped back through those miles of pipes
    To quench thirst at the kitchen sink

Or will it join the other storm drains  
  Making their winding pilgrimage
   To join the nearby Colorado
     River and begin the trip again.
                                              ljm
A few of my neighbors water their lawns til it overflows into the gutter. I live on a gentle hillside and I walk the neighborhood every morning. Some times I pass just as it starts running down the street towards the big flood channel at the bottom of the street below mine. Following it gives me a very leisurely walk, not the cardio pace I usually employ. I love it.
the wild west's still with us
it isn't gone at all
8 shot inside a high school
11 at the mall

Tombstone is no longer
Dodge City, it's now dust
But, the wild west's still with us
Believe me...in disgust

They no longer use revolvers
And have show downs in the streets
They've moved it to the school room
Where children hide beneath their seats

The press are there like vultures
The NRA cries foul
11 dead inside the mosque
But people wail and howl

They've the right to carry guns
You can't take that away
So, when you explain that to their folks
Just what do you say?

The wild west's still with us
It's a fact, that's true
It's not the same as it once was
This wild west is new

Shootings in the workplace
Shootings at the schools
Shooting in the churches
Are there any rules?

Each night the news is showing
A new shooting, it won't stop
The shooter dies a victim
And it's always death by cop

The wild west's still with us
It isn't gone at all
7 dead inside the church
11 at the mall
Wandering lost and addled
In a tangle of unseen wires and buttons,
Tripped up by all that I don’t know
And mocked by the little I do
I stumble into yesterday
To find the reason I’m alone
With everyone around me.

Why they all know the magic words
And I don’t know my A  B Cs.
How did I, in my younger days,
Not learn that I would need those codes.
Didn’t I know the world would turn
And leave me stumbling behind
As I just sat writing poetry.
                                        ljm
The whole world is happening out in t.he ether and I'm stuck here on a swivel chair in front of a blue screen that hates me. Where did I go wrong?
The crows are screeching in the trees
The wind is howling in the eves
The door that kept tomorrow safe
Is swinging wildly in the gale.
The glow that might have been the sun
Is really from a raging fire
That’s fanned by mistrals out of place
Who bring with them an icy chill
That kills the tiny forlorn hope
Now hiding in a dusty closet
ljm
There's more than the weather happening here.
Ukraine is doughty little David
Russia is Goliath
His slingshot is a flying drone
And he needs bigger pebbles.

Poland offered flying rocks
Big enough to knock things down
And even up the playing field
With boulders of destruction.

David needed just one stone
Zellenskyy may need several
It’s hoped that when Goliath falls
He misses the red button.
                               ljm
Step by step...slowly we turn...
Like a mouse in a maze that has no openings
I scurry around this way and that.
Only bumping into walls and dead ends.
I run til I’m completely exhausted
But I never come across an exit
And just to make it so much worse
I also never find a crumb of cheese.
            ljm
Life just never seems to get better.
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