My prayer list held a disaster
That was burdened with three more
There has never been a time
I felt compelled to pray for
Catastrophic multiples:
The burned out victims of Hawaii,
The earthquake rubble in Morocco,
Survivors of Libya’s flood deluge
Plus Hurricanes and Tornados
Here in the land that we call home.
And all within the last two months.
So many in such a very short time.
Each one a calamity of people
Where lives and dreams were all destroyed
With loved ones left behind to weep.

Are we seeing here a prelude of
Four Horsemen and Apocalypse?
Have they begun their awful ride?
They carry different banners now:
Not War, but the deadly fires of Hell
Not Famine, but death-dealing floods
Not Pestilence but shaking down tall buildings
Not Death, but gales of immense destruction

Some say there is another Horse,
A Fifth, called Nuclear Annihilation
His banner flaunts the end of time
That snuffs the world before the Trumpet blows.
It’s kicking at the stable door
And we can hear the timbers cracking.

But grazing calmly in the pasture
Is the dappled horse called Six
His banner is the slow starvation
Of everything that supports life.
He need not ride, he only waits
For greed, indifference and sloth
To find the way to **** the earth
And everyone who lives upon it.

Is there any place to hide
Is there anything to do
Any way to make it better.
Can which sacrifice atone
For what we’ve done to our own planet -
What we’ve done to our own lives.
One book seems to have the answer
It’s on the Best Seller list.
Almost every household owns one.
Almost no one ever reads it.
Maybe finally…it’s time.
ljm

My British husband and I were visiting his folks in London on 9/11/01.  It was afternoon and we were in St Pancras tube station when I caught the tail end of a news crawl moving across the wall. I said “ mmm…looks like there’s been a plane crash somewhere", and we went on about our shopping excursion.

After choosing a model car in a toy shop a little later, we went to pay and the young clerk I spoke to said “Did you hear about the planes that hit the skyscrapers and made them fall down?”  That didn’t make any sense, and I wasn't sure I understood his East End accent so I just said, “No we didn’t - guess we should check the news” and we walked out.  As we went out, I said, “I guess another little plane hit the Empire state Building, but it certainly wouldn’t fall down.”  

However, on the tube on the way home, we overheard bits of conversation that frightened us, so we rushed in and turned on the TV, where they replayed every terrible scene over and over for the rest of the day.

We were glued to the Telly for the next 3 days for round-the-clock coverage.

When we finally ventured out and anyone heard my American accent, I was immediately hugged and told how sorry they were to see this happen.  This continued for the following three weeks of our stay.  Never anything but sympathy and kindness towards me and America. I’ll never forget it.

I wonder if we were so caring when Irish terrorists previously bombed Harrods.  I somehow doubt it.  The other thing I will never forget is the burning hatred that welled up in me for Sadam Hussein who was named at the time as being responsible. I had never before or since felt such virulent loathing for any one or anything.  When those thoughts threaten to resurface today, I shush them away by recalling the overwhelming kindness of the ordinary English folk towards me.  I will never forget that.

I saw Ground Zero shortly afterwards, and the hatred resurfaced, as  it does in some measure on every September 11. On those times I again turn to my memories of British kindness.
                                                                              ljm

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

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

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