It was such an exquisite marriage
The bride was lovely
The groom on his horse
And rain that fell as a sign of good luck.
The guests all arrived in their festive array
And it went as smoothly as carefully planned.
But the wedding cake - Oh my Heavens the cake !
A cake with no rival in the annals of time.
A cake that was baked by a host of proud bakers.
It had so many layers and so many flavors,
But way too much icing in billowing excess
With overgrown meadows of fondant flowers.
There was extravagant scrollwork around the edges
And even surprises baked coyly inside.
But it took way too long to light the tall candle
That finally decorated the top tier.
It was served up in dozens of little small wedges
To the multitudes of the invited guests
Who never saw the whole cake as presented
But only the dainty slice that they were served.
The party went on far into the night
And everyone had a fantastical time.
It must be agreed, twas a world class reception
Except for that cake - that too fabulous cake
ljm

Will the fealty of the masses
who have blindy followed a
Judas Ram into the perdition
we now face be shifted slightly
off target by the clarion call
issuing from the Good Shepherd
in search of her lost lambs.
ljm

Circumsance newly provides us
With a lissom visage of hope -
A sturdy twig to hold onto when
The hurricane begins its howl.
     ljm

The fabric of society dangles by a feeble thread
That trembles with the the heavy weight of anger
And is stretched beyond what possibly
Can hold it all together

Weavers rush to reinforce the ever thinning yarn
But the sheep that usually supply the wool
Are scattered in the meadows of contention
And a worthy shepherd can’t be found.

How long can the tapestry, once honored and revered,
Remain in place upon the walls that form the room
Which shelters us from the visisitudes of living
In a world of hatred and divide.

It must not crumple to the floor, cut loose from
What sustained it through the centuries,
Leaving walls with gaping cracks that let inside
The freezing winds of vengence.

Will there be a place to hide and recreate a loom
In hopes of managing to learn to weave once more
And patch the rends in what was rescued from the floor
And seal the walls of hope again.
                                                         ljm

Every night their cherished homes
Are scattered like spilled toothpicks
Across a wounded land that
Shudders under angry skies.

Every morning raging water crashes in
And floats away the little things
That added pleasure to their living
And leaves behind just soggy sadness.

Every afternoon the smoke filled skies
Make breathing in a dangerous thing
And leave scorched nothingness behind
To proclaim the power of that inferno.

Every dawning brings new hope
Like Manna from the Bible shining on
The plans and dreams of those
Who aim to vanquish all the tragedies

And make a tiny corner of the world
A cleaner, better, safer place to be;
Kinder to the injured spirit and the broken soul -
A healing, hopeful ointment for a wounded planet.
ljm

With Highway One almost completely to myself
North of San Simeon
I find a pristine ocean on my left
Green covered hillsides on my right,
And a warm sun in a light blue sky above.
The stresses of the city and my topsy-turvy life
Begin to fall away as I relax and revel in it,
All alone here in my faithful Jetta.

My need to pack a bag or two for an exciting trip 
supercedes the urge to spend this hour writing
doggerel in hopes someone will think I am a poet

I’m taking more than I will need. I do it every time
And bring back brand new clothes still neatly folded
Having never left the suitcase or tried on at all.

My poetry is over packed more often than I’d like.
The need to make my feelings clear approaches
Supercedence over litereary form and rhyming.

and the chorus:

A pair of jeans and 4 tee-shsirts is really all I need.
I wondere why I bring so much - it puzzles me indeed.
I wonder also why I write long verses you must read.

I’ll try to cut the wardrobe down, take just one duffle bag.
I’ll try to use far fewer words to raise my poet’s flag
If this should work out either way, I’ll be the one to brag.
ljm