Other places, other times
Send hints of melodies
That echo in the hollow air
And call repeatedly to me

To leave the harsh and bittersweet
And find a way that leads
To those remembered days
Of usefulness and joy.

The notes play on an endless loop
That turns sad dreams to Musicals
And interferes with getting on
With all the mundane that is life.

Those other days and times are gone
They cannot be recaptured
The only thing they leave behind
Are notes of sad and wistful longing.
ljm

Am I the only one on HP
Who is finding it impossible
To parse the Byzantine new
System Eliot-the-Great has
Foisted on us in the name
Of becoming available
In your back Jeans pocket
Wherever you may be?
LJM

I’m riding on a carousel
I didn’t buy a ticket for.
Each horse’s harness represents
A non-life-ending malady.

The ride will not come to an end
And spins too fast for jumping off,
But I can carefully switch mounts
To ride on something different.

A gilded stallion paws the air
On the far side of the circle
But I can’t manage to get there-
Something’s always in my way.

I can’t get past the Tiger mount
With it’s angry rasping throat
Or by the zebra with a broken foot
To ride the healthy Courser.

I inch my way by the dappled mare
And dare not tough her bridle.
Spotted I already am
And I want to ride a Mustang.

The ride has gone on far too long
I’ve ridden half the Ponies
I haven’t gained the mount I want.
An aged gelding’s all that’s left.

So I’ll ride it ’til the music ends
And the carousel stops turning
I’ll stumble off and turn to face
The fate that I’ve been learning.
ljm

Unfit to be loved
Not even by God
Who’s promise is
Love everlasting.

Unable to heal
From wounds too deep
The scabs that were hope
Are constantly oozing.

Covered in scars
Generated within
There’s obviously no use
In praying for help.

Huddled in corners
of futile existence
The Sun never rises
And rain falls as tears.

The clock never wavers
The moments roll on
And time has no meaning
Unless there is love.

But love is illusive
It’s not bought and sold
It  must be accepted
Or else it grows cold.
            ljm

I need to be useful
I can’t stand to be helpless
I never learned how to say
Please help me - I can’t do this

I don’t know how to stand by
And let others do what I did
And can no longer manage
I must find a way around it

I’m not an observer
I need to carry the load
Don’t make me put it down
To do so is akin to dying
ljm

Not allowed to be part of her life
Only a casual bystander
Feeding on the crumbs of her
Tossed to me by others
ljm

The writing on the wall is not graffiti.
It was not put there by rebel hands.
It’s written in an obscure language
Few will take the time to learn
And even fewer heed its warning.

The writing lists the reasons
For the coming of the Horsemen.
The steeds that carry avenging riders
Wearing mantles made of
Fire and flood, earthquake and war.

The writing on the wall is flaming
With incendiary anger at the people
Who will not read what’s written there,
Having armed themselves in black chain mail
Forged from avarice and greed.

They shed no thought for fellow man
Or for the world that holds them all.
They lust for power that money brings
And dollars are the only God they worship.
They’ll never read what’s written on the wall.

There is a whinny on the rising breeze
That carries smoke from nearby fires,
And subtle poundings on the ground
Foretell the coming of the herd with
Flaming brands that match the wall
ljm