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When all the butterflies are gone
And only Caterpilers yet remain
The barren landscape will forget
Just what the color green looked like.

When the rain no longer ever falls
And water tastes a bit like salt
The withered earth will hunger for
The sweet flavor of the morning dew.

When water seeps over the window sill
And everthing is muddy brown and ruined
The Mocking Birds will gather in a chorus
To sing sacred dirges to the houses.

When billboards are spray painted white
With only dabs of purple in the corners
The world will finally have ended
And somehow no one got the word.
ljm
Billboards and cockroaches will be the last things to go.
Every morning I kneel and pray
For the needs of other people.
But nobody prays for me.
Fourteen ways my body fails
And my mind is failing too.
Yet nobody prays for me.
My needs are on the bottom shelf
I carefully set it up that way.
So nobody prays for me.
I thought I was invincible
But my needs outweigh my strength.
Won’t somebody somewhere pray for me.
             ljm
Orison is an archaic word for prayer.
An artificial crimson blossom
In the garden of God’s roses
I’m made of silk and wire and glue
On a slender stem of green bamboo.
Artistry makes me look real
And though I turn to face the Son
I can’t create perfume to offer
And I stand out painfully
Among the genuine creations.
Waiting for the Gardener
To notice me and **** me out
To die among the brambles
I tried diigently to escape.
              ljm
Song - Lonely Little Petunia by **** "two ton" Baker
Can all of the real Chrstians,
The ones who actually
Follow the commandments,
Outvote the Quasi Christians
Who hold their Bibles upside down
And can not quote John 3:16

Probably not.

But add them to the multitude of  
Non religious voting people
Those who read and understand
The message written on the wall,
And  know they want to vote again
And have a choice when four years pass.

Then maybe yes.
                ljm
Still on my soapbox
The door is slowly opening
I can hear the hinges creaking
As it is forced to move.
What pagan wind invades
The solace of this silent chamber
To move what has grown stationary
In the effort to hold back
The machinations that are
Fluttering like brazen banners
On the brightly gilded lances
Of the mavens of decay
           ljm
Don't ask me- I just write 'em  - I don't get paid to understand 'em.
Hindered by the need for practicality,
The song that longs to heal the world
Remains unsung.
The steps that would have mended broken spirits
Remain undanced.

Blinded by the need to see reality
The cotton candy dawning clouds
Turn stormy gray.
The breeze that eases all the doubt and fear
Grows into a howling gale

Deafened by the clarion call of duty
The cries of broken little birds
Cannot be heard.
The words that float on images of grace and beauty
Remain unwritten.

Stunted by the evil of aphasia
The verses that could have lived forever
Lie entangled on the tablet.
The Laurel wreath that had my name on it
Lies now withered on the floor.
                  ljm
Writer's block  2.0
The tipping point for Gaia
  Stares us boldly in our faces.
   And yet we try to look the other way,
    Seeing only what they want us to see,
     Believing all the lies they tell us daily.
      How deep into destruction must we fall
       Before we realize we’re doomed and
        It’s too late to pass the blame
         And far too late to fix things
              ljm
I keep harping on this.  Only us are listening.
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