Twenty years of endless anger
Now are etched across my face-
Forehead gauged with v-shaped furrows
That a smile cannot erase.

When not grinning, lips turn down
Sad or happy makes no difference,
My countenance looks like a frown
Though this is not my usual preference.

Eighteen months of peaceful calm
Cannot remove the anger’s trace
Massage and oils don’t do the trick
Nor did moving to a better place.

I am not a harridan,
I need to tell the world,
Even though my angry look
Seems like a battle flag unfurled.

I’m really nice - give me a chance
To show my gentle heart.
Let me put the frown away
And make a brand new start.

Let me speak in poetry
And not get trapped in rhyme.
Let me show a happy face
And try it one more time.
ljm

VIEW FROM WATERCREST ST.

Clouds that look like something
           A novice wedding baker
                    Would pipe onto a cake

Spread themselves across
      The distant mountain tops
                   In swooping shades of
                            Peach and cobalt blue.

The sheet cake of
          Remaining sky
                Resembles Blueberry Yogurt
                        Swirled with apricot jam.

As quickly as this
         Wondrous dawning scene
                               Appears, it fades

To ordinary morning
          Clouds, and sky that hints
                      Of rainstorms and
                                         Humidity.

What did I do yesterday
          That earned me
                      This reward today.
ljm

I am a vintage model car
Sought after greatly in my time
Sleek and shiny
With fancy wheels
Capable of great speed.

Driven hard for all those years
I’m ready for an overhaul.
My engine’s powerful and good
But other things have failed.

My side-view mirror’s cracked
One door wIll not unlock
My turn signals do not work
I need some new upholstery
And a little paint would help.

However when you turn the key
I roar into impressive sound
And get you where you want to go.

No one admires me any more
I’m just a useful tool
But I remember long ago
When I was the new car on the block
And people looked as they passed by.
ljm

I still pine
       for what I’ve lost
               the promise and
                               fulfillment.

I still search my memory
                for hidden fragments
                                 of that treasure.

     Time has covered
                some of them in
                            shadows of nostalgia.

     But the flaming pain
                        still brightly burns and
                                      tears will not extinguish it.
                        ljm

I saw a giant flock of Wrens
Fling themselves across the dawning sky
Like a scattering of onyx jewels,

Flowing like the tide at ebb,
This way and that, swirling
In fantastic breezes I couldn’t feel.

As suddenly as they came, they left,
Headed for some magic place  
That only birds know how to find.

The sky seems empty now they’re gone
Even though a brilliant sunrise
Lurks behind the distant mountains

And promises a light show of it’s own.
The birds became an Obbligato
To this morning sunrise Etude
And I am enriched for sharing it.
ljm

Agony is dripping off of me.
It’s leaving puddles that will spoil the rug.
I’m tracking footprints of it
All across the kitchen floor.

My misery is a shrieking wail
That has the local canines all on edge,
And could entertain by breaking glass.

My hopelessness is fog so thick
I cannot see across the room.
It snuffs out any candles lit.

And yet you do not notice
You do not see
You do not hear
You do not know my flame’s gone out.

How am I to make you share
This awful death I’m dying -
Or must I do it all alone.
ljm

Where have the daily poems gone?  
That’s how I start my day, and I miss them.
June 27 was the last date one showed on my Mac.  
Was nothing worthy in the ensuing week?  
Is Eliot unwell?  Who chooses the Dailies?
Is that person also unwell.
Does anybody know anything.
Somebody tell me something.
                        ljm

In this foreign, hostile land
Who will mourn me when I die.
In this place where no one knows my face
Who will lay a flower on my bier.
Who will say my name with tear stained eyes
And mark their journal with this date.

In this place I didn’t want to be
Who will notice when I’m gone
And feel the hollow left behind.
Who will long to see my smile
And know they never will again.
Who will cry for me here when I’m gone.
    ljm

A  sliver of the moon
Wearing the North star as a hat
Perches over a cotton candy sunrise
In an otherwise clear sky.
Morning in Nevada.
ljm

Looking like white cotton ***** pulled and stretched
Til they are thin as gauze and wispySpread across the morning sky
With other clouds that ripple like enormous corduroy.
I see them as I step out on my daily sunrise walk.
Up sloping streets, down slanted lanes,
I revel in this twilight of the night time.

Knowing there will be a show to take my breath away,
I climb the rubbled hill that separates our steeets
From those across the access road. It’s very steep
And I place my feet with caution on the narrow path.
It would’t do to slip and tumble down the rocky *****.
I walk the ridge-line - half a mile - avoiding
All the off-road tracks that scar the tumbled surface,
Making daring runs across and up and down the steepness

First the bottom of the clouds turn Cotton Candy pink,
Just at the horizon line of jagged, distant mountains.
Then as I watch, the color seeps across the other clouds
Until the morning sky resembles bubble gum.
As quickly as it comes, it fades and takes a golden hue
That gradually turns pink to gold, as the clouds
All change their dresses.
The indigo of the pre-dawn sky plugs in to nature’s power
And the sky begins to glow a neon azure blue.

A flash on the horizon line announces the
First shimmer-glimmer of the sun
As it wakes up and stretches arms across the sky,
And all the pink and gold goes home until tomorrow.
At which point I do the same.
         ljm

Angles and arches
Niches and hallways
Surprising new spaces
Rough on the outside.
Smooth on the inside
Bright by the windows
Dark in the corners
The shape of my home
The arc of my life.
ljm

We don’t belong here
Among people who see
Only red in the kaleidoscope.

People who will burn down the candy store
To keep a foreigner’s kid
From maybe getting a lollypop.

People whose good will
Ends at the top of
A concealed leather holster.

We don’t belong here
In a place where the scenery
Goes off limits 97 days a year.

A place where the wind
Is often angrier than me
And covers things with talcum powder dust.

A place where no humidity
Parches eyes and nose and mouth
And water gives you kidney stones.

A place where those with shrunken purses
Huddle down in freon igloos
Longing for the place they left.

We don’t belong here
The shadows of our spirits do not match
We sing our songs in foreign keys.

We hide the face of who we are
And wear the mask of fitting in
No, we really don’t belong here

But here we stay because
There is no other place to go.
          ljm

My emotions are a weather vane
Something my hubby knows
I laugh, I cry, I live, I  ‘die'
Whichever the way life blows.

I drown myself in salty tears
I sink to the ocean’s floor
Then I rise and build a boat
And row myself to shore.

I’m living in a hostile place
That wants to fry my bones
But I have Air and Water there
So you will hear no moans.

I take that back - there will be moans
Because that’s what I do
I weep and wail to no avail
And then I muddle through.

My pen lives in the shadows
While my life lives in the sun
Trust my perseverance
Until this race is run.
ljm

At every forking of the road
I took the one less traveled.
And then I found to my dismay
The reason it was bypassed.
ljm

Unhappiness hangs like a wet, heavy fog
Coating any random happiness with salty tears.
It hovers just above the ground
Snuffing every little hopefulness that glows.

Unhappiness is as silent as a winter’s dawn
That muffles all the birdsong
And the wake-up call of crickets,
And turns the beating heart into a drum.

Unhappiness is as painful as a
Finger slammed shut in a car door,
Where no blood streams out
But turns to purple underneath the skin.

Unhappiness is insidious;
Growing in the half light of depression
Like mushrooms in a lonely cave
That one really knows is there.

Unhappiness is as heavy as a cross
Laid across the shoulders of your heart
As you struggle up the endless hill
That suddenly appears before you.

Unhappiness is a dozen little ills
That mock your efforts to be healthy,
That burrow like a worm into an apple
And curtail the slightest possibility of joy.

Unhappiness is my middle name.
ljm

HIS DREAMS
At least the ones that he recalls and tells me
Nearly always have a story based on ***.
A group of women capture him
For Show and Tell and more -
For naughty games with other names,
A **** movie A to Z.

MY DREAMS
Vignettes with no song to sing
Pieces from a jigsaw puzzle
Scattered all across the floor
The pieces come from different boxes
And they never make a picture
And there’s never any ***.
       ljm

There is no magic in the world
If there was,
I’d be on Woodland Avenue
With an endless dollar in my pocket.

There is no magic in the world
If there was, i’d be strong and limber
And healthy as a horse
With beautiful thrown into the bargain.

There is no magic in the world
If there was
I could make everything better
For everyone who is ill or hurting.

There is no magic in the world
So I must make the best of
Where I am and how I feel
And try to maybe touch another heart.

That would be my very own magic.
             ljm

I offered you my hand - you spit in it
I said I’d walk along with you - you tripped me and I fell
I tried to sing the song you wrote - you unplugged the microphone
I told the world how great you are - you told them I’m a liar

I tried to follow on your path - you covered it with broken glass
I sent you every cent I owned - you never cashed the check
I mailed you all my hopes and dreams - it came back postage due
I got the message finally - I gathered up my love and walked away
                   ljm

Burning at the very gates of Heaven,
The raging flames of Hell engulf
What two wars and the plague
Could never ****.

Brought down by a careless worker
Who must learn to live
With what he’s caused,
While a city falls down to its knees.

Precious Paris, you wept with us
When the Twin Towers fell, so now
We reach out for your trembling hand
In comfort and in sorrow shared.
                            LJM

The moon’s still high In the dawning sky
And the streetlights cut the gloom.
I go for a walk and a mental talk
That sweeps my mind like a broom.

The desert air, to which none can compare
Banishes all thoughts of doom
I walk the street to an eager beat
Like a Bride on the way to her Groom.
ljm

The cygnet scorns the swan
And swims in ever wider circles.
Downstream roars the waterfall
And overhead a falcon swoops.
             ljm

It’s easy to be the biggest wheel,
Passing out the lollipops
Stolen from the little kids.

It’s not difficult to save the world,
When the whole thing fits
Atop your breakfast table.

It’s not so hard to be a hero
When your uncle runs the war
And stations you in Malibu.

It’s a cinch to win the prize
When daddy buys up all the tickets
And mom will draw the numbers.

What’s really hard is to grow up
And be a man of principle
A man who does the thing that’s good
Even though no one will see
And crowds will not shout out his name.

To be a man who does the work
To see his vision through
Without expecting miracles
To make his dreams come true.

The world is waiting for this man
It may not even be a male
But someone with a Hero’s heart
Who isn’t bought with promised gold
And only cares to do what’s right.

Hopefully that person will be found
Before the final trumpets sounds
ljm

There are no lilacs blooming in my soul
The last of them was stolen by that wily thief
Called practicality.

The Sweet Peas of my youthful years are gone.
Their perfume scented all my early efforts, but are
Fading in the glaring sun of duty.

How I loved the midnight-petaled pansies of creation.
They lined the paths in many magic gardens, but were
Crushed beneath the millstone of responsibility.

All the Humming Birds and Meadow Larks have flown,
Leaving me with only the cacophony of crows
When In my heart I long to hear the Mocking Bird.

The clouds no longer speak to me.
The breeze flies by with no kind whisper
And shreds the lacy curtains of my life

Leaving me with only dreams of Hollyhocks and Foxgloves,
Straining for the sight of Red-winged Blackbirds,
Longing for the melody that I can’t sing.

I can’t forget the smell of Summer Lilacs.
There must be a place where they still grow
And I will never stop until I find them.
     ljm

I weep for words that will not dance,
That will not float on wings of thought,
But only thud on solid ground

I weep for songs I cannot sing
The phrases buzz like happy bees
That sting me and then fly away

I weep for souls I cannot touch
With tenderness and hope
Because I reach with crippled hands

I weep for gifts I cannot share
The addressee is marked “unknown”
And it comes back all soiled and torn

I weep because it’s all I know
When nothing blooms from what I plant
And barren soil is all I have to til
ljm

1.  The only escape from this nightmare is death
     But that’s not escape - it’s nothing but a blackout.
     The only hope left flickers and dies
     Like an ill-tended summer campfire
     As the lucky numbers refuse to compute,
     And all that’s left is sand and sun     
     That scorches all attempts to find a way
     To make accommodations to the heat.

      Safe for now inside a fragile stucco igloo,
      What will happen when the statement comes
      That says we can’t afford the ice
      That’s needed to stave off the burn,
      And there’s no shady place to go and hide.
      With no escape to dream filled sleep
      There’s only counting minutes on a clock that                                                          never  moves.                             
                                                                ­                                    
2.   The ragged sleeve is not caught up at night
      And the road ends at a chasm of despair.
      The winds and tides are out of sync
      And morning comes at midnight.
      Writhing in the tangled sheets, I’m
      Thinking thoughts with no way out,
      Of what was always bound to come,
      Riding on another bad decision.

3.   Death will not lure me this night -
      Too cruel to leave him here alone
      Without the necessary tools to live
      And find a road that leads to hope.
      If only slumber was my friend
      And I was not out counting stars
      When it’s too dark to find my way
      And all the nearby world is snoring.

4.   Huddled in a corner with a pen
      The paper blots up tears and ink
      And offers no hope of surcease
      To seeds of panic poised to grow.
      If only a little rain would fall.

ljm

There once was a lass from Ohio
Who blushed when she said “Me, oh My-oh
I put on my shirt
And forgot my skirt
Now I sit in jail and just cry-oh”
ljm

I’m told real poems always rhyme-
Anything else is drivel.
If we abide by that stern rule
Then real music can only be opera.

Real dance can only be ballet
And real paintings photographic.
Why is there so much latitude
In all the other art forms

And no acceptance for blank verse,
Even with fantastic formats,
Even if it makes you cry...
If there is no rhyme, it’s junk.

Everyone who does not rhyme
Quite probably can do it,
But they can write blank verse sublime
If you only leave them to it.
ljm

POEM
1. an arrangement of words written or spoken: traditionally a rhythmical composition, sometimes rhymed, expressing experiences, ideas or emotions in a style more concentrated, imaginative and powerful than that of ordinary speech or prose; some poems are in meter, some in free verse.
2.anything suggesting a poem in its effect.

Thistledown on a gentle breeze
On it’s way to somewhere

Tiny petals setting sail
Across an Autumn puddle

Blackbirds sing in the Cat-tail reeds
And three puppies sleep in a tangle

I hold a cup of steaming tea
And sit on the front porch steps

As summer fades I recollect
The past year of my life

I didn’t win awards or fame
I didn’t inherit wealth

I finally learned to love myself
And forgive me all my failings

That opened doors I never saw
And gave me eyes to see

The beauties of the life I’ve made
And who I’ve come to be

The strength I didn’t know was there
The gentle hand I offer

I comforted that little girl
Trembling in a corner

Of the dark space in my soul
And told her it will be O.K.

The sunrise here is glorious
And we’re gonna be just fine.
                ljm

Alone together
in another
    place,
       it doesn’t feel
like
   Christmas.
The tree
is
              differently shaped
and
       somehow foreign
looking.
The garland hangs
  on
      the usual things
     but now
               doesn’t seem
     as green.
The carols
     sound familiar
     but
           the voices
                      have been
                           changed.
I think
           the calendar
                       is wrong
               and I am
                  where
                I don’t belong.
     ljm

All that effort
With no real gain
Nothing to show for it
But tears and pain.

All that struggle
Against fearsome odds
Earned from the world
The briefest of nods.

All that caring-
Reaching out
No one cares
What I’m about.

Bloodying fists
Against brick walls-
I’m ready to answer
But no one calls.
          ljm

Pretend your day is happy
Pretend your life is good
Pretend it’s come together
The way a good life should

Pretend your heart’s not aching
Pretend your soul’s not tired
Pretend you’ll find a new job
Now you’ve been wrongly fired

Pretend the kind suggestions
Pretending to give hope
Pretend to be so grateful
Pretend they’ll help you cope

Pretend you’ll find the answer
Pretend you’ll find your way
Pretend your life’s not over
You’ll live another day

Pretend the gun’s not loaded
Pretend that’s not your head
Pretend that sound is thunder
Pretend that you’re not dead
          ljm

All alone on Christmas day
Oh, Boo Hoo, poor me
By myself in the mess I’ve made
Shed a tear for me

Wandering the empty halls
Who will bring me tea
Someone working without pay
On this Christmas day.

Wife and kid are far away
Having a wonderful time
I’m left here, lower lip stuck out
Determined to have my way.

I’ll stamp my foot and kick the wall
They must all bend to my will
Don’t say I’m wrong if you want your job
I'll kick you off the Hill.

All by myself - where are my gifts
Under the red Christmas tree?
Oh no, there are ten of them
Under which one could it be?

My pity comes in self-made waves
That I should be alone
And suffer for demands I’ve made
For things that can’t be done.

Oh Boo Hoo, feel bad for me
I’m sulking on T V.
I’ve ruined my day and you must pay
That’s how it’s going to be

I can’t admit that they are right
For that means I am wrong
And wrong is not a thing  I do
I’ve said that all along

So martyr-me will sulk and pout
And make the people pay
The price for leaving Donald Trump
Alone on Christmas Day.
                      ljm

Tear stained pages
Tear stained pillows
The legacy of my love for you.
                    ljm