In a house that is not my home
On a cookie-cutter street
Battered by the sun, the wind and rain
I wonder how I got here and how I can get out.

All my stuff is scattered everywhere
And hanging on the walls in rooms
That hold no trace of me
Or who I am or want to be.

The neighbor’s floor plan is the same
I could walk in her house blind.
I push my furniture around
But there is still no sign of me.

Everything of who I was
Is boxed and stashed away upstairs.
I’ve never had a house with stairs
And that makes this more foreign.

This house is full of all my things
Shipped across the miles
But I forgot to pack myself
And I am still back there.

In a  home with character
And charm that I created
On a quiet tree lined street
Shared with other kindred souls

The one who wanders through these rooms
Will not admit to being me,
Or breathe life into this address
Nor paint her spirit on the walls.

A guest in my own final home
My name is on the deed
But it belongs to someone else
And I must find a way to live here.
          ljm

To enjoy the past without the need
Of moving there with trunk and suitcase.
To recall any tragic times gone by
Without the gasping tears of sorrow.
To relive the many precious moments
But not put up a tent and stay there.
To fight the long ago won battles
Once again without the hate and malice.
To revel in the youth and vigor
Of another long gone time and day,
But only stop by for a visit there,
To spend a pleasant while and leave.
To travel back to now and be content.
Remembering the purple velvet petaled pansies,
And the roses in the silver moonlight,
But then go out and water the petunias of today.

ljm

You thought that I was talking *** -
Funny that never crossed my mind.
I was sorting scattered comments,
Trying to see the road ahead.

I thought you would be seeking money.
Previous scams have made me cautious
And sudden friendship rings a bell
That warns me to be careful.

I said perhaps I saw what’s coming
And that the answer would be no.
I didn’t expect your vitriol
And angry doorways slamming shut.

It’s probably all just as well.
We don’t speak the same language
And always will misunderstand,
So let us go our separate ways.
ljm

I never know I’ve gone til I come back
And realize that life
Has moved on for a period
And left me here behind

I don’t slip off to fall asleep
I doubt that sleep is involved at all
I jump to other nonsense lifes
Against my wish and flagging will

Not nightmares, but scenarios
Of things and people I don’t know
Doing things I’ve never done
In times and places I’ve not been

Not unpleasant in the least
Just people doing people things
But in some other universe
That skates around outside of this one

Sometimes I’m still conversing there
When something drags me back to here
Where someone looks at me and says “Beg pardon?”
And I reply “oh, nothing. I’m just talking to myself”

I can't remember where I was
Or who were those there with me
The memory fades as I return
And realize that I’ve been gone

Without farewells or by-your-leave
To visit in a different world
With nothing that I recognize and people I don’t know
I’m moving through a life that isn’t mine

I don’t know how to make it stop
Am I insane or is this real
I have no way to know for sure
I just know it will come again.
                                 ljm

There was a young lady from Hants
Who had trouble finding her pants
She looked high and low
And strip-searched her beau
Who’d speared them as flag for his lance!
ljm

I’ve stayed
I didn’t want to but I didn’t leave
I trudge on as the years unfold

Why, you ask
Because you came
You left it all at painful cost and came

Even though
You brought me copper, never gold
Still, it was genuine, too pure to cast aside
In hopes of finding richer ore

So I’m still here
In places I don’t want to be
Doing things not what I want to do
For reasons I’m not privy to

I try
But find my arms too short
To reach the blossoms I should plck
To decorate the gift I cannot give

I dress in guilt
And hope nobody notices
That the empress is naked
And everyone can see but you

I’ve cried
Because the both of us are robbed
Of what might have been a symphony
Except there are no violins,
No cellos or violas

And the drums play only heavy metal
The concertmaster called in sick
And the woodwinds are all drunk
There’s only karaoke now

Yet here we are
In places we don’t like, doing things we do not like
Looking for some meaning hidden in the wind and sun
To be the reason that we stay.

ljm

I’ve spent half of my life waiting for the other shoe to drop
And the rest of my life picking it right back up again.
                       ljm

Curled up on a too-small sofa
       Misery oozes from every pore
The fan, a giant spider on the ceiling
       Dimly seen in the pre-dawn darkness
Less dark than the shadows in my soul.

Another day of nothing happy
        Loiters just behind the sunrise
Daring me to find a way
        To build a life from broken rubble
ljm

If the government can swear by fictitious statements

And then “walk them back” a little later

I’m going to join the fabrication party.

I hearby walk back my age by 20 years
And my weight by 20 pounds.
                   ljm

As a reward for my two-mile morning walk
Among the cookie-cutter homes,
And up and down the gentle hills,
Nevada flings the meaning of spectacular
Across the dawning sky.

A band of clouds that looks like giant scrambled eggs
First turns a neon cotton candy pink
With blue gray in the shadows.
As I walk with eyes turned up and wide,
It slowly morphs to brilliant golden.

Gasping at the beauty, not exertion from the walk,
I don’t need to look where I am going,
I know my feet will find the way.
At length the brilliant golden clouds
Begin to fade to silver gray and I am sad.

But then the Sun climbs over distant mountain tops
No doubt anxious to take a bow
For the breathtaking overature I’ve just seen
That will fill my day with sunlit memories
And remind me to next time bring my camera.
ljm

Like the Pilgrims of history and ancient lore
We celebrate our first Thanksgiving
In a strange new place, far from the home we left

We journeyed over tempest tossed seas
And there were times we feared our craft would sink
But it was sturdy, and it did not fail

The natives didn’t notice our arrival
No stalks of corn or pumpkin gourds
But neither did they arm for an attack.

We found a place out of the storms
That greeted us with drenching rain
And and lit the skies at midnight.

We learned the way across the river
To a place where there was food for us
And those who offered what we need.

In time we met some friendly natives
Who welcomed us to their tribal dance
And taught us the steps, and about the weather

And how to survive in this new land
Of rocks and hills and gullies
That flood faster then you can run

And the season of the long hard heat
When everybody goes to ground or runs away
And only dire need forces you outdoors.

We captured an unfamiliar bird
That looks to provide a decent feast
And we are grateful we can eat

And shelter safely in this new place
That now will be our final home.
And prove to us that God is good.
                ljm

A contrail scratches a long pink scar across the dawning sky,
Alarming the wispy clouds that stretch themselves into nothingness,
Oozing rose madder from their bottom edges.
The faint sulphur yellow glow behind the ragged horizon
Lurks with the Son’s intent to loom at almost any moment.

The air is clear, and distant fires have not smudged it gray.
It is too early for the birds to be abroad,
But there are little bunnies on the roadway,
Welcoming an autumn morning, unbothered by my passing.
They look warm in their fur coats and little padded feet.

There is no wind, surprising in this desert place of river breezes
But my hands are tucked up in the sleeves of my sweat suit
Against the chill that paints pink roses on my cheeks
As I take my morning walk in Laughlin,
Enjoying my ownership of the quiet air.

My walk is timed to get me home before the sun
Can crash it’s way into the sky
To scare away the bunnies while it wakes up the birds
And forces me to shield my eyes
Against the glare of another busy morning.
         ljm

In the stony desert heat
The muse has blisters on her feet.
The blazing wind whips up her hair
Til she can’t see the crevice there
And falls headfirst into oblivion.
Perfect name for a sandy gully
She can not crawl out of.

Who will save the injured muse-
Give her water, bind her wound
Lead her back to safer ground
Give her parchment and her quill?
No one in this neighborhood
Of empty window, bolted doors.
I fear the muse is on her own.
ljm

Once, not so very long ago
I lived as a somebody -
Important in a lot of people’s lives.
They depended on me and I was there.
I never failed a single one,
Delivering more than was expected.

Once I could be counted on
To always know the answer
Or to find the way around a problem.
They came to me because they knew
I wouldn’t let them down
Or walk away until the job was finished.

Not so very long ago
I was the acknowledged expert
And they came to me with
Questions, needs and problems
That I knew the answers for
Or where to go to find it.

Once I bowed to accolades
And admiration’s smiles
As it came clear I was the best
Of all the others in the realm
At making plans and dreams come true
With words and song and moving images.

Now banished to a foreign place
Where no one knows my name,
I’m just another random face -
A shopper at the mall.
The one behind the grocery cart
Who comes and goes unseen.

Here, no one knows what I can do
Or where I’ve been or what I know,
Or what I’ve built and left behind.
They deal with problems I could solve         more
If I was who I used to be again.

Now I wander in a place
That has no earthly need of me
And what I know and do -
That plays a foreign melody
And dances to a different beat
That I can’t find the rhythm to.

I try to find the raveled thread
The put a hole in who I was
And took away my cloak of purpose,
In hopes that I can catch it up
And mend the gap that renders me
Invisible and useless.

ljm

DESERT RAIN

A few stars in a broken sky
The moon plays tag with scudding clouds
Creating Rembrandt vistas in the night,
Setting the scene for thunder’s roll,
Which triggers the evening lightning show
And introduces the deluge.

A seven minute Niagara Falls
That drowns the desert landscape
But never sires a blossom or a shoot
To open in the days to come.

It just arrives and quickly goes
With nothing left behind but mud
And canceled Flash Flood warnings.

And it’s all gone come the morning,
Nothing left behind but damp
And pebbles washed onto the road.

ljm

Being ***** is not a sin.
Staying ***** is.

Another week
Another massacre
Will the flags never fly at full staff again?
                                  ljm

Curled up on a couch too short for me
I waken from a dream of Woodland.
Wide avenue beneath its canopy of trees
That hold their leaves much longer in the Autumn
And can’t wait to burst them early in the Spring.

Houses, each one not like any other,
Personalities developed over years of love,
Standing firm when the ground below was not,
And tried to shake them into rubble.

Jigsaw puzzle of hearts and faces,
All with fingers reaching out
To interlock and form a chain
Of caring and of kindness.

Hands that work in unison to
Tear down walls of loneliness and fear
That lurk behind too many smiling eyes.

Only one block long in all the growing city,
It starts and ends without a stop sign
Or a crosswalk or a signal light.

Close to everything that’s needed
But miles from the kind of thing that’s not.
Kaleidoscope of different kinds of people
Captured in one perfect scene of living.

Glowing in my early morning memory,
Bringing tears that should be done by now.
Longing for what was, and not what needs to be,
I dampen the too short sofa with my tears
And force myself to rise and face the day.
ljm

How different would my life have been
If I had kept to the road I traveled.
If I had found a way to step around
The brambles and the broken stones.

Had I toughed out the blistered feet
And kept my eyes focused forward
Instead of noticing another path
I somehow though a better destination.

Had I not ignored the pebbles in my way
I might not have stumbled over bigger rocks,
But I spent my energy on lime in little glasses
And had nothing left to save me from the rubble.

Had I not seen the other path that took off at right angles,
Had I not set a timid foot on it
And found it seemed much smoother
I would have lived a different life than the one I live today.

My shepherd encouraged his lamb to stray
And then never came to find her.
He launched her down a foreign path
And forgot to mention the washouts

Or the toll booth set at mile 14
That demanded almost more in courage
Than I could scrape together,
And I passed it broken and poor in spirit.

That’s when all the butterflies and blackbirds
Fled to other highways
Leaving mine a very silent path
With little joy to reach for.

If I had stayed the path that I first chose
So carefully and so long ago,
What different place would I be now
And would it be a better one?  Who knows.

ljm

Though some might like to wield a sword, a pen will have to do.
A row of x’s marks the spots where the ogre may be vulnerable.
We must with surgical precision find those areas and mark them
For eventual good riddance to, or at least containment.

The Chinese have a torture named “Death by a Thousand Cuts”
We must revise that to become “Death by a Million Votes”
Death to evilness and discord, to ego and self worship.
Death to everything that’s wrong in hopes to make it right.

For every X that’s penned in blue, another’s penned in red
The future hangs suspended in the pen with the most ink.
You cannot blame the other side, mere soldiers in a war.
Delusions are an easy sell to those with too much money.

If one is right, one must be wrong in this perverse equation.
The middle ground turned battlefield with multicolor bodies
Rotting on soil stained with blood both red and blue
As the exhausting siege creeps to its conclusion.

What color will the banners be when we wake up tomorrow.
Who will weep with happiness and who shed tears of sorrow.
Who  will try to analyze the reasons for the outcome
For those of us who have to live beneath those waving banners.

ljm

The navel too closely examined gives birth to only bad poetry.
The longing probed too deeply, gives rise to heartbreak.
The will to succeed can cut the legs off the ladder.
The hands of the clock are surprisingly sharp.
The striving for more, gains you nothing.
The misuse of life brings you death.
The end isn’t a new beginning.
The effort may not pay off.
The death of hope kills.
The exit is obscure.
The end is now.
The last word.
Is The End.
Finis.

ljm

Three o’**** in the morning,
Lying wide awake since One,
The sleep Gods have abandoned me
Like all the rest I pray to.

Outside on the patio now
No *****-petal darkness here -
Brilliant moon in cloudless sky
And stars I haven’t seen in years.

My symphony of hurts and aches
Is on a break right now
And there are words endeavoring
To escape my Rolling Ball V5

I  need to find a way to sleep-
To capture energy for what I’ll need
To get me through tomorrow
And the endless ones to come.

Of all the deprivations in my life
Sleep is the most costly one.
My slumber cup is just half full
Or partly empty, if you choose.

It costs me presence in the day
And attention to detail.
It robs me of serenity
As I stumble to keep up.

Four O’clock and all is well
While I’m the one exception.
The molasses-footed clock moves on
And I’m left in the shadows.
ljm

I grew up a small town girl
Picking blackberries for the neighbor’s pies,
Picking summer strawberries to buy my new school clothes.
We rode our bikes to the river beach
And watched the lumber ships sail by.
It rained a lot and drizzled more.
My memories paint cloudy skies at night
With a moon that came and went at will.

I grew and went away to college
On a scholarship I didn’t really earn,
Nudged forward by a teacher’s faith in me.
But , the rain was driven by the wind
And the sky was seldom very bright
And night fell like a woolen quilt.
My life was full of books and boys
And I seldom bothered to look up.

Then I heard Big City’s call
And answered with a trial move
That found the sun and rainless days
More intoxicating than the the college wine.
The small town girl dipped in a toe
And found the water to her liking.
I moved my life and attitude
To bright lights dimmed by mustard colored sunsets.

So much to see, so much to do
So many small town traits to shed.
So many city things to learn
So many wonders in the neon nights
I never missed the morning sky
Until I saw Yosemite at dawn
And realized I miss the stars,
And a tiny longing began to grow.

From that time on, I searched the sky
Hoping for a single star, but city lights
Drowned out that hope and if there was
A single dot it was a satelite or plane.

So I stopped gazing at the night time sky
And owned the loss of stars in
A bargain for other shiny things
And times that seemed to sparkle better.

Eventually the city lost its glow
The gold turned greena nd the streets turned mean.
I battled with a will of iron
But I lost ground with every year,
And finally an evil I could not avoid
Backed me to a corner and pulled out the rug,
Leaving me no choice but flee
To some new place, unknown and harsh

Where I face dragons of sand and fire
And emptyness of land and soul.
Alone in hollow, crowded places
With no hand to welcome me
I walked outdoor at 4 A.M.
To find some solace if I could
I looked around and then looked up
And in the sky and in my soul - I finally saw stars.

ljm

The sky looked like rain but no rain came.
The wind made a visit instead.
Fine grain sand swirled in the vortex
And dust devils ruled over much of the land.

The dark clouded sky promised thunder
And lightning’s unexpected flash
But none of that transpired and we were perplexed.
The weather diverged from its script.

The temperature fell by nine degrees,
As a gift from munificent currents,
But we were confused, unsure what to do
In this new land where everything is different

ljm

There’s been so much bad luck
Blowing in the gales of life,
The sails of my happiness are
Tattered and won’t hold the wind.
Life has long been such a heavy load
My little boat is listing
And it needs to be rebalanced.
I have stores of ballast, so
My little craft won’t sink.
My twisted fingers still can hold
A needle to mend the spinnaker.
The tiller isn’t broken and
The rudder still steers true.
I can see the distant shore
And the tide is lifting me.
Soon I will make landfall and be safe
ljm

Barmaid in a black bikini
Push up bra and all
Eight hours in an endless shift
Supplying visual accommodation
To fantasies best left unspoken
By the yabbos leering at the bar.

One half a pill at shift’s beginning
The other at hour four
Keeps the chatter ever charming
And the hopelessness at bay
As the clock sits paralyzed
And it’s always nine fifteen.
ljm

WALK THROUGH

Awake at 4 AM in a dark and silent house
There are ghosts and wraiths afoot in other rooms
And chimera dance across the walls.
Time has worn it’s foot steps into paths that lead the way
From one space where the sun shines morning rainbows
Through leaded beveled diamond glass
To rooms with shadows in the silent corners of regret
That fail to yield to hopes and promises of light.

Walls newly shorn of photographs and art
Stand in mute recrimination of the crime
That robbed them of the proof that people prospered here.
People blessed with messy lives that ricochetted like
Pinballs through the good times and disasters.
People who never learned to cheat but studied how to care,
Who gave a measure and a half for a quarter measure’s pay.
People who walked the narrow road until it ended in abyss
And now they have to find a way to to finish out life there.

The smell of tears still lingers in the lattice covered
Meditation bower in a corner of the garden
The little fountain proves unable to provide the only falling water
And the tiny pet grave markers remain resting there in peace

A bulky box with double doors commands most of the driveway
And things too valuable to leave are prisoners inside.
Clutter is trapped in cartons sealed with packing tape
Or hidden in the cupboards no one dares to open.
Untidyness moans softy in the newly emptied spaces
And the dust no longer has a place to land.

The winnowing is almost done and things will find new homes
In a sad bazaar of letting go the past
And turning to the East to meet the rising sun
Where somehow in a diferent place they all will learn to dance.
ljm

Half its contents stashed away
Or shipped to another state,
Primped, perfumed and prettied up
It no longer reflects who lives here.

It no longer echoes happiness
Or tries to hide despair.
It’s just another pretty face
Looking for a suitor.

It promises hope for someone new
Who will hang the walls with their own joy
And shed their sorrows in the garden
Beside the bubbling fountain.

It will be the gate to a neighborhood
And an enclave of belonging.
It offers safety from the storm
And the ravages of the city.

It’s up for bids beyond the price
To see who wants it most
Or has the deepest pockets.
With preference to those who’ll love it.

The house is open for the world to see
And guess about the owners,
Crying softly somewhere else
As they prepare, unwillingly,

To kiss a beloved home goodbye
And strike out for a new beginning
In someone else’s home, now theirs,
In hopes of finding Shangri-La
In the new world of Nevada.
ljm

There is no hope for the hopeless
Nor help for the helpless.
All is blackness and despair.
All prayers are unanswered,
All dreams are faded into mist.
The carousel comes to a stop
And all the horses trot away
To where the music isn’t crows
Rasping in the nearby trees.
The sun is unforgiving.
There is no hope of rain
Or anything replenishing.
There is no reward for winning.
Effort draws a penalty.
Saving up means losing all
And the road is barricaded.
How many ways are every which
And how many turns required
To grow dizzy enough to fall
And know there’ll be no picking up.
The universe has only endings.
All new beginnings are in vain.
Only pain and endless darkness:
The new reward for a race well run.
ljm

At the exact moment when
My shoulders were their weakest
The load I bear was doubled.

In the autumn of my mental skills
The maze I have to navigate
Was rearranged by evil fingers.

While I tried to make some sense of it
The slender options I created
Melted in the blazing heat.

When my tiny flame of hope
Grew almost bright enough to see
It was blown out by reality.

And there is only desert left
Where desperately planted seeds
Will have no chance to grow.

Like a candle left out in the sun
My spirit softens and then slumps
Into waxy pools of hopelessness.
ljm

FAILURE

Three stalwart kings and a wannabe queen.
How did she not make it to the throne
Two couldn’t do it and the third refused
So the jeweled seat remained vacant.

An army of lovers professing faith
To a heart looking its own castle
But when she broke down on the 405
Not one came to change her flat tire.

A mountain of effort dampened with sweat
Proved too slippery to climb on
And those with a rope to pull her on up
Were too busy cleaning their crampons.

Three rays of sunlight in a world filled with shade
She tried to step into those circles
But the shadows held invisible fences
And she only got to the edges.

Three strikes is out and third time’s a charm
A trinity rules in the heavens
Don Quixote tilted three windmills
And all Genies grant only three wishes

Life turned as cold as a three dog night
And the mountain in surmountable.
Time to pack life into three shiny pods
And move them to Laughlin, Nevada.
ljm

No more tears allowed.
There is a Palace at the end of this road,
Which turned out to be long and stony,
Pieces washed out by floods of tears
And avalanches of regrets,
Highwaymen around each corner.

No more sobbing in the night.
The castle walls are within sight
And the drawbridge is slowly coming down.
There is a light in the tower window
And the smell of dinner in the air.
Only one last mile to conquer
And at last I will be safely home.
ljm

JINGLES

Sad in such a happy place
I can’t find my clown suit

Nor the paint to make a cheerful face
And I forgot the song I sing.

All too often that’s the case
I haven’t any joy to share

And I cannot keep up this pace
I know I soon must find a way

To exit with a little grace
And vanish me without a trace.
ljm

SURVEY

They took a survey of the world
To see how it was doing
The end result was horrible-
It’s gone to wrack and ruin.

Nobody stops if you fall down
Unless you’re dressed up nice.
There is no help for homeless folk-
Respect comes at a price.

Rudeness is the latest trend.
Coarse language is the norm.
All signs of courtesy are gone
As life has changed its form.

We seek a way to monetize
Each ordinary thing.
If I lend hand to you
Cash registers must ring.

The bullets fly so fast and far
We don’t try to keep track,
Whether it’s a hundred kids
Or one shot in the back.

The old wild west has come again.
The cowboys now are cops.
They’ve beaten up so many guys
You wonder if it ever stops.

The kids are smoking Bubble Gum
If they’re not smoking crack.
The age for drinking starts at ten
And we can’t give their childhoods back.

What can we do if we can’t hide,
And have to face the fact
That we have truly ****** the world
And there can be no going back.

We’ll have to live with what we’ve done
And who we have become
If we could make a tiny change
It might not be so glum.

But that will never come to be
And I just sit and seethe
While waiting for that coming day
When there’s no air to breathe.
           ljm

“I’ll be fine” she said
“The golden apples are within my reach.
I hear the distant thunder
And the flash of lightning
Lights the sky beyond the hills
But if my steps are ever forward
This muddy ground can’t trap my feet
And keep me from the prize I’m seeking.
I need only to climb up that tree.”

“I’ll be OK” she said
I have a sturdy ladder
And the shining apple tree
Is in a meadow not too far away.
It’s heavy - who will help me carry it
And hold it steady while I climb?”
There are many who raise hands
To offer buckets for the fruit
And shaded sheds to store it in.

“Tomorrow starts today” she said.
And dressed in apple picking clothes
With sturdy ladder climbing shoes
She set out across the fields
Where stood the golden apple tree.
Two fell behind along the way
And one decided to sleep in
So as the morning sun grew warm
She was left with just a step stool.

“I can do this” she proclaimed
I can figure out a way
To reach the apples lower down
And put a few into the basket
That replaced the heavy bucket”.
But the storm is closing in -
The metal stool, a lightning rod.
No longer safe out in the open
And not a single apple picked.                  
“I was over confident” she said
I thought the cheers and smiles all meant
That I could climb that golden tree
And gather apples to sustain me
Through the coming winter’s snows.”
But it appears that smiles and handshakes
Do not morph into a ladder
Tall enough to reach the fruit
That hides amongst the tallest branches.

“I feel despair” she moaned out loud
And flung herself into the brambles
Praying she would find black-berries -
Something to replace the apples
She knew would never be her meal.
But the blooming time was over,
Only withered nubs remained and
All she managed was torn clothing
And bleeding scratches on her fingers.

“I have no hope” she cried
“I’ve wasted all my energy and strength
Chasing visions that can not be mine,
Seeking golden apples I can’t reach.
Trusting hands that tried, but could not help me,
Facing knowledge that the winter will be hungry
And the only safe place is away
Where hands and smiles must be discovered
In a different kind of garden.”
                   ljm

Like an endless arrow aimed at the heart of nowhere
The road ahead smashes itself against the distant mountains.

Now the road lasers toward a far horizon and falls off
The edge of the world into cloudy skies.

Cows, like freckles on a distant green field, pay no attention,
And by what miracle is there grass in this barren landscape.

Orange posts on thick black bases march along the roadway edges
Like determined Boy Scouts on an endless hike.

Miles and hours roll away in equal measure and nothing changes
But somehow nothing manages to ever stay the same.

No cactus and no tumbleweed, no sand dunes or gullies.
Only gravel plains that go forever without the smallest signs of  life.

A hundred miles and not a village, not a human or a gas pump
Nothing but the fear of breaking down with no phone signal.

All those places on the map a crazy quilt of boarded up abandoned.
Where others’ dreams have come to die and wither in the sun.

Coasting in on final fumes, the the station is a savior and a clown
Finding humor in the city folk who didn’t know the landscape.

Who didn’t know you fill your tank in every town you pass
And never let it get below the half way marker on the gauge.

A final push and finally the Fallon signs appear
Relief is like a cooling breeze that makes the last miles fly.

And there is Fallon, little town where everybody wears a gun
In leather pouches on their belt, and rebel flags are seen.

Where good ole boys and relatives have welcome mats
And handshakes that morph into hugs that sometimes last too long.

Where mosquitos rule the skies and snakes may keep you company
But everyone you come across will soon become your friend.

The paradoxes build a wall that can’t be gotten over
And the only way to go is back to where we started from.

Highway 95 has brought us to a wholly different world
And sadly, we don’t speak the language or understand the rules.

Nothing but to turn around and make that endless drive again.
No one on the road but us, as lonely as it was before.

The trip was made with hopes held high for a new beginning
But the future offered us came with too much baggage.

So highway 95 goes on...and on... and ever on
For some a super highway, for some a mere dead end.

ljm

G          S           O                 I           T    
   A    E                 F          D    S    S      E
       L                                         A             R

W i n d s   o f   C h a n g e  

Breeze Of Hope

calm stillness

         ljm

MOTTOS

I have two mottos that sustain me
Through whatever comes along.

Number one says simply:
“LIFE IS TOUGH - BUT I AM TOUGHER”

The second is
A little longer.  It says:
TOUGH TIMES DON’T LAST -
TOUGH PEOPLE DO.

I don’t know where
These words all came from.
I only know they keep me
On my feet and moving on.
ljm

The ill-est of all winds has started blowing,
And my little pile of sand begins to disappear.
I swept it up so carefully, between
The rocks and all the hardest places,
I protected it from dogs and little children,
Guarded it against the rain and snow.

I never counted on the wind increasing.
Always just a zephyr, it brought butterflies
And the scent of Jasmine in the summer,
And cooled a sweaty brow while playing.
I didn’t notice as the wind speed grew,
A little at a time, until it was too late.

Now the sighing’s turned into a howl
That cannot be ignored or quelled.
It whips around the windbreaks I put up
And pushes on all objects in its way.
I race to cover up my sand pile
But I lack a blanket big enough.

I fling myself across to hold it down
But I don’t have sufficient hands or fingers,
And I see my precious, swirling grains
Begin to drift away into the cracks
And crevices of all those hardest places
Where I can never sweep them out again.

Picking up my tattered blanket at a lull
There is nothing left beneath but shiny rock.
The only sand, a few grains found
Embedded in the pattern of the weave.
I wrap myself up tight in it
And stumble out into the coming storm.
ljm

I once wrote a list of things
That represented me :

Smoke from a discarded cigarette,
Rain on the Ocean,
A saturday matinee.

I wrote that I was a penny
On a train track, waiting.

             ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

Well guess what, folks-
The engine  has arrivd.
        ljm