Happy Thanksgiving
    
Hollow words
thrown out like confetti
to land where they will
on the well manicured lawns
of the houses of plenty
and the cardboard beds
of the hopeless homeless

Happy Thanksgiving

Words as flint to
Spark the tinder
that flares into flame
that warms some and
chills others who are
celebrating things
that no one
woud be thankful for

Happy Thanksgiving

To those with little
to be thankful for
except the lack of dyeing
and a list of shiny promises
most already broken
with the pieces
scattered on the floor

Happy Thanksgiving

Greedy merchants
rub their hands
And hide the day
in bargain hunts
For things that
don’t bring joy
but just more need

Happy Thanksgiving

Living in a little corner
of the furor that is life
a tiny candle in the shadows
holding out the hand of hope
of kindness, even love
sharing what has been
stored up for use
this day and every day
to live the meaning
of the  word Thanksgiving.

ljm

When I am old I will say what I think
And not worry to be thought a clown or a fool.

When I am old I will borrow from youth
As guiltlessly as a child robs the cookie jar.

When I am old I will throw away fashion
And dress myself solely in comfort as I please.

When I am old I will share anger I feel
Instead of letting it take bites out of my soul.

When I am old I will walk away quickly
From those who’s motives I find to be suspect.

When I am old I will sleep in my chair
And have picnics on my bed if I so choose.

When  I am old I will go to the places
That in youth I deemed not appropriate.

When I am old I will will buy stuff that sparkles
Simply because I like shiny things.

When I am old I will sing when I feel it
And not fret that my voice isn’t pretty.

When I am old I will pet everyone’s puppies
And laugh as they lick all over my face.

When I am old I will  stop tearing up like a fool
When parade marching bands with their banners go by.

When I am old I will be sprung from this prison
Referred to as rational adult behavior.

When I am old.

Yes, when I am old.

ljm

When you borrow trouble
The interest rate is
Very high.

     ljm

This is my hour of gladness
Here in this holy place
Joy that forbids all sadness
Glows as I see your face.

Bells proclaim the moment
God be with us now
As we seek fulfillment
In this sacred vow.

The things you bring to me
Will now and ever be
The greatest gift my world has known
All our tomorrows will be golden
Because the two of us are one.

You give your  heart to me
And in it I can see
A life of joy as our reward.
The love that we have built together
Will in God's blessing be restored.

If we walk with the Lord He'll help us to grow
And become ever strong and pure
He will show us the way to know in harmony each day
Love will endure.

The things you've given me
Are now and endlessly
The richest gift my world can own.
Tomorrow promises fulfillment
Because the two of us are one
God gives his blessing on this moment
As now the two of us are one.
                            ^^^

It’s my day at last
To put on a mask
And be someone else.
But who shall I choose.

“The Scream” has been done
The President too
The Ewoks and Yoda
Have used up their moment.

Shall I be avenging
Or Little Bo Peep
Shall I become Gaga
Or Atilla the ***

I’d like to be pretty-
Liz Taylor perhaps
But her day is over
So why not Beyonce.

Pretty gets boring
Just ask Taylor Swift
Maybe I’d rather
Be someone less fancy

Someone who cries
For mistreated dogs
And beautiful sunsets
And other folks love

Someone who laughs
When irony rules
And giggles when
Everything turns upside down

Who is that person
And where is the mask
If I cannot buy it
I’ll just go as me.
        ljm

A thousand tailors stitching in the darkness
Cutting grotesque patterns from the whole cloth
And fitting them to phantom saviors
Who are fat or thin depending on the day

They use colored threads and wishful thinking
That tends to break at awkward moments
Leaving a garment tenuously sturdy
Until the moment when it’s not

As waterproof as cotton candy
As close fitting as an id
As cost effective as a wedding
As colorful as oil on water.

The garments must all be delivered-
A shiny new one every sunset.
Tailors strive to meet their quotas
Such urgent need for what they make.

They must replace the fraying tatters
Spattered with the grime of loathing
captured from the filthy air
And the footprints etched in mud.

They must fill closets ever empty
Though FedEx comes by every night.
It’s Cinderella’s slipper syndrome
When the clock hands stand up straight.

Tailors with their bleeding fingers
Have no idea what they make
And who will wear it for what purpose.
That’s why they labor in the dark.
ljm

I knocked on the mansion door of life                                
And was told the servants entrance
Was downstairs, around the back.
And please vacate this entrance.
ljm

I came in the very first
In the race to golden treasures
And was told I had no entry form
And only those who paid that fee
Could carry off the trophy.
            ljm

I long to write of shimmering translucence
Of gentle thoughts with gossamer wings
That float above breeze rippled fields of serenity.

But what comes from my pen is how to bake a cake
And what I see through ***** windows.

I long to write of Hollyhocks and Jasmine,
Of exquisite Orchids blooming in exotic places
That suddenly appear to delight the passing eye.

But what grows from my pen are Dandelions
And vast fields of very common Clover.

I long to plumb the depths of human spirit
Searching for the essence of that magic thing called soul
To set it free in glorious transcendence

But my pen spits out confusion not perception

And it maps a path that only goes in circles.

I long to create music from the written word
To build crescendos that fade into lullabies
And obliviate the need for language.

But what thunders from my pen is mostly noise
Without a beat and lacking any melody.

I long to write the words that cause the world to cry-
That opens them to vistas that were hidden
And shows them landscapes of a better place to be.

But my pen seems locked In every-dayness
And I can only write up what I long to do
And blur the words with wistful tears.
ljm

Begging the muse to smile on me
  I pray into a broken mirror
  That reflects the things
  I never want to have to see.

  Hoping for enlightenment
  I kneel before an altar
  Made of wood pulp and bleach
  Where nothing is substantial.

  Crying for a mentor-guide
  To open doors I cannot reach
  The echo of my wrenching pleas
  Only serves to deafen me.

  Choking with the need to hold,
  If only for a blissful moment,
  The chimera of a rhyming prose
  That warms so many hearts but mine.

  The mirror will not lie for me.
  That altar is for someone else.
  The turmoil merely lashes me
  As I spin around in hapless circles

  Grasping for a tiny touch
  Of wonder hidden in the ink.
  Though it isn’t asking much
  I cannot find the magic link.

  It’s not for me the poet’s pen,
  The vision that can shape a world.
  There is a lacking deep within
  Requires my banner stay unfurled.

  Herky jerky hum drum dumb
  The cadence of a new defeat
  Tells me that the time has come
  To urge my lines into retreat.
                 ljm

The mileage added up to just a grand
Not a lot for 20 days,
No crossing of a dateline
Or a continent’s divide.

But still that world seemed somewhat foreign
and I saw streams of amazing things,
That were echoes of my teenage self,
As different now as I was then.

A hazy forest, dark and damp
Where the mist turned into fairy snow
And we walked on in muddy shoes
To learn the mysteries of falling water.

A midas treasure of wave-borne findings
Spilling from a cavernous hall
Pieces of so many lives found
Floating on the morning tide.

Stories of a Nippon sailor’s life
From things that got thrown overboard
Images of fishing boats
In round glass ***** and floats of cork.

Carve the circle with a line
That led to a reunion of
The ones that I grew up beside
But never quite was welcomed in.

A rounding up of recollections
Shared at tables set for eight
Where those left out still don’t fit in
And bonhomie was the music played.

To the ocean of my childhood days
Waves that tell me who I am
And fill up all the empty spaces
City life drained out of me.

A shining tower with ninety steps
That wound around like pizza slices
And tripped me up to ******* blood
As balsa airplanes spiraled to the ground.

No time for wounding on the schedule
Shedding blood but never tears
The leader of the band played on
Admiring a Tsunami boat

Come all the way from far Japan
With cargo of the local fish
Still swimming in the unspilled sea.
A miracle born from true disaster.

Another beach, not like my own
A warmer, calmer span of sand
With jutting rocks in shallow surf
That dare you out to climb them.

Drawn once more to city lights
And the grassy ***** where mother lies
There were other gardens to enjoy and
And contrivances with just two wheels.

How quickly we grew shuttered in-
Just two days in big city life,
The restaurants and funny shows
Still told us it was time to go.

Longing for the beauty of the Gorge
We were met by smoke and blackened stumps
And exits blocked to waterfalls, ravaged
By the fires of hell, and ugly now for 50 years.

A teenage boy with fireworks and no sense
Destroyed the loveliest drive on earth
And bragged to all his awestruck friends
That all the news stories were about him.

With fingers crossed at Mount Rainier,
The sunny weather turned to slush and
Fell two inches in an hour.  I ate fresh snow
Off branches as we hiked, and froze my tongue.

We wore the heavy coats we almost didn’t bring
And cheered when sunshine took the snow away
And we could walk in forests once again
On trails we never knew were there.

A wonderland of cast off parts and metal bits
Became giraffes, seahorses and other marvels
In the hands of a roadside welding artist
Who sold a giant piece to my home town.

A visit with a sister who shared my youth but not my soul
Who grew one way and I another
Leaving not a thing in common for us
Except the love that comes from blood.

No way to avoid the final city
Hellish place of one way streets
Endless detours and construction
Pay all you own to park two hours.

Yet there was the comedy and
Segways once again to ride.
A troll under a hulking bridge and
Poor Rapunzel in the tower.

Passing up the tourist musts,
Visited in journeys past, we saw
The small and quirky things
That make a foreign city yours.

Twenty days, almost no rain
Unheard of in that rainy clime
A lot of sun, some cloudy skies
A bit of snow to frost the cake.

Twenty days to drive a circle
On the map of who I am
And where I came from
To bring it all back here with me.

To this place so vastly different
I wonder how I found a way
To fit inside this giant tumbler
And plant a seed that actually grew

A would-artist long ago
I wonder how I mixed the paint
To make a life so changed, in colors
Blended from Seattle’s soils.

Painted on a Portland canvas
With a brush of Longview bristles
Wetted with Pacific water
To present my image to the world.
                       ljm

Like all the rest I say
I am not an addict
I can stop this any time.

I do it just for fun
And relaxation.
I can stop this any time.

But my life is poisonous
And this is the antidote
Still, I can stop this any time.

Tomorrow I will prove
That what I say is true-
That I can stop this any time.

I’ll pack myself onto a plane
And exit to a 4-wheeled cell
That forces me to stop right now.

How will I fare,
Deprived of that which
Is impossible to stop?

I’ll tough it out Cold Turkey
And find a way to come back here
For I don’t aim to stop this any time soon.
ljm

Princess Diana came back last week
She wore all her pretty clothes
And looked stunning in her hats
She went about her ways as best she could
But there was no hiding all the sorrow in her eyes.

The luckiest girl in all the world
Chosen to one day be the Queen
And then demoted to a brood mare
By a Prince who was secretly a ****,

Her fairy tale had not even got it’s start
When she found out how it would end,
And she was trapped by tea towels
With her face imprinted on them.

She delivered all that was required of her
And even though the song was ended
Managed to write a second verse
Which the conductor wasn’t keen to play.

Yet the music gave her legs to stand on
And the tune grew to a symphony
As she performed it for the World
Who found the melody delicious
And her solos so profound.

Lady Di is back again,
That simple girl who saved herself
To become the lamb for royal slaughter
By a horde of calculating courtesans
Who knew she didn’t matter from the start.

Left to slumber peacefully,
On her private island
Lo these twenty years,
Safe from flashing cameras
And the machinations of the Crown
Diana may be dead but her legend is alive.
ljm

A generation never knew
The thrall Diana wove about her.
Never felt the shimmered glow
That radiated from her.

Her memory must be kept alive
For generations yet to come.
No history book could do the job
As well as looking into those blue eyes

She wasn’t just a lovely face
Dressed in stunning fashions.
The passing years must not forget
The monumental good she did.

It’s trite to dab our eyes and say
She made the world a better place.
But there was not a single moment
When that fact was proved untrue.

She never got to write the coda to her song -
That was taken from her by a car crash
Wrapped in who-killed-Kennedy confusion,
Leaving us to never know the answer.

Those little boys are worthy men
And better than a monument.
She did her job - perhaps too well -
And the whole world paid the price for it.

Meanwhile Slimy ******* and his ***** eat cake.
                 ljm

Wish in one hand
Spit in the other
See which one
Gets full first.
She was right.
         ljm

EVIL rides in SUVs with the windows all blacked out.

HONOR                drives a plug in car that leaves no resdue behind.

APATHY rides in secondhand Nissans with the clear coat
                                flaking off.

CELEBRATION rides in limos with open tops for standing up in.

TRAGEDY            rides in a long black hearse with all the horses
                                under the hood.

BRAVERY drives a bright red Moped that cuts in and out of
                                traffic.

POVERTY must ride the bus in a much too long commute.

ARROGANCE drives an escalade that’s the fourth left turn on a
                                yellow.

BOREDOM drives a station wagon missing the left rear
                                hubcap.

PANIC        races in the family car where panting and blowing
                              isn't helping.

HAPPINESS       drives almost anything with a baby in the back
                              seat.
                    

MACHO ­       drives a Ford F350 with wheels even bigger than
                               his ego.

MELTING *** preens in a souped-up Chevy that dances like a
                                hip-hop star.    

PRETEEN       rides a bicycle and dreams of a Mustang.

YOUTH      hauls *** in a Jeep Wrangler with the rag top
                             down.

MIDLIFE CRISIS  rides a Harley in a group of seven on weekends.

OLD AGE    drives slowly in an ’83 Chrysler Imperial that
                           won't fit in the parking spaces.

LOVE   floats along on hopes and dreams and has no
                          need of wheels.

ljm

WHERE  ARE  YOU,  DAVID  HEWITT?

WE  MISS  YOUR  SENSITIVE  VIEW­  OF  THE  WORLD

AND  YOUR  ROLLICKING  SENSE  OF  HUMOR.

WHERE­  DID  YOU  GO?

                             please come back

please

                       come

                                                back

     ­                                                                 ­                                       ljm

Forty years in this old house
It’s filled with treasures lacking worth
To anyone expecting gold,
But priceless in the life recalled.

The warnings came a week ago-
A cataclysmic storm they said
Stock up water and food to eat
That won’t require electricity.

I laid in water and granola bars
And put some things in plastic bags
I wrote my ID on my forearm
Feeling silly as I did.

I moved things to the second floor
Assuring them of some protection
I wish I could have carried more
But the rain was knocking on the door.

It came seeping underneath
And as I watched, it soaked the rug.
Not satisfied with ruined carpet
It crept up the sofa’s skirt.

What am I still doing here
They said do not evacuate
So I am forced to watch the death
Of all I worked so hard to own.

I’s almost knee deep in the kitchen
Where’s my hammer and crow bar
Dang! they’re both out in the shed
I should have thought to bring them in.

It’s lucky I don’t have a pet
No dog or cat or bird or fish
Another life to fret about
When I can barely save my own.

The water’s nearly hip deep now
And rising at a hellish rate
The walls are shaking from the pressure
It’s time for me to move upstairs.

The rain’s a wall I can’t see through
I don’t know how my neighbors fare.
The power’s out - the house is silent
Except for the drumming of the rain.

My lantern is the only light -
How long will the batteries last.
Oh Lord, I’m starting to get frightened
Water’s coming up the stairs, silent as a burglar.

They said don’t go into the attic
Get up on the roof instead.
They didn’t tell us how to do that
How to break ceiling and shingles.

I’m old - I’ve lost the strength of youth
I don’t think I can get up there.
If the water keeps on rising
I must prepare to meet my maker

All I love live far away
Are they as frantic now as me
Will a neighbor come and find me
My cel phone battery just died

Still the ugly, ***** water
Inches further up the stairs.
The old house shudders in the windy gusts
And I can’t keep my fingers steady

I just wrote something on the wall-
A farewell to my family
They should know I thought of them
As water seeps across this floor.

I’ve broken out a window
Over the submerged porch
There’s no point in going out it
I’d only just be swept away.

The water’s almost knee deep here too
I know it’s never going to stop
It’s foolish to stand up on a chair
I’ll say my prayers and go to bed

I’m sure that only God can save me
Neighbors have their problems too.
I’ve lived for eighty happy years
It’s time to shake the hand of fate.

I wonder what it’s like, this drowning
They say you see your life again.
That almost makes it worth the going
Except the sadness left behind.

The bed clothes now are wet and sopping
I never knew I could feel so cold
There’s a rumble in the distance
Like a giant waterfall.

Growing closer like a jet plane
What do you suppose it is
Now the house is really shaking
And I can

ljm

Gloom 10/17/97
Doom
The Boom of a gun
Haven’t got one
Couldn’t use it if I did.

Sadness
Madness
The Badness of life
How I’ve blown it
And I’ll never have another one.

Crying
Dying
My Trying isn’t working
I can’t make it good
And wouldn’t see it if it was.

Sinking
Blinking
Always Thinking of a way
To stop the tears
But none of them will ever work.

Dreaming
Screaming
Endless Scheming in the night
Only uses up the hours
And another day rears up.

Graying
Praying
Never Straying from the hope
That maybe there’s a better day
If only I can live til then.
ljm

FALLING SHORT  (10W)

The perfect apple-
Always too high up in the tree.



THE GIFT (10W)

I sent him my heart
He kept only the box.




COMMENTARY    (10W)

On days like today, I know
Chicken Little was right.




POLITICS (10W)

You can’t clean up the nation’s mess
With ***** hands.
           



AWARD  (10W)

Life is one big Daily struggle
To earn that crown.




NUMERALS  (11W)

Why must it be only ten -
Eleven’s a much luckier number
      ljm

Drowning in pools of despair
That are almost ankle deep,
The uncaring who go stomping by
Keep splashing me with sadness
Mud that dries and bleaches out my tan.

Wallowing in bathtubs of self pity
I have no one to help me get
The temperature just right
And pour a few more bubbles in
With a towel held at the ready.

Gazing into mirrors of self doubt,
I see I’m not the first in line
For anything but second place-
And I was promised more than that
By the Prince on his white Stallion.

Hiding in the shadows of Narcissus,
I refuse to share my grief
With those unworthy to take part
In my universe destroying angst.
They only want to drag me to the exit.

I will not be moved by them.
I dug this cave with my own hands,
And I will not be forced to leave it
For some flimsy happiness
That won’t last past my lifetime.

What would I be if you took away
My special brand of ennui.
I’d be just another smiley face
In a world that’s overrun with them
And that I could not bear.

So go away - don’t splash the mud.
I’ll get my towel myself.
I’ll find a way to lose the race
And become a worldwide icon
As the Queen of Molehill Mountain.
ljm

You’ve left us in a world that’s ugly and cold
Filled with pain that won’t be assuaged.
Alone in a place with no compassion or grace,
We wait for your sons to come of age.

Our only hope of ever seeing you again
Is hidden deep in William’s smile.
Perhaps he can share all the love that we bear
And make all the sorrow worthwhile.

The profiteers have crawled out of the woodwork-
They infest every conceivable nook.
Hawking Diana-clothes and Queen-of-Hearts prose
Their avarice bleats everywhere you might look.

Am I any different, wanting my words
And those of my peers to be placed on your grave.
As I yield to the tears that will haunt me for years
I mustn’t be one taking more than you gave.

It’s curious watching what was known would occur
Actually unfolding before our eyes.
Any piece of the action gives such satisfaction
That we become subjects to drama and lies.

But we turn our backs on the items they sell
And refuse to play ball with the vultures
Who will not go away thought we weep with dismay
And wonder what happened to culture.

All the words from our pens are no match for our loss
And cannot diminish our sadness
As we plod through the days stretching into the haze,
Searching for some bit of sustainable gladness.

How can you possibly be not in our world?
What’s to become of us now that you’re gone?
Where are we, after the loss of our laughter
And how will we manage to just carry on.

We need your feeling, your beauty, and soul.
We need to share in your living.
You made us better by breaking the fetter
That taught us the value of compassionate giving,

You were the teacher and we avid pupils.
Sometimes we were slow, but eventually learned
That life is for caring and happiness-sharing -
Gifts received are greater returned.

You were the gift of the twentieth century
To a world undeserving of such
With red, weeping eyes, that world now decries
The loss of your magical touch.
ljm

When I have said the last thing
That I ever need to say
I will lay me down to die

When I have learned the last thing
That I ever need to learn
I will lay me down to die

When I have sung the last song
That I ever need to sing
I will lay me down to die

When I have seen the last place
That I ever need to see
I will lay me down to die

When I have held the last hand
That I ever need to hold
I will lay me down to die

When I have shed the last tear
That I ever need to shed
I will lay me down to die

When I have lived all the life
That I ever need to live
I will lay me down and die

And not until.
ljm

BY JENNY JOSEPH

When I am a old woman I shall wear pirple with a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.  
And I shall spend my pension on bandy and summer gloves and
satin sandals and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells and run my stick along public railings and make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain and pick the flowers in other people's gardens.
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat and eat three pouds of sausage at a go or only eat bread and a pickle for a week and hoard pens and pencils and beer mats and things in boxes.
But  now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We shall have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple

What do I have left to give
I’m spent and fading like a week-old rose

I gave my beauty to uncaring eyes
Who never saw beyond the makeup

I gave my talent to unfeeling moguls
Who used it just to monetize

I gave my wisdom to foolish clowns
Who read my musings upside down

I gave my razor wit to empty faces
Who never tried to get the joke

I gave my toil to unappreciation
And unwillingness to compensate

I sang my song to deafened ears
And never got to hear applause

I wrote my words on tissue paper
And they left them outside in the rain

I gave my heart in hopeful sharing
And got it back in shredded pieces

I have nothing left to give....but up
And somehow I just can’t do that.
ljm

Why search the world for a microphone
When there is nothing left to say
And no one left who wants to hear it?

    ljm

C O N T E S T   POEM  FOR  SUNPRINCESS

He picks up the microphone -
The switch is already on
He pushes the button anyway
And that turns it back off
He starts into his maiden speech.
Nobody hears a single word
But he keeps right on talking.
I’m in the sound booth at the back
Visible in the window
The audience turns and looks at me.
There’s nothing I can do.
The mic has been turned off.
So I am forced fake a smile
And take the blame
For his stupidity.
           ljm

Back when I was in my prime
A hundred thousand years ago
I used to write a lot in rhyme
Like samples that you see below

I’ve always had a love for trees
And also for the ocean
I’m happy in a mountain breeze
It calms me like a potion

Sometimes I write in one-one-two
A little tricky that is true
But the struggle was worthwhile
If what I’d written made me smile

l loved creating funny verse
A lot of it was stupid
I tried and tried but it got worse
I wrote of love and cupid

I never mastered the repeat
Or other fancy forms
I always went down to defeat
And shed my tears in storms

I never mastered the repeat
I struggled on in vain
I always went down to defeat
And couldn’t stand the pain

The ***** ahead I need to climb
Looks like it’s made of glass
And though I try it one more time
I always end up on my ***.
ljm

Things aren’t where I put them anymore.
I so carefully write down where they belong
And place them neatly in their spot
But when I later reach for them
The spot is gone and so are they.

I stand embarrassed at the desk-
The meeting is next week and not today.
But this morning when I read my notes
It just said One O’clock and don’t be late.
I made an extra trip to get there.

How could I have missed the date.
If I had canceled as I’d planned,
They would have told me not today
And saved me driving across town
To end up crying in the car.

A and B are not connecting lately-
The thoughts that ought to follow on
Stay self contained and singular.
They never meet across the void
To form cohesion and make sense.

My best view is aftersight.
I see too late had I done this
It would have saved me doing that.
Double trips become the norm.
My cheek is sore from slapping it.

The little errors multiply
Until they form an oversite
And grow to a catastrophe
That coping cannot remedy
And there’s no way around it.

The dictionary lists all words
In alphabetic order.
My mental warehouse stacks them up
Behind a bunch of useless facts  
In places I can’t find them.

The names of places and old friends
Are locked up in the topmost cupboards
And everyone will have to wait
Until I climb a sturdy stool
And search around to find them.

One by one these glitches have no meaning.
Two-by-two, it’s just a stressful week
But three or four and every day
Portends a black fog rolling in
And I’m searching for a place to hide.
ljm

Words are floating in the air like
Dragonflies in summer.
They reflect on placid waters
Only ruffled by the silver fins of tiny fish.
They dangle ripe and tantalizing
From the brambles growing by the train tracks.
They soar and cartwheel in the azure sky.

Words are lurking in the shadowed places
In the forests of emotion, and the dells
Where sunshine is a seldom visitor.
They tumble like a child’s balloon
Down waterfalls of jubilation.
They pounce like kittens from the top of cabinets.
They curl up in a mother’s lap.

Words can be illusive as a chimera
So difficult to capture in a pen,
And once ensconced, impossible to lure back out.
Words are currency to purchase immortality -
To bargain with the vicissitudes of life
And bandage wounds of disappointment.
They build a wall and often hide behind it.

Words are letters rearranged a million times.
The songs of living, loving, laughing life.
They can be the voice of brilliant minds,
The moans of breaking hearts and souls,
The sigh that sounds the same in every tongue,
The cry to God when all else fails,
The one true tool that separates us from the Apes.
ljm

My life has become very like
Ballet dancing in a cactus patch
In the dark of night.

It's better than a mine field
You don't get blown up
But you do get pricked a whole lot more.
                       ljm

for Pradip Chattopadhyay

What is the magic that pulls us ever back
To gather in a circle of remembering
And sharing in the glow of friendship
That time and miles can’t dim.

Why do we make our plans and get the things
We need to guarantee that we will get here
Out of the hubub of still busy lives
And the lethargy of quiet ones.

What is the reward for walking native streets
And looking at the things that made us “us”,
When most of us have sunk our sturdy roots
In places very different from here.

Who have we beome as life and time
Have lifted us and pulled us down-
A few to never rise again-
But most to stand astride the life we made

And tell the world and one another
That the soil of Longview nourished us
And helped us grow to be the trees
That make the forest beautiful.

That Cowlitz County lumber cut straight and true
And built a sturdy framework
That the young can climb to find their way
To make the world a better place.

We stood up proud and did our job
Now we can enjoy what we created
And share it once again with those
Who were with us at the starting of our journey.
ljm

When you’re not newly or madly in love
When no new thrill has come your way
When the sunset is hidden by the smog
And the draught has killed all the flowers

What do you write about

When you’ve suffered no great disappointment
When you’ve won no award or any prize
When you haven’t gambled on love and lost
And the mountains you’ve climbed are just hills

What do you write about

When inspecting your navel is boring
When you can’t really tell how you feel
When you can’t see the humor in pratfalls
And nothing exciting has happened

What do you write about

When everyone you know remains healthy
When the trees in the woods are just trees
When the butterflies don’t visit your garden
And the hummingbird feeder’s abandoned

What do you write about

When you reach for the stars but can’t touch them
When you hear the song but can’t sing it
When you stare at your blackboard and it’s empty
And you’ve run out of ink for your pen

What on Earth do you write about.
ljm

Tuna sandwiches on white bread
Carried in a paper bag
Josh Groban on the CD player
Season Three of 2 broke Girls
Matching shoes and purses
Vacation in the Pocanos
Subscription to People Magazine
Pennies in a piggy bank
Silver-beige 4-door Accord
A little college but no degree
Always ten pounds overweight
Celebration meal at Sizzler
Artificial Christmas tree pre-lit
A mole that wants removing
Off white walls, pale green carpet
Outfits from mail order catalogs
Paydays with no yearly bonus
Jeopardy and Wheel of fortune
Polyester perm press everything
Bic Stik ball point pen
Swanson's TV dinner
Flip phone with no camera
*** two times a week and Sunday
Writing verse nobody reads
ljm

I thought I might be a musician
Mom couldn’t afford my lessons
My eyesight wasn’t great
I couldn’t read notes fast enough
Practicing annoyed the family
I only managed last chair, 2nd violins
              But still
I got to play in High School concerts
In shiny dresses with glitter in my hair
              However
I haven’t held a violin in years
I loaned mine to a Bluegrass band
The leader died - and it was gone

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

I thought I might become a dancer
But my fingers can not touch the floor
I couldn’t kick much higher than my waist
Choreography was hard for me to learn
I had the stamina if not the skill
My partner wanted someone else
                But still
I danced on stage in a college play
And Morris Danced at the Old Globe Theatre
                However
I’ve forgotten how to keep the beat
And all the dance floor moves I made
I’m too self conscious now to try

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

I fancied I could be a singer
I knew the words to all the songs
And I could keep the melody in tune
But I had a voice with no vibrato
And the quality was thin
My range was very limited
              But still
I sang Blueberry Hill at a talent show
In a black lame’ dress and surprised a few
              However
I couldn’t get the hang of harmony
And found I fit best in a choir
My family wouldn’t hear my solos

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

I thought that I was born an actress
I practically got that one right
I had a lead in an Ibsen play
And toured the state with Macbeth
But Hollywood was one big casting couch
And I could see no way around it
          But still
I got to be on TV  shows
Winning games and merchandise
          However
I sold the Firebird Convertible I won
I needed rent money more than a car
And rules allow you only three shows in a lifetime

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

I always thought I was a poet
I started young and never stopped
But family ignored and scoffed
Then I got trapped inside my mirror
And only wrote when all was beak
Somebody said my stuff was dreary
          But still
I stumbled on the HP website
And found a group who like the words I write
          However
When I read the others’ writes
I realize how limited my skills
And fight the need to run away and hide.
    ∞
It seems I dabbled in all the arts

Looking for the one that fit me
And finding they all needed alteration
And I never had the proper needle
  ∞  
Still, a moment in the sun
Is better than a lifetime in the shade
I had a taste of everything
Though the banquet was not mine.
ljm

Tangled up in webs of longing
To be who I can never be
My struggles only draw strands tighter
So they can strangle who I really am.
                                   LJM

Forty year old rose bush in the garden
Pink bud called “Queen Elizabeth”
Tightly furled at ten A.M. - no trace of gold
I know lurks at the heart of all the petals.

Strolling by at one P.M.
The first soft petal has made its move
And the one beside is pondering
How soon it needs to break away.

Four P.M. and the outer petals
Form a blushing halo around the bud
And there begins to be perfume
That hot house roses never have.

Eight PM. and the Queen parades
In all her pink and golden glory
Fully flared to mark her presence
And delight my eyes as I pass by.
ljm

Ordinary words in ordinary order
Slouch across the page unnoticed
Mundane metaphors and trite observations
Destroy catch phrases with every old saw
Memes are dragged behind overused hashtags
Until they morph into yesterday’s news
Dusty and bent and soiled on the edges
Same ole rehash of the same ole crap
Whitewashing the fence of involvement
The old wive’s tales are alternative facts
That dance to the tune of an illiterate piper
In a boring routine choreographed by
A sullen pre-teen who finds herself grounded.

Wherever you’re going,
You can’t get there from here.
ljm

Doomed
The writing on the wall
Cannot be scrubbed away
Or painted over.
It is burned into the surface.

Doomed
The carefully wound clock
Has lost it’s main spring
And the hands no longer move,
Though the alarm still rings.

Doomed
The rising of the tide
Eats steadily at
The edges of the castle
So skillfully constructed.

Doomed
The wind has changed direction
And the breeze become a gale.
The aging oak tree
Lacks to roots to save it.

Doomed
The fragile flower’s beauty
Is no match for the equipment
Paving over gardens built
For other times and people.
                   ljm

When the road curves out of sight
And you're not sure how far to go
when what awaits you is a puzzle
No one else but you will know.

If you're not sure how far to go
To find the thing you're hoping for
It's very tempting to turn back.

When what awaits you is a puzzle
You have to find the special key
It's hidden there among the many

No one else but you will know
If it's a prize that you have won
Or if the lock won't come undone.
                           ljm

Pray the rain won't spoil your picnic
As you scan the morning sky
Take an extra rainproof poncho
To keep the picnic table dry.

As you scan the morning sky
Look for red clouds in the East
And recall the Sailor's warning.

Take an extra rainproof poncho
Maybe an umbrella too
And one of those big blue tarpaulins

To keep the picnic table dry
Then have faith that God still loves you
And the sun will shine all day.
                       ljm

I made an icon of a dragonfly pin I found
It rested on my desk under many ceiling lights
Enthralling me with green and golden sparkles
As I went about my daily grind.

I took it with me when I left for home
To continue my enjoyment.
It was fine out in the sun-lit yard
But once indoors, lost all it’s glisten.

It seems the magic wasn’t in the pin
But in the way the office lights fell on it.
In ordinary household light
It was just a costume jewelry pin.

I couldn’t make it scintillate
No matter how I held it up
To every fixture in the house
It was just a pretty shape with stones

A thing with ordinary charm
That anyone could buy and lose
And someone find and be entranced -
A parallel to many lives.
And mine.
ljm

Spinning in circles that have square corners
I'm the new Broadway sensation

The moon is wearing  surprise pink gel
And the wind is rosining it's bow

The Marquee is lighted by roman candles
That change colors as you observe

My name is carved into pumpkins
Lit from inside by gold sparklers

The Phantom Toll Booth is housing Will Call
And the ushers are all wearing drag

The Animal Rights folks are picketing
The unkind treatment of frogs

The clearing of throats often hurts them
And we're all a long way from the pond

My costume is still at the cleaners
So I'm dressed as somebody else

The fourth wall is now made of plaster
And my double is lost in the wings

I look but I can't see the footlights
Through the fog machine's oily haze

The prompter's asleep in the Green Room
And the Concert Master is ******

The Conductor is wearing a trainman's hat
But the Midnight Special won't be stopping here

Like me, it's gone off the rails once again
And there's nobody home in the Roundhouse

The outside decided to come on back inside
But all the seats now are taken

I need to stop twirling - I'm dizzy
I overlooked taking a point

There's somebody up in the flies
I think I see sandbags beginning to swing

I can't hear the music;  the air is too loud
And too many people are breathing

That isn't applause after all - it's thunder
And my key light has faded to three

My funniest line drew no laughter
And I've got to exit stage left

The curtain call was a barrel house polka
And no one presented me flowers

The stage door is painted an angry red
and it needs to be painted coal black

I'm back outside where I've always belonged
And no one is waiting to greet me

With autograph book and stub of a pen
Guess I might just as well walk on home
                     LJM

It’s all over now
All ******* with a velvet ribbon and ready to be put away
With the other memories saved for my old age.
Why can’t I close the closet door on it.
Why am I reluctant to consign it to the dark.
It was only twenty years and a single child.
It was only everything I ever wanted and much less.
I’m the one who rang the final gong
Why is it’s echo so discordant.

Maybe the things saved for my golden years
Should be unpacked right now.
Perhaps I lost track of time, and now the moment’s here.
Why do I expect the gold to have turned green.
How do I know the dust can not be blown away.
It can’t be midnight for more than an hour.
Why shouldn’t the sun come up again today.

It’s all over now
And nothing can be changed.  Life provides few erasers for our use.
What has been will be forever.  What is gone is lost forever.
Tomorrow will arrive in empty boxes
And I’m the one who put them in the mail.
I suppose they’ll all come postage due -
And me with only credit cards.
I wonder if the bank is open at this hour
And if this check is any good.

Maybe I should not be home when the postman rings the bell.
Perhaps I should be out job hunting when he comes.
Why do I think no one will hire me,
There’s no reason to despair.
There’s lots of kinds of things I do
How do I know I’ll never do them again.
Why shouldn’t I be usefully employed.

It’s all over now
And time to get on with whatever it was that seemed it would be better.
Time to see if pig ears really do become silk purses.
Time to learn how many hills I’ve yet the legs to climb.
Why aren’t I excited at the prospect of new vistas?
I couldn’t possibly have seen them all.
Perhaps the rain and fog have put me off.
I shiver in the wet and can’t see through the mist-
Which leaves me ever standing here, right beside the closet.
                                      

I found it on the floor of
the women’s dressing room
after a concert.
The ladies were long gone
and I was clearing up.
It was one inch long and
the wings were one inch wide.
The dragonfly had
two overlapping oval wings
on each side
and a long curved tail.
The body and tail
were set with butterscotch
yellow rhinestones.
The wings held chartreuse stones.
Two white rhinestones were the eyes.
The quality of the stones
was extraordinary
though the setting
was not really gold.

When I took it to my office
to put it
in the lost and found
my extra many ceiling lights
made it sparkle
like in a jewelry store display.
I put it on a stack of tissues
I keep at the ready on my desk
so I could see it
any time I wanted.
When I moved my head
just slightly, it would make
the sparkles seem to move as well.
It made me very happy
just to look at it
and I have no idea why.

Nobody called to claim the pin
It’s value is likely very small
But it’s come to symbolize some of
The shiny things I hope to capture
In the time remaining of my life.

It won’t be long ‘til I
am forced to
spread my own frail wings
and fly
from this cocooned
career of work.
Perhaps the dragonfly
will be a talisman
and lead me to
the meadows
I have dreamed of:
awash in creativity,
accomplishments rewarded,
and never any gales
of jealousy
or the thunderclouds of
evil that
rattle my windows here.

On the day when everything
is packed and shipped, my
keys turned in,
lights turned off
for the last time
and I am free, I will pin the
dragonfly
to my collar and
and take us looking
for that meadow.
             ljm

Sitting at my little desk
cluttered up with nothing real
so it looks like I have work
a little heater on my feet
epitome of luxury - warm feet
how time drags away today
so much behind to do at home
alone inside this little room
where photos line the wall
with other people’s happy day
would it be sacrilege
to ever put a sad pose
in the frame that
held such shining joy
≈≈≈
another wall is cabinets
with everything that
I might need for anything
but where is the band-aid
for today and the
cure-all for tomorrow
as I sit and wish that I was gone
to any place but here
≈≈≈
narcolepsy goose-steps in
battalions of its troops-
a war I must not lose
I cannot leave and
beat retreat
I must stand firm and fight
until the razor
hands of time
cut through the bars
that keep me here
unwilling but required
≈≈≈
for I support the camping trip
that we call daily life and there
are hungry mouths to feed
with names like heat and light and
shelter from the winter
they bring their cousins
food and clothes and
go juice for the car
to stand in line
on my front porch
with hands outstretched
demanding
≈≈≈
sometimes I muse
on what would happen
if i just turned out the lights
and locked the door
against intruders
and tap danced away
would there be a net
to catch me
if i jump too high
or dance along
the precipice
without my contact lenses
≈≈≈
now I recall
the words my mother said
when I would dream out loud
“wish in one hand
spit in the other
and see which one
gets full first”
good ole hillbilly philosophy
≈≈≈
so here I stay with a frozen clock
an antique desk
with a vase of crimson
bougainvillea I snipped
off the hedge
across the parking lot
I must have flowers
on my desk and
in my home
my very soul demands it
but never if I buy them
it requires the vaunted
ingenuity my mother
preached to me  
to keep the vases full
≈≈≈
what ceramic vase
 would I fit in
I’m neither rose
nor orchid
would I be
a whole bouquet
or just a single daisy
silliness to ponder
fourteen kinds of nonsense
≈≈≈
still the pen
stays wedded
to my finger
not yet done
with nonsense rambling
though I’ve said
most everything
I need to say
≈≈≈
I’m over half the
way to freedom
looking for a coin
to buy away
the final hundred minutes
will it be the radio
a game of solitaire
or just more
claptrap from this pen
≈≈≈
the usual fall back
crossword puzzle
points up my aphasia
and I’m in no mood
to face humiliation
once again
≈≈≈
how slowly can I nibble on
the sandwich
left from lunch and still the time
procrastinates
my mind at last is blank
And now is the acceptance
I can’t scribble on forever
it’s time to
put away the pen
and hide this diatribe
out of the public eye
And head at last for home.
                ljm

No special card, no brand new bill
No waiting to make the phone call.
Too much time on my hands today
Too many thoughts around me.

Mothers Day.  My Mommie’s gone.
Now I’m the Mama of this family.
Why do I feel such a little girl,
My emotional shoelaces untied and tripping me.

Amazed at why we do what we do,
I knew one day I’d live to regret it-
The Sundays just too busy to call,
The failure to find a moment for writing.

That time is now, and I’m battered with guilt
I can’t seem to talk myself out of.
If only I knew she’s forgiven my lapses
Maybe the punishment finally could end.

I   dropped everything and flew to her side
When death took her husband of just a few years,
Again when the ****** who lived up the street
Almost succeeded in killing her soul.

It’s the everyday thoughtfulness where I fell down,
The “Hi!  How are you - nothing’s much new.”
Not finding a way to be there twice a year
Instead of every other, that made me a failure.

Not a day passes that I don’t think on her
Though many had done so while she was alive.
I look on her picture in longing and sorrow
And hope that she know I now see what I’ve lost.

In the hand that only asks, wants and takes
There is little room for gifts
So I expect none.

In the mind filled overflowing with self,
Pleasure and the moment
There isn’t space for gratefulness
So I won’t look for any.

In the heart that sees itself abused in the midst of cosseting
There is no quarter for love returned
So I’ll not hope for that.  
              
In the soul that locks itself away, a willing alien,
There is no inclination to give
So I go empty-hearted.
                

Be careful
I could not bury you alone
I’d have to join you in the earth.

Keep well
I could not hold your dying hand
Without a way to take the ill.

Be strong
I could not see you on your knees
I’d have to carry you from then.

Stay happy
I could  not blot away your tears
Without outnumbering them with mine.

Stay close
I could not end my given years
Without you at my side.
ljm

I never ever really believed in Unicorns
But I always somehow hoped that
In a place too far for me to get to
They gamboled in sunny springtime meadows.

They'd wear a wreath of summer daisies
And have glitter on their shiny hooves
Their tails all braided in fantastic patterns
And their manes would float on gentle breezes

I always knew you had to be a ******
To see one in the real live world
But when I was, it somehow never happened
And I held out so very, very long.

Then my chance dissolved into a marriage
And I was forced to put away
The image of those shining flanks
And gentle eyes that knew my soul.

The years went by - a daughter came
Another chance for unicorns.
And I hid out to try and see
If she could fetch one from the shadows

She drew the whole world to her side
With charm and simple purity
The only creatures who came to stay
Were slender racing dogs and mice

And thus my hope of seeing unicorns
Has had no choice but to fade away
But I still dream of flowered meadows
With gentle Creatures who display
A single horn of magical power
That makes a blessing of  your life
                            ljm