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

She smiles with eyes as dead as stone
And hates the work she does so very well,
And the ungrateful mob she does for.

She speaks in friendly, helpful tones
To mask the scream that dances just below her throat
And searches for the moment of escape into the din

She’s always there, as sure as there’s a sunrise.
Though her spirit sails on distant, foreign seas
Her feet are sunk in work-day sludge that traps her here.

Though she longs for clean and simple
Her duties bury her in convoluted mire.
She’s given up trying to scrub it all away.

A million little stabs have wounded her
Beyond the hope of graceful ending
To a life pulled down by circumstance and pain.

With no hope of stars in azure skies at dawning
The light that once shown from her eyes fades out
And her smile becomes an exercise in muscle stretching.

She does what she’s expected to with weariness
That goes beyond arthritic joints and too long hours.
She feeds the wolf and wishes it were not so.

But wish in one hand - spit in one
Her mother often said, and see which one is filled up first.
She always listened to her mom, alas.

And so she trudges slowly on.
She doesn’t know what else to do.
Another day to stumble through
And no tomorrow in her soul.
               ljm

I hurt four people
         So I could be wounded by two.

I thought it was a bargain at the time
But I forgot the service charge and fees.
ljm

Floating on an inner tube
Just above the falls
Never mind the current
The joy of summer calls.
ljm

As I say the words that I wish could be true
In a place that can never be mine
I long for the moment that passed long ago
When all things were likely and we thought we could fly.
ljm

Don't offer me a cardboard moon
In shining, gilded whispers
I've stood on midnight hilltops
And kissed the burning stars.

Don't promise me a royal someday
In phrases with their fingers crossed.
I've set my hour glass on taller shelves
And you, my dear, are just a ladder.
                                     ljm

More than my joy in the bright summer flowers,
More than the lure of the sea;
Not less than the sum of eternity's hours
The happiness you bring to me.
                            ljm

Remember you?
My love, I'd sooner  forget my name
Than lose the memory of you.

Remember you?
My heart has filled its empty places
With the Glory that is you.
To sunder that would leave me maimed.

Remember you?
Every beauty I behold while we're apart
Will be a recollection, love, of you.

Remember you?
Only til my life goes down to dust
Will I, my love, remember you.
                                 ljm

A world where everyone waits their turn
And takes no more than their share
Does that make me a communist-
Call me that if you dare.
                   ljm

Dressed in all my brightest colors
               Why am I so blue
Surrounded by excited, happy people
               Why do I so need to cry.
                                  ljm

Plowing fields of acid soil
Where nothing good will ever grow
I swelter in the summer sun
And didn’t bring some water.
ljm

You can’t paint the Sistine Chapel with a roller
You can’t carve The Thinker with a jack hammer
You can’t write a symphony on a Kazoo
And you can’t dance Swan Lake on a trampoline

You can’t bake a cake if you have no oven
You can’t sew a gown with a knitting needle
You can’t build a house out of Lego Bricks
And you can’t win at Lotto without buying a ticket

Why do my eyes not notice the humming bird
Only that the nectar tube needs refilling
Why do I not glory in a field of orange poppies
Only struggle to walk without stepping on one

Why do I pass up small kudus when offered
So I can wallow some more in rejection
Why do I long so for the glow of acceptance
When I have no use for the face in the mirror

We all have to work with the gifts we are given
Talent is not something you can go out and buy
You can’t sigh your way into winning the race
And you can’t coerce people into your fan club

You have to dig deep if you want to find oil
You have to cast bait if you want the big fish
You have to believe that the war can be won
To put down your pen and ******* your sword
           ljm

I find myself in a terrible state
Too old to be young and too young to be old

I am indeed in a terrible state
Too rich to be poor and too poor to be rich

No escaping this terrible state
Too weak to be strong and too strong to be weak

How do I deal with this terrible state
Too smart to be dumb and too dumb to be smart

I’ll just learn to live with this terrible state
Too sad to be glad and too glad to be sad
ljm

I told everyone that I’d be fine -
They dynamited my golden years
And put the pieces in the trash -
But I said I would be OK.

I have resources and reserves
That paved the way
Past rocky highways in the past
And would suffice me once again.

I reassured the ones who wept
That this was not to be an ending -
That I had maps and GPS
To guide me to a safer haven.

But when I looked inside the box
Containing my bravado
There was a hug and a kindly word
And nothing else to help me.

Shocked at all that emptiness
The first thing that I did was cry
And gape into that hollow space
To wonder where the courage went.

But when I saw the others stare
I clamped the lid back on real tight
And glued a smile onto my face,
Picked up my box and strode away.

Now I’m hidden safe at home
Astonished at my disbelief
That years could warp away and melt
The fortitude I counted on.

That I should find myself alone
With nothing but a broken crutch
To help me cross the quicksand bog
And locate solid ground again.

How shall I navigate the mire?
My GPS and maps are gone.
Bravura’s just a memory.
I’m not the big girl after all,

There is no Mommie I can call
No friend to offer magic beans
This time I find myself alone
To see if I can find a way
To fill back up that empty box.
ljm

Mirror mirror on the wall
Who told the biggest lies of all


A tisket a tasket
He just flipped a gasket


Red Rover Red Rover
Let warheads come over


One, two skip to my Lou
Three, four, you’ll start a war
Five, six, you’re in a fix
Skip to my Lou, my darling.
Seven, eight, it’s just too late
Nine, ten, you'll never win
Skip to my Lou, my darling.


Here we go Lupti Lou
Here we go Lupti Lie
Here we go Lupti Lou
Why don’t you lay down and die


Ring around the Rosey
A pocket full of posers
Bashes, Crashes
The World falls down


Mary, Scary, quite contrary
How does your evil grow
With fire drill bells and armored shells
And dead bodies all in a row.
ljm

Gloom
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

Five O’clock in the morning
And I’ve been crying for two hours
There is no ever after
The locked door has no key
The sun will rise to darkness
And I’m where I belong

I bought the knife that stabs me
Spent every dime I had
It looked so pretty in the case
I thought that I could cut a swath
Through all the strings that bound me
And at last be free to fly

It didn’t work that way
It cut the ties to all I love
And left me just the ragged edges
So now the fabric fades and frays
And will not make a parachute
To save me as I fall.
ljm

She said she didn’t feel good.
They said what else is new.
She said this time it’s different.
They said we’ve heard that too.

She said I think I’m dying
They said give us a break.
She said I’m even crying
They said those tears are fake.

She said I think you’ll miss me.
They said you haven’t gone.
She said it’s getting darker.
They said don’t carry on.

She closed her eyes in silence.
They said come on let’s go.
Her form grew cold and rigid
At last they had to know.

She wasn’t just pretending.
The thing she fought was real.
Her story had no ending.
And her life book they could seal.

They said we’ve been so stupid.
Uncaring and unkind.
She tried and tried to show us
But we were just too blind.

And now she’s gone forever.
Who’s going to run this place.
They don’t know which they’ll miss more-
Her efforts or her face.
ljm

She wears the long black dress of desolation
It swirls with heavy motion as she walks
It’s been in her closet many years
And she really never thought she’d need to wear it

When she finally takes it out, it’s dusty on the shoulders
And she freshens it with a dampened cloth
She is surprised that it still fits her
Since she’s grown much bigger over time

Her whole world lays in shattered pieces on the carpet
She needs to gather them into a bag
To put out for the Friday trash-man pickup
But though she looks, she cannot find a broom.

She puts the bigger pieces in a basket
And collects the tiny shards on masking tape
It’s obvious it can’t be reassembled
So tomorrows hopes must stay there on the floor.

She does not choose a souvenir to keep
From the wreckage of her plans and dreams
She’s seen the circus and the rodeo
So why save pieces of the carousel.

She tidies up and shuts the door
To live in other nearby rooms
So she won’t step on memories
Or trample hopes into the rug.

Tomorrow she’ll tie a red sash on her dress
Don hat and gloves and make her way
Across the bridge to meet the road
That leads to new beginnings
And a broom.
                 ljm

I’ve written my words in quicksand
Mostly gone before they’re seen
My footprints are on the high tide line
Erased by the incoming waves

I leave no shadow at midnight
The wind carries away my song
I call and nobody answers
I think I’m out here alone.

I gather some lilacs and daisies
Enough for a small bouquet
But others have somehow collected
Enough for a Festival float.

The candy store seems to be open
The lollipops all on display
Look so very tempting
I haven’t a cent to my name.

No one will buy my small posey
I have nothing much else to sell
Oh well, I’m too fat for a lolly
So I’ll look away and walk by.

Someday someone may decipher
The code that I don’t understand
Though I speak it and write it
And paste it on billboards.

And stand in the shadows
In case someone stops
To gaze at the verses
So recently written in sand

And breathe in the scent of the ocean
The feel of bare feet on wet sand
And suddenly discern the shadow
The posey, the lolly, the music and me
                 ljm

Silent thunder shakes the windows
Causing birds to flee the tree outside
And fling themselves into the raging wind

Jagged lightning flames the sky
In all the colors of a sunrise
While the moon still says it’s midnight

Rain has finally found it’s way
Around the thirsty desert mountains
And readies itself for the deluge

Sandbags may hold back the flood
But they can’t stop tomorrow
And the monsoon putting on its boots

Dawning comes in dreary clothing
Gray and heavy in the hems
Waiting to start shrugging off

The weather, like a game of
Stack the Timber Tower
Debates the utmost time to tumble

Everything is battened down
Awaiting the first sprinkles
That will presage the downpour

The birds have come back to the trees
But they are silent like the thunder
While the city holds it’s breath

And watches out a million windows
With the TV standing by
As we all wait to meet the wet
   ljm

Something’s wrong with my poor Mac
It’s acting very strange
It may have had a heart attack
Or else become deranged.

It doesn’t do the things I say
Or function like it should
It wants to go a different way
And that is never good.

I try to save what I just wrote
I press the proper key
But when I try to find the note
It’s nowhere I can see.

The spell check has been smoking crack
It now speaks only Greek
I click it and it answers back
With words I did not seek.

So many things have run amok
I think I need a nurse
To find a cure with any luck
Before things get much worse.

So I’ll unplug it’s life support
And take it to repair
And hope I get a good report
And not news of despair.

I do not want another one
I just want this one fixed
I do not know which way to run
My feelings are so mixed.

If they cannot mend this thing
I know I will be sad
This Mac is not a Diamond ring
But yet it’s not so bad.

At least I know it’s ins and outs
And how to work around them
I just can’t stand it when it pouts      
And threatens me with mayhem.

So I must take myself off line
And miss a day or two
I think that that will be just fine
As long as I have told you.

I’m not the star of any show
Not everyone will miss me
I just want to let you know
So nobody will diss me.

For disappearing suddenly
And not hearting the daily
I’m vanishing quite thuddingly
But I’ll return most gaily.
ljm

Full moon veiled in a silken mist
Outline dim and wan
Mocking the hour when last we kissed
Now that love has gone.
ljm

On Monday I bury the last of my dreams
And give up my hopes for tomorrow.
I do what’s required to look in the glass
Resigned to become friends with sorrow.

On Monday I’ll pass over white and wear black
I hear the prediction is rain.
I’ll pray for the sun and prepare for the clouds
And seek out small joys in my pain.

On Monday it all takes a turn for the different
Will it get better or will it get worse
I’ll gamble my future on staggering odds
With nothing to save me but verse.

On Monday my heart will have gone somewhere else
As my will walks me into that room
And my mind searches vainly for some safe escape
From the depths of my self-tunneled tomb.

On Monday I’ll stand up and do what I said
The chips must fall down where they may
I’ll carry it through, though I’ll wish I were dead
It’s a price I can nothing but pay.
lsj

Where the sunlight splashes through
The barely moving branches of the Magnolia tree
It makes a fascinating pattern on the patio.
Amy Lowell wrote of patterns in a lovely, angry verse
When she was writing about how she hated war.

I bend to trace the patterns with my toe
And focus on the possibilities of now
With monster canons rolling down the boulevards
And goose-step imitators marching by
While in the stands a devilishly evil Buddha smiles.

A zephyr gently stirs the leaves
And all the patterns rearrange again
I look at them with half closed eyes
And I can’t find the symmetry
That I saw just an hour ago.

The Kraken still is held by chains
And though he gushes fire and venom
The patterns on the wall contain him
As he thrashes to replace the sun
With a new one of his own creation.

Amy walked a peaceful garden path
In dappled sunlight long ago
Creating lines that live today.
I trundle down a brick-lined walk
And hope that I will have tomorrow.
                         ljm

Once again the bullets fly
Once again the chldren die
Once again the parents cry
Once again we wonder why

When will we all stand and say
The problem is the NRA
And all the congressmen they pay
To turn their heads the other way.

We need to all stand up and shout
All together we’ll have clout
We need to organize a rout
And vote the slimy ******* out
       ljm

Kneeling at the altar of the Sleep Gods
In supplication and in need
I plead for this thunder storm of stress to stop
And the lightning flash scenarios to abate.
My ragged sleeve of care needs knitting up
And I can not afford to buy the yarn.
ljm

The weight of my anger grows too heavy to carry
I search for a place to at last lay it down
But there’s a steep wall  on my left, a sheer drop on my right
And those coming behind me behind me are pushing me on

My disappointment is as tall as a mountain
Big stone at the bottom I’m too weak to push up
I’ve worn out a groove on the road to the summit
And life carved a path for it on the way down

I once loved an SF writer named Harlan
His anger made mine seem like a mere whine
How I envied his command of the language
The words of his hatred set fire to the pages

His anger was TNT in a small package
The fuse so short it couldn’t be seen
The world around him resembled a matchbook
And Society always offered a light.

But that was a journey I took long ago
He strode into sunlight - I slipped into shadow
He never taught me to make bonfires of language
And I so wish I’d stayed til that lesson was learned.
ljm

Vultures circle on the horizon
They land on nearby trees and wait
They make no sound at all
Fluff their wings in anticipation
And their eyes are fixed and shiny
So evil bright and shiny

Their number grows each passing hour
And their silence terrifies much more
Than the howling wind that echoes
From the distant rocky canyons
And roils the low hung clouds above
And stirs the low slung clouds

The broken trees who’s fruit is vultures
Bear no leaves and don’t remember
Ever having such a coat or
Sap that rose up in the springtime
To foretell a new beginning
There ware no new beginnings

Their only memory is drought
And brittle stands against the wind
That snapped off branches, limbs and buds
And left but bleached out skeletons
To mark the passing of the years
         The passing of so many years

Through the wounded vegetation
Run barely visible tracks or trails
That seem to start from far away
And end up on the other side of it
With lots of detours along the way
Detours all along the way

There is no safety anywhere
In this barren desert place
Where nothing grows but spiny things
Not tall enough to create shadows
In the unforgiving burning sun
The unrelenting sun

A wounded bunny, colored like the sand
Sits very still, afraid to move
Survivor of a former battle
It has almost no strength left
And not even that much hope
Used up every bit of hope

If only there were den or burrow
If there were brambles with their thorns
They might provide a hiding place
A chance to live another day
To do the things that bunnies do
And live the way that bunnies live

Waiting for a miracle or magic wand
In a place where those do not exist
The bunny, frozen in the hope
The birds will find some other prey
And may not see him crouching there
Prays for escape by crouching there

Suddenly the sky explodes
With beating wings and raucous cries
The thunder of a hunter’s gun
Has launched the birds in frantic flight
And one lies dead upon the sand
So newly dead upon the sand

While the hunter pokes and eyes his prize
If such a bird can be a prize
The little bunny bides his time
Until it’s safe to hop away
So he can live another day
And plan to live another day
ljm

Hatred isn’t black - it’s not that pretty-
It’s that dun color greeny-muddy-brown -
The color of dirt around a rusted pipe.
It’s the color you get when you mix
Red and yellow and Blue together.
A hideous shade without a useful purpose,
And stirring in some white won’t help it.
The only thing to do is scrape your palate clean,
Wash out all your brushes and begin again.
ljm

Plunging through the mud and brambles
We chase a butterfly we’ll never catch
Still we cannot stop pursuing
We push ourselves to go a little faster
Even though the tangled vines
Wrap tight around and scratch our legs

The seeping blood becomes a whip
To urge us ever onward
The butterfly with glowing azure wings
Lites long enough to give us hope
Of finally catching up with it
And holding all that beauty in our hands

But then it lifts and floats away
Leaving just it’s siren song behind
To echo in our longing minds
And send a message that tells us
The goal we seek is possible
If only we do not give up

No matter how we spend our strength
With aching legs and burning lungs
No matter all the meadows that we race across
The butterfly continues to float out of reach
And in the end we realize
That we must settle for a moth.
ljm

Lost on the rutted road to nowhere-
Bumper to bumper in traffic
That creeps along at a pace
Guaranteeing poor mileage
And overheated engines.

What difference does it make-
I don’t know where I’m going
Or care if I ever arrive.
There’s  nothing for me at the turnoff
But another unmarked  highway.

I had a road map once,
All marked with good directions
But I left it in a restroom
When I washed my hands
And saw a stranger in the glass

And listened to his tales of shortcuts
Promising to bring me home
To hearth fires burning
Warm with dinner in the oven
And two arms stretching out to me.

Silly, foolish, stupid me-
Hungering for meals not offered-
Rushing places I’m not wanted-
Giving things nobody takes
And getting empty boxes in return .
             ljm

This morning I’m a conscientious
Forty year employee.
At midnight I become a deadbeat-
Jobless with no prospects.

Used up like a paper towel
And tossed into the garbage,
Even though my weave is good
And I could soak up more

Of all the disrespect and slander
They mopped up with me daily
As I tried to be the very best
At what they cannot understand.

They will see their error soon
As puddles begin forming.
They will find their feet are wet
And all their clay is melting.
            ljm

THERE IS A SAYING:

THE INSTRUCTIONS FOR LIVING OUTSIDE THE BOX

ARE WRITTEN ON THE OUTSIDE OF THE BOX.