I’m weak when I need to be strong
I’m lost and I need to be found
I despair and I cannot find hope
I reach out and nothing is there
I offer and no one accepts
I cry out but no one is near
Spirit in pain I stagger along
The sound of my weeping
Becomes my theme song
ljm

I hear the clanking of the gears and ropes
As the curtain starts its slow descent.
I’m rushing to get all my speeches in-
I thought the final scene would go on longer.

But I somehow forgot my lines, the prompter was asleep,
And I tripped across the brace cleats on my entrance
The apron edge is way too close.  I feel lightheaded.
I can see my understudy waiting in the wings.

I thought that I could play my role with some elan
For the entire duration of the local run
But seven shows with matinees to total nine
Have strained my voice and dulled my ears

So I can’t hit the high notes any more.
I know the lyrics and the tunes-
I play them in my sleep instead of waking up
But nonetheless I miss my cues and every note is flat.

The audience is unaware.  They haven’t read the book.
They cannot know the words left out, the blocking gone awry,
My struggle as I patch it up and try to hide
Behind my past reviews - when everything I did was right.

Tassels shimmy on the bottom of the velvet drape
As it slips down behind  me - out in front when I should be in back.
If only I could juggle - no one would suspect
That this will be my final curtain call and I have got it wrong.

Forty eight years of faithful service
Crumpled like a Kleenex and tossed away
By evil people with only ten names between them;
Forcing me to pack up all my grief and anger
And replat a blazing desert to make it be my home,

Far from where I’d ever want to be while
Deprived of what I’ve always loved to do
And surrounded by the things I do not like.
I had to replat the sand dunes of my very soul
To find a little valley where I hope to heal my hurt.
                            ljm

When an era ends a bell should ring
Even if it’s only tiny.
When the Curtain falls for the final time
The cast should get a flower.
When it’s all used up and there is no more
Someone should close the cupboard.
When the time is up and the whistle blows
We should all put down our hammers.

Sometimes the end is loud and brash
Sometimes as silent as sunrise
But which-ever way it comes to be
It always seems to be too soon.
It seems there should be one more try
Or even just an epilogue, instead
A note was posted on the door
And the era of folk music quietly ended.
             ljm

I'm just allowed to read 5 poems. I can't scroll down for  more.
I don't know what mistake I've made for Eliot to close the door.
I know I'm not the only one with no access to the index
Which I consulted constantly from forgetfulness and reflex.
Is there some way to make amends and put things back to right
Or are we all to drop our pens and fade into the night.

Will Eliot do something new and leave us on our own
Or are his plans a secret - totally to us unknown
Will Hello Poetry ever come back and be the way it's been
If we should lose our access it would be the gravest sin
I've offered Elliot a check instead of monthly nicks
But I've not had a word from him - up to his usual tricks.

I'll keep submitting what I write and see if it's displayed
And if it  never does appear, sadly I will be dismayed
If I am not the only one facing this conundrum
Let me have a word or two and tell me who it's from.
Then I won't feel I've crossed a line and there's no hope for me
And all together we will wait to see what we can see.

Every morning I kneel and pray
For the needs of other people.
But nobody prays for me.
Fourteen ways my body fails
And my mind is failing too.
Yet nobody prays for me.
My needs are on the bottom shelf
I carefully set it up that way.
So nobody prays for me.
I thought I was invincible
But my needs outweigh my strength.
Won’t somebody somewhere pray for me.
             ljm

An artificial crimson blossom
In the garden of God’s roses
I’m made of silk and wire and glue
On a slender stem of green bamboo.
Artistry makes me look real
And though I turn to face the Son
I can’t create perfume to offer
And I stand out painfully
Among the genuine creations.
Waiting for the Gardener
To notice me and **** me out
To die among the brambles
I tried diigently to escape.
              ljm

Can all of the real Chrstians,
The ones who actually
Follow the commandments,
Outvote the Quasi Christians
Who hold their Bibles upside down
And can not quote John 3:16

Probably not.

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

Then maybe yes.
                ljm

The door is slowly opening
I can hear the hinges creaking
As it is forced to move.
What pagan wind invades
The solace of this silent chamber
To move what has grown stationary
In the effort to hold back
The machinations that are
Fluttering like brazen banners
On the brightly gilded lances
Of the mavens of decay
           ljm

Hindered by the need for practicality,
The song that longs to heal the world
Remains unsung.
The steps that would have mended broken spirits
Remain undanced.

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

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

Stunted by the evil of aphasia
The verses that could have lived forever
Lie entangled on the tablet.
The Laurel wreath that had my name on it
Lies now withered on the floor.
                  ljm

The tipping point for Gaia
  Stares us boldly in our faces.
   And yet we try to look the other way,
    Seeing only what they want us to see,
     Believing all the lies they tell us daily.
      How deep into destruction must we fall
       Before we realize we’re doomed and
        It’s too late to pass the blame
         And far too late to fix things
              ljm

Other places, other times
Send hints of melodies
That echo in the hollow air
And call repeatedly to me

To leave the harsh and bittersweet
And find a way that leads
To those remembered days
Of usefulness and joy.

The notes play on an endless loop
That turns sad dreams to Musicals
And interferes with getting on
With all the mundane that is life.

Those other days and times are gone
They cannot be recaptured
The only thing they leave behind
Are notes of sad and wistful longing.
ljm

Am I the only one on HP
Who is finding it impossible
To parse the Byzantine new
System Eliot-the-Great has
Foisted on us in the name
Of becoming available
In your back Jeans pocket
Wherever you may be?
LJM

I’m riding on a carousel
I didn’t buy a ticket for.
Each horse’s harness represents
A non-life-ending malady.

The ride will not come to an end
And spins too fast for jumping off,
But I can carefully switch mounts
To ride on something different.

A gilded stallion paws the air
On the far side of the circle
But I can’t manage to get there-
Something’s always in my way.

I can’t get past the Tiger mount
With it’s angry rasping throat
Or by the zebra with a broken foot
To ride the healthy Courser.

I inch my way by the dappled mare
And dare not tough her bridle.
Spotted I already am
And I want to ride a Mustang.

The ride has gone on far too long
I’ve ridden half the Ponies
I haven’t gained the mount I want.
An aged gelding’s all that’s left.

So I’ll ride it ’til the music ends
And the carousel stops turning
I’ll stumble off and turn to face
The fate that I’ve been learning.
ljm

Unfit to be loved
Not even by God
Who’s promise is
Love everlasting.

Unable to heal
From wounds too deep
The scabs that were hope
Are constantly oozing.

Covered in scars
Generated within
There’s obviously no use
In praying for help.

Huddled in corners
of futile existence
The Sun never rises
And rain falls as tears.

The clock never wavers
The moments roll on
And time has no meaning
Unless there is love.

But love is illusive
It’s not bought and sold
It  must be accepted
Or else it grows cold.
            ljm

I need to be useful
I can’t stand to be helpless
I never learned how to say
Please help me - I can’t do this

I don’t know how to stand by
And let others do what I did
And can no longer manage
I must find a way around it

I’m not an observer
I need to carry the load
Don’t make me put it down
To do so is akin to dying
ljm

Not allowed to be part of her life
Only a casual bystander
Feeding on the crumbs of her
Tossed to me by others
ljm

The writing on the wall is not graffiti.
It was not put there by rebel hands.
It’s written in an obscure language
Few will take the time to learn
And even fewer heed its warning.

The writing lists the reasons
For the coming of the Horsemen.
The steeds that carry avenging riders
Wearing mantles made of
Fire and flood, earthquake and war.

The writing on the wall is flaming
With incendiary anger at the people
Who will not read what’s written there,
Having armed themselves in black chain mail
Forged from avarice and greed.

They shed no thought for fellow man
Or for the world that holds them all.
They lust for power that money brings
And dollars are the only God they worship.
They’ll never read what’s written on the wall.

There is a whinny on the rising breeze
That carries smoke from nearby fires,
And subtle poundings on the ground
Foretell the coming of the herd with
Flaming brands that match the wall
ljm

I don’t remember checking out
But when I came back that afternoon
Someone else was in my room
And all my luggage was out in the hall.

I knocked and didn’t hear a sound
Until I banged again much harder
Then I heard the rustle of approach
And locks turned as the door was opened.

My fists were clinched, my throat was tight
And I had vicious anger at the ready,
But shock drowned out my burning ire
When I saw who was facing me

She was very old and somewhat fragile.
Not the beauty she’d once been,
But dressed in jammies and a shawl
With fuzzy slippers on her feet.

She didn’t hear the words I said
And seemed to not see me very well.
She smiled a very gentle smile
And asked what she could do for me.

I told her she was in my room
And I had scads of things to do,
With projects to take care of
And chores that needed seeing to.

She stepped aside and let me in
Where I could see things were a mess
The furniture was rearranged
And my stuff stacked up in a corner.

I pushed on in and desperately
Searched for my deadline-diary -
There were things to not mess up
And errors that I must not make.

But nothing seemed where it belonged
And I could not remember where
I put the most important notes
That got me where I had to be.

The elder lady tried to help
But searched for words that would not come
And bumped against important things
That rocked and tumbled with a crash.

Beside myself I spun around
In desperation and despair,
Looking for something to grasp
To tell me I was not insane.

I turned to ask the Granny’s help
But couldn’t find her anywhere.
Like smoke in wind she’d disappeared
Even though the door was locked.

Exasperation then took hold
And I flailed around in circles
Til I caught a movement in the mirror
An stopped to take a better look.

I stood before the glass and gaped.
The dear old girl gaped back at me.
How did she get inside the glass
And where had my own image gone?

What happened to the visage of
The super-girl who juggled knives
And kept plates spinning in the air
While never dropping one.

The knives, I saw, were on the floor
Underneath the sagging couch.
The plates that I had kept aloft
Were neatly stacked beside the kitchen sink.

Astonishment became dismay
As I tried to reconcile
The me who went to work this morning,
Primed for conquering the world,

And the someone I came back to find,
Not certain where I left myself
Or even where to start the search
To see if I existed.

Bereft of thoughts and lost among her words
That float around and won’t be caught
I puzzle how this came about
And I don’t know the answer.

But I can not avoid the fact
That it’s my face in that mirror.

ljm

If you’re gonna pass laws that force women to
Birth and raise the babies they get knocked up with
        Make those laws also include a neonatal paternity test,
        After which the father has his income attached
        To the tune of seventy-five dollars a week for 21 years,
        Adjusted for inflation.
Then Enforce that law every bit as rigidly
As you enforce your new abortion bans.
         It takes two to make a baby, after all….. and
         Fair is still fair, isn’t it?    In what Universe?
                           ljm

It becomes more clear than ever
to those who follow Christian faith-
Those who know the storyline
But are still waiting for the cast
To be announced and pictured.

There are horses in the stable
Warriors with coats of different colors
Snorting as they kick the doors
That strive to keep them safe inside
While waiting for their riders.

Their riders are donning uniforms
And making preparations
To mount their waiting steeds
And thunder out across the world
To prove the Holy Book is true.

These are the Horsemen Of The Apocalypse -
Stuff of legend and religious lore,
Baring names that generate fear:
Names that now are listed here:
Netanyahu, Xi and Kim, Putin
And his aide de camp named Donald
Who tends the horse but does not ride.

Who will be astride which colored horse?
Putin rides the white one known as Conquest.
Netanyahu rides the red;  
It’s brand spells out the word for War.
Xi rides the Black horse, Pestilence -
Unleashed upon the recent world.
The pale horse symbolizing Death for all
Is ridden by Kim the Rocket Man who sits beside
His Doomsday Toys, waiting for the light to change.

The light cannot stay red much longer.
             ljm

Like a pack of yowling feral cats
Fighting in a ghetto alley
We snarl and hiss and arch our backs
Baring claws at one another.

We wound our spirits and our souls
In endless rounds of recrimination
That swings like a giant pendulum
But never moves the clock hands.

There’d be catnip enough for everyone
If the fat cats didn’t hoard it.
There’d be beds for all of us to sleep in
If the slumlords didn’t lock them up.

Maybe we need to band together,
The Tabbies and the Calicos,
The Tomcats and the *******
And see if we can find a way
To build a world we all can live in.
ljm

Groups casting aspersions
Are a spiteful diversion
That borders on *******
And invites incursion
By the cops -  and dispersion.
ljm

He struggled into an impeccable new tuxedo in order to make an impeccable impression on the judges as he attends the banquet that will award him a check and a gold medal for his impeccable manners at the etiquette Olympics
ljm

I heard your trees both screaming
          As your cack-handed garden workers
    Fired up their vicious, howling saws
                  To start a massacre that no tree could survive.

      I saw the shards of leaves and wood
  Flying off in all directions
               As the lifeblood of the trees
                               Oozed into the gravel just below

                 And before long it grew very silent -
   Only whispered echoes of the screams
           Floated high above the barren wasteland
That is now a yard with nothing in it green.
                    ljm

It was such an exquisite marriage
The bride was lovely
The groom on his horse
And rain that fell as a sign of good luck.
The guests all arrived in their festive array
And it went as smoothly as carefully planned.
But the wedding cake - Oh my Heavens the cake !
A cake with no rival in the annals of time.
A cake that was baked by a host of proud bakers.
It had so many layers and so many flavors,
But way too much icing in billowing excess
With overgrown meadows of fondant flowers.
There was extravagant scrollwork around the edges
And even surprises baked coyly inside.
But it took way too long to light the tall candle
That finally decorated the top tier.
It was served up in dozens of little small wedges
To the multitudes of the invited guests
Who never saw the whole cake as presented
But only the dainty slice that they were served.
The party went on far into the night
And everyone had a fantastical time.
It must be agreed, twas a world class reception
Except for that cake - that too fabulous cake
ljm

Will the fealty of the masses
who have blindy followed a
Judas Ram into the perdition
we now face be shifted slightly
off target by the clarion call
issuing from the Good Shepherd
in search of her lost lambs.
ljm

Circumsance newly provides us
With a lissom visage of hope -
A sturdy twig to hold onto when
The hurricane begins its howl.
     ljm

The fabric of society dangles by a feeble thread
That trembles with the the heavy weight of anger
And is stretched beyond what possibly
Can hold it all together

Weavers rush to reinforce the ever thinning yarn
But the sheep that usually supply the wool
Are scattered in the meadows of contention
And a worthy shepherd can’t be found.

How long can the tapestry, once honored and revered,
Remain in place upon the walls that form the room
Which shelters us from the visisitudes of living
In a world of hatred and divide.

It must not crumple to the floor, cut loose from
What sustained it through the centuries,
Leaving walls with gaping cracks that let inside
The freezing winds of vengence.

Will there be a place to hide and recreate a loom
In hopes of managing to learn to weave once more
And patch the rends in what was rescued from the floor
And seal the walls of hope again.
                                                         ljm

Every night their cherished homes
Are scattered like spilled toothpicks
Across a wounded land that
Shudders under angry skies.

Every morning raging water crashes in
And floats away the little things
That added pleasure to their living
And leaves behind just soggy sadness.

Every afternoon the smoke filled skies
Make breathing in a dangerous thing
And leave scorched nothingness behind
To proclaim the power of that inferno.

Every dawning brings new hope
Like Manna from the Bible shining on
The plans and dreams of those
Who aim to vanquish all the tragedies

And make a tiny corner of the world
A cleaner, better, safer place to be;
Kinder to the injured spirit and the broken soul -
A healing, hopeful ointment for a wounded planet.
ljm

With Highway One almost completely to myself
North of San Simeon
I find a pristine ocean on my left
Green covered hillsides on my right,
And a warm sun in a light blue sky above.
The stresses of the city and my topsy-turvy life
Begin to fall away as I relax and revel in it,
All alone here in my faithful Jetta.

My need to pack a bag or two for an exciting trip 
supercedes the urge to spend this hour writing
doggerel in hopes someone will think I am a poet

I’m taking more than I will need. I do it every time
And bring back brand new clothes still neatly folded
Having never left the suitcase or tried on at all.

My poetry is over packed more often than I’d like.
The need to make my feelings clear approaches
Supercedence over litereary form and rhyming.

and the chorus:

A pair of jeans and 4 tee-shsirts is really all I need.
I wondere why I bring so much - it puzzles me indeed.
I wonder also why I write long verses you must read.

I’ll try to cut the wardrobe down, take just one duffle bag.
I’ll try to use far fewer words to raise my poet’s flag
If this should work out either way, I’ll be the one to brag.
ljm

It is my most sincere and humble wish

That my absence for 3 weeks will not

generate a large Hue and Cry among

Those who cannot exist without my

Daily words of Wisdom and Sagacity

On this site that has become refuge

To so many of us wayward souls.
                                               LJM

Announcement:

Next Tuesday we will  begin a 19 day
driving trip.  It will start with a 5-day
Laurel and Hardy Convention in
Sacramento, CA and go next to my home
town of Longview, Washington, where
there will be a big annual Jubilee on the
4th of July.  It’s called “Go Fourth” and
it's famous over the Pacific Northwest.
I’ll visit my rogue brother who still lives
there, and later move on to my water
totem, Long Beach - the longest sand
beach in the world and blessedly un-
modernized and citified. From there
we drive to Seattle to get rained on
and visit my sister. Then the long drive
home enjoying everything there is to see
in Oregon, Idaho, Utah and Nevada. I
don’t have a laptop, or e-mail on my
phone so I’ll be out of touch and
relishing it.  But I will be back on 7/14.
I’ll miss you all. Don’t go away.
                                       LJM

An honest and fair election loss will surely cause the red-hatted people of the USA to foment violence on the non-red-hatted people and the institutions they serve and believe in.

A dishonest and unfair election win will foment the end of constitutional democracy as the non-red-hatted people know it.  The pitchfork and banner market will experience sudden growth.
   ljm

Hello Poetry is the loadstone of my daily life.
It draws me to the keyboard when my duties tell me no.
It satisfies my childish need for approval of my thoughts
Even though I recognize the ephemerality of that.
I’m happy with it just the way it is, thank you.
ljm

I moved into a home more spacious
   For it was far more efficacious
To the plan that I was hatching
    For the swain who needed catching.
I planned a fete extraordinary
   With decor far from ordinary
Music, food, debauchery
   And maybe even lechery
In hopes the beau I find delicious
   Grants me all my carnal wishes
              ljm

TractabilIty has led me to disbelieve most everything
I’ve ever learned and caused me then to set foot on
A road that will surely lead me nowhere.
I listened to the honeyed words and ate the candied lies.
I turned my back on what was genuine and real
And chased a paper moon across a tinfoil sky.
They told me they were helping me to find  out
Who I am and what I really should believe.
They said that they could fix the world
If I can only help them.
I heard a small bell ringing In a corner of my mind
But they assured me it was nothing real and
Only an illusion.  And I gave in and followed them.
They told me who to vote for and all the reasons why.
The tiny bell became a klaxon, but I tuned it out
And walked their walk and talked their talk
And marked my card the way they said
And dropped it in the ballot box.
Along with my IQ and common sense
And my opinion is intractable today.
ljm

I ever thought that I was traveling through this life alone.
That all the good and all the bad was of my own creating.
But there was someone traveling incognito with me. Someone guiding how I grew and who I loved. Someone promising a life that that radiates compasion.  It took a dozen dozen years to finally peel away the bland disguise... and Mr. Incognito stood before me in the form of Jesus, Son of God.
                                ljm

I don't want to spread any gossip, because I'm not that kind of person, but once someone on HP ghosted me, but I'll never ever tell anyone who it was, and you must never tell anybody that I told you that. Pinky-promise me.
                 ljm