My mother would have loved this house.
All she ever wanted was a fireplace -
And I have one that’s never held a fire.

She lived in what the rich would call a hovel.
It was clean but it was old and worn.
I have two stories and a chandelier.

She would have liked my upstairs guest room
And the elegant stairway leading there.
She would have reveled in the sun-filled aerie.

Would that I could give it all to her right now,
But she never lived to see this house,
To leave her essence in the air and walls.

She died without a fireplace of her own.
Because of that, I’ll never light the one included
In this house that far exceeds what I deserve.
                                ljm

I don’t know how to not be an actress.
I have no idea how to be real
What is it I really am any time feeling
And what is it that I truly want to do.
I need to tear down the theatre curtains
And stand without costumes on life’s stage

What can I use to take off the makeup
That turns me into who I am not
That covers up the scared little girl
Trying so hard to figure it out
Aching to know what the real villain is
And finding a way to subdue it.

Sensing the final act has begun
And my script is missing those pages,
I vainly search back stage for a prompter
Or someone who knows if I exit stage left
And what the script says is my final line
And if Curtain Call has now been cancelled.
                    ljm

Gaping, sponge-filled well of need
Proboscis longer than eternity
You’ve ****** the plumpness from my soul
And left a wrinkled, withered husk
Yet still you cry you’re thirsty.
                         ljm

THERE IS A SAYING:

THE INSTRUCTIONS FOR LIVING OUTSIDE THE BOX

ARE WRITTEN ON THE OUTSIDE OF THE BOX.

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

There’s a lot of rigamarole involved
In living in the world today.
The details always nettle me
And slow me on my way.

I do my daily nine-to-five.
It’s such a long commute.
I’m tired when I reach my desk;
That traffic is a brute.

My British colleague peached* on me
For sleeping while at work.
I knew he was a tattle tale
And now he is a ****.

Anfractuousness describes my boss
His mind’s a tangled maze.
My pleas don’t make an inroad
Which has left me in a daze.

I wrote an elegiac tome
And put it on his chair
But he has not forgiven me
He’s such a grumpy bear.

I hope that I still have a job
My friend gave me a tip
He said to kiss the bosses ***
And pray for no pink slip.
                 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

My hours are filled with business
To camouflage the gloom
That fills my mind with dizziness
At my oncoming doom.

There’s no way to turn the tide
I’d jumped off the dock.
I should have found a place to hide
Behind a nice safe rock.

In truth, I didn’t really jump
Someone came up behind
And gave my back a mighty thump
How could I have been so blind.

I always knew they hated me
And wished that I would die.
But I was where I had to be
To get my family by.

The water’s deep and I am cold.
I have no choice but to swim
I wish that I were not so old
But I will still show them.

I see the shore not far away
Much prettier than here.
It promises a brighter day
And living without fear.

I know that I can swim that far
And I’ll have the last laugh
When I excel in my new life
To spite that hateful staff.
ljm

What is “stuff” you ask?  What on earth does it mean?
It’s easy to know, but hard to explain.
It’s one of those words with a dozen “faces”
That can be used in so many different places.

When you pull out that one kitchen drawer
And it’s full of everything from a key ring to a flashlight,
To a package of gum, a pencil and a screwdriver,
That drawer is full of miscellaneous “stuff.”  

When you go to the store and then to the bank
Next to the florist and then to the barber and
Anywhere else you might have on your list,
You are out and about, and just doing “stuff”.

When your shoes are by the VCR and your shirt’s
Across the chair, while your jacket’s on the
Sofa, and your clothes are everywhere
Your mother or your room mate may have a word to say
Like “Would you gather up those things and put your “stuff” away.

“Stuff and nonsense” is an old time saying often
Interjected when a speaker runs amok
With nonsense on a foolish theme or topic.
Stuff in this case scolds the speaker
For deluging you with verbal *******.

When someone is showing off and doing it quite well
The skills he shows are called that word
That’s why they say he “struts his stuff.”
Someone with  lot of learning about a special thing
Is told by his admirers that he “really knows his stuff.”

This is the stuff of arguments, I think you might agree.
I hope you learned a little, because it all came for free.
ljm

All alone in an unhappy place
Where all the walls are mirrors
And ugliness is looking back
No matter which way I may turn.

There doesn’t seem to be a door-
Just only mirrored walls and ceiling.
The cold floor hurts my shoeless feet
As endlessly I pace in circles.

The crowd of people in the glass
Have followed me for many years
Behind the curtains - in the shade-
Never coming face to face.

But here they now encounter me
With looks of reprehension…
And all I have to offer them
Are bitter tears of sad regret
ljm

Be my courage
I’ll be your strength

Be my solace
I’ll be your haven

Be my inspiration
I’ll be your fruition

Be my love
I’ll be your forever.
ljm

Two headed monster who’s sole purpose
Is to **** the earth and all its people
For power and esteem unearned.

Trumpelon: two minds without a single thought
For the needs and wellness of any others.
Let the starving die and the injured wither.

Trumpelon: Promise delivered in inhumane ways.
Promises made and rationalized away
When they could not be delivered by fiat.

Trumpelon: The price of single issue thinking
Is handing over democracy
In vain hopes of cheaper groceries.

Trumpelon: have stacked the deck -
There is no way to stop them
If each of us does not stand up
To send them back to Hades.
ljm

Camilla owes her crown to Diana.
If Diana had been a traditional royal Spouse
She’d have turned a blind eye to Charles’s betrayal
And just enjoyed the perks of Queenhood.
But - alas - she loved that perfidious son-of-a-monarch
And couldn’t abide being only his *******.
Had not she stormed away from that Sovereign Throne
Madam Parker Bowles would have had to remain
The grasping and greedy, outstandingly common
***** that she was and will ever remain.
And Charles could have then joined in the very long line
Filled with unfaithful Kings and their cheated-on queens.
                 LJM

Am I to die with you still hating me
For something I never knew I did?
Has nothing I have done for you
In these last thirty-five heartbroken years
Earned me a tiny bit of your forgiveness?

I am old and sick and growing weak,
And life’s a struggle every day.
Your anger is a load almost too
Heavy for me to carry now,
But I can’t put it down because

My love for you has never wavered
And I nurture a small flame of hope
That some day you will realize
That I did the very best I could
With what I knew of parenting.

That I tried with all my heart to be
The television mom you longed for
And to master all the rules attached
That were impossible because
I couldn’t get past being who I am.

I so regret my imperfections
And the moments when I failed.
I’d give the last years of my life
To have a chance to try again
And maybe get it right this time.
          ljm

"Transporting a Dream" by Old Poet MK, brought back to mind an episode when I was in my 20’s, and working in an insurance office in San Diego with a night job as a waitress at a Beatnik Coffee House.  I was in love with a wandering folk singer who had left to perform at a club in Oklahoma City and I missed him terribly.
He called late one Friday night and said why not come there and drive back to California with him.  At first I told myself all the reasons it would be impossible. Then my heart told me I had to find a way to do it.  I called my supervisor and told a fib about my mom being sick and I had to fly to Washington State for a few days.
I emptied my piggy bank and the tip jar from my coffeehouse night job, but I didn't have enough for the ticket. I did have a series E savings bond tucked away, but nowhere to cash it in on a Friday night. This was long before we had computers and cell phones, so I had only my land line to help me.  
I called Greyhound and got their schedule and all the stops they made along the way to Oklahoma City.
As it happened they had a 20 minute rest stop in Mesa, Arizona at 10:15 AM. which was about as far as my gathered money would buy a ticket for. Good enough!  I grabbed some clothes and my E-Bond and raced to the bus depot. I gave them all my money, much of it in coins, and bought a ticket for Mesa. Soon the bus was loaded and I settled in as we rolled on through the night.  Too excited to sleep, I wrote several poems along the way.  When we got to Mesa for the rest stop the next morning I leaped off the bus and flew into a nearby bank (Talk about miracles - it was just across the street from the depot ) I pleaded with them to cash my Savings Bond so I could continue on. The handsome teller listened to my story and then called the bank manager over to hear it as well. That was the day I learned that very pretty girls can do things ordinary folk might never manage.  Without knowing me or really checking out my ID, the bank manager and handsome teller actually cashed my savings bond for me.
Had they not done that I would have been stranded alone and penniless in a strange city.  Only the confidence of youth and beauty could lead someone into a situation like that.
I raced back to the bus as it was loading again and bought my way on to Oklahoma City. I wrote more verse as I looked out the bus window on the way. Some of it very good.
There was tragedy though. I filled one little notebook with  poems and was well into a second one when it came time to change busses.  I somehow left the first notebook on the bus as I got off and didn’t realize it until well away on the second one. I was heartbroken. All I could do was write a sad poem about lost poetry - which I did.
When I arrived in Oklahoma City I was met with love, music and wonderful moments.
The drive back to LA. was exciting and romantic as we stopped to admire the scenery and take photos of each other.
What an exciting escapade that was. The folksinger was a lovely period in my life, filled with other adventures and Whippet dogs, but alas, not permanent. The relationship didn’t endure past two years, but the love of Folk music and Whippets did.

Twenty five years later a similar adventure on a bigger scale befell me, but that’s a story for another time.
LJM

I thought that I had cried enough
But I was sadly wrong.
Full thirty years was way too short
To cure the injuries I caused.

A tear can only heal so much.
It takes a torrent to begin
To wash away the kind of hurt
That flares up on a random day.

It takes the peaceful weeks between
To make the pain more sharply felt
When it comes back, tied to a word,
A song or photograph.

It takes an education
To learn how to make a smile
Across a face that’s etched in sorrow
And convince the world it’s real.

It takes a will to lift the load
And carry it another day,
When there is nothing but more days
And tears that need to fall ahead.

I thought that I had cried enough
But I was so mistaken.
There is no sign that says you’re done
And you are free to go now.
ljm

On a wall at the end of my street
Are cryptic letters that do not make a word
Painted in brilliant, angry colors,
They create a code I cannot read.

Appearing after a peaceful weekend,
Do they portend a maelstrom due
Or do they simply say “Hello’
To those who speak that other language.
           ljm

I have no use
For the military Boys
Prancing around
With their nuclear toys.

I have no use
For the heads of state
Ignoring the climate
‘Til it’s too late.

I have no use
For Supreme Court Judges
Bending the law
To their personal grudges.

I have no use
For the lovers of Trump
I have a nice lake
Into which they can jump.

I have no use
For the trolls I attract
Attack all you want
I’ve never yet cracked.
             ljm

Twenty little sheets of paper
Some with one name, some with many.
Each a plea to God through Jesus
To be granted freedom from a need.

To be made well, to be set free,
To find the sun in a day of darkness,
To feel comforted in the wake of loss
To reach out and find a helping hand.

One at a time the names come in,
Sometimes maybe two or three.
Often their story is attached
But most assume that God will know.

My avocation is to pray for them
Unworthy as I know I am.
Why should Jesus listen to me
When I beg for things for someone else.

Weak and small as I seem to be
I offer prayer to meet their needs
And hope that Heaven answers us
And lifts me up with all the rest.
ljm

Why is Omni suddenly unable to post???
He got this message:

Forbidden (403)
CSRF vrification failed.  Request aborted.

What is this all about and why did it happen?
Hey, Algorithm guys...how about an answer?
Lets get one of our primo contributors up and running again.

Tuesday morning at Four A.M.
Gramma Smith turns over in bed,
Awake too early once again.
Her replaced hip complains
And a cramp hides behind her knee
And must be stretched and sent away

Fifteen minutes of not finding comfort
Informs her that it’s time to get up.
Legs hanging over the edge of the bed,
She searches the darkness for strength,
Knowing the minute she stands upright
Her back will seize and shriek with pain.

It only lasts a little while
Then settles into a bearable ache
As she shambles to the Loo
Before she can embarrass herself
With leakage she cannot control
The way she could when young.

Dry and on her feet again
She finds the way to her desk,
Blinking in the sudden light
From two lamps that fight each other
To chase away the shadows
That would make it hard to see.

Picking up her favorite pen
She starts to write a verse.
It grows quickly as she settles in
The chair that knows her shape so well,
And ink flows at a satisfying pace
To catch the words that tumble out.

But what she writes is this:

     Where are all the butterflies
     And Humming Birds of my youth.
     Where are the lacy Sweet Peas
     And the taste of lemonade.

     Where has all the music gone
     And groups of words that soar.
     Where are all the Chickadees
     And fleecy clouds at dawn.

She lays her pen aside and sighs.
The glamour that was living, pales
And leaves a morose gray behind.
Her words are serviceable at best,
And all the new ideas are old.
So she gets up and limps away

To where the kitchen still respects her touch,
And french toast is a panacea for her soul.
She searches for the words that would not come
And sips hot cocoa in vain hope
That there will be a reason to go on
And so the gun stays safely in the drawer.
                         ljm

I need a new kind of pill to take
I’ve gained twenty pounds in the last seven months
And I have to stop all those ounces I’m gaining

I want to be an ungainly person
No matter what Merriam Webster says
And no matter how gracefully I move
And how elegantly swan-like I appear

I  desperately need to ungain every pound,
So again I ask:  “Is there a pill?“
                                                          ­ljm

Her translucent gown
was spectacular
but her motive
in wearing it
was also translucent
to the nearby women
who watched the men
falling all over themselves
to get next to her.
The women saw right through
translucence.
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

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

Mystic lake, nestled in the kind of scenery
Landscape painters drive many miles to find.
Water. so clear you can see
Almost to creation and the rocks
A hundred feet below.
Cold but never frozen,
It’s water is the color of a Summer sky
Because it is so pure.

Recreation Paradise straddling two states-
Boating, hiking, swimming…
And on one side there’s gambling
Where you can exercise your fortune
With the spinning of a set of wheels
Or the rolling of the dice.
Such popularity has brought
A shadow to the pristine shoreline.

Development and overuse
Are sullying the waters
Once a vivid cerulean,
But now a dimmer version of the color
With a mistiness as depths increase.
Is it too late to stop the damage
Can people yet be made to care
And turn around the gradual fading
Of one if God’s most premier jewels
ljm

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

Cobras of the desert
Copperheads and Rattle Snakes
Never seen in coiled up form.
Multi-jointed, multi-colored,
Listen to their clickety
Clack clack rattle
As they slither quickly
Across the scorching desert
In segments one mile long.

Their tracks are almost hidden
Beneath the scrubby sagebrush
Baking in the sun beside Route 66
And arcing off across the sand
In every which direction.

They scar the empty wasteland
In a spider web design
That goes on until forever,
And meets itself at
Precise angles
In the burning emptiness.

Serpents of the God of Commerce,
Following the tracks of others.
Kaleidoscope of moving patterns,
Always changing, still the same.

Cobras of the desert
Never rearing up to strike,
Fleeing as if somehow startled ,
Never turning back, they fly
Off to unknown times and places
Leaving flaming desert sands behind.
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

Desolate is my middle name
And desolation my address;
Stranded in an empty-minded
Sea of pistol packin’ citizens
There’s no where left for me to turn.

The cooling breeze is chicken-fried
By over-heated rhetoric
And multi-colored stumbling blocks
Become the favored pastime
Of the masses who find comfort here.

I have no transport close at hand
And where I want to go is gone.
I’m all alone in emptiness
And no one hears my cries for help
In finding some way to survive.
                 ljm

The constipated words are painfully
Backed up against the need to shout
And hurl invectives to the wind

Drenched in acid that can eat away
The evilness that found a helpful hand
To wrap it as a Christmas gift

And give it to me like some prize
I labored thirty years to win
And finally achieved my goal

Like working at an unplugged keyboard
I pound the keys and nothing types
Across the pages of my anger

The smoking verbs lack oxygen
And smolder while I long for flames
That roar and burn away the hatred

The ink that boils inside my pen
Has melted off the writing nib
And trapped itself in uselessness

The need to rage has reached the point
Of absolute paralysis and I
Am turned into a frozen sculpture

I need to scream and shriek and cry
And kick down walls to watch them crumble
I need to pull the cosmos down a round me

But my hand is numb with loss and grief
My mind a clouded cauldron of pain
My heart's in pieces scattered on the floor

There is no analgesic for my wounds
The only hope is ink on paper
And the inkwell has been poisoned.
                              ljm

Word challenge using the words Rattletrap
                     fleabag, tatterdemalion, jalopy, squalid,
                     dilapidated, down at the heel. Vintage words
        
It was kind of dilapidated
But it still ran fine
It wasn’t a total rattletrap
No matter what people said.

I would like to have a new car
But I’m down at the heels right now
having lost my job last month.
I live in an aged fleabag flat
In a squalid neighborhood
Until I get back on my feet.

Everyone calls me a tatterdemalion
But I pay my own way.
And when my old jalopy died
A piece of me died too.

I  loved that little ‘0-two Jetta;
I’d get in and it would  go
The best art of it all was this-
It always brought me home again.

I couldn’t face the breaker’s yard
And see her all torn down for parts.
I donated her to charity
To help pay for someone’s brand new heart.
ljm

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

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

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

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

Oh my. I made a booboo.  I said in my interview that I had played Bardo's word game in the past.  Well it was actually BLT's word game, and I hadn't played it recently so I had a senior moment and credited it to Bardo, another HP friend, who hastened to tell me of my error.
I apologize to BLT and hope he'll forgive me, both for denying him his credit due and also for not keeping on playing the word game.
If you've never joined the fun, google Merriam Webster's word of the day and use it in a write.  If you do, let BLT know, as  he keeps a log.
If you need an example, look at things written by Anais Vionet.  She is a master at it. Again....apologies to my dear friend BLT.

I looked up “demagogue” in my Websters
And there a previous President was
In a smiling photo with fists in the air
Worried the wind would mess up his hair.
I didn’t bother to study the words -
The picture was worth several thousand.
ljm

My British husband and I were visiting his folks in London on 9/11/01.  It was afternoon and we were in St Pancras tube station when I caught the tail end of a news crawl moving across the wall. I said “ mmm…looks like there’s been a plane crash somewhere", and we went on about our shopping excursion.

After choosing a model car in a toy shop a little later, we went to pay and the young clerk I spoke to said “Did you hear about the planes that hit the skyscrapers and made them fall down?”  That didn’t make any sense, and I wasn't sure I understood his East End accent so I just said, “No we didn’t - guess we should check the news” and we walked out.  As we went out, I said, “I guess another little plane hit the Empire state Building, but it certainly wouldn’t fall down.”  

However, on the tube on the way home, we overheard bits of conversation that frightened us, so we rushed in and turned on the TV, where they replayed every terrible scene over and over for the rest of the day.

We were glued to the Telly for the next 3 days for round-the-clock coverage.

When we finally ventured out and anyone heard my American accent, I was immediately hugged and told how sorry they were to see this happen.  This continued for the following three weeks of our stay.  Never anything but sympathy and kindness towards me and America. I’ll never forget it.

I wonder if we were so caring when Irish terrorists previously bombed Harrods.  I somehow doubt it.  The other thing I will never forget is the burning hatred that welled up in me for Sadam Hussein who was named at the time as being responsible. I had never before or since felt such virulent loathing for any one or anything.  When those thoughts threaten to resurface today, I shush them away by recalling the overwhelming kindness of the ordinary English folk towards me.  I will never forget that.

I saw Ground Zero shortly afterwards, and the hatred resurfaced, as  it does in some measure on every September 11. On those times I again turn to my memories of British kindness.
                                                                              ljm

Gloom as thick as Karo syrup drips from a sunless morning.
Despairing winds blow hopeless dust in swirls
That stick to it and function as a dimmer.

The sound of heartbreak echos in the empty air,
As other lives roll by on leaden tires and disappear
Into the darkness of my outer limits,
Making shadows that would glisten if there was a sun.

Someone took a potshot at the sky and it went out,
And shows no sign of ever coming back.

Music is what’s called for - only that can lift a mood-
But it lies shattered on the parquet floor;
It’s only sounds a whimper and a moan.

Comfort food calls 911 to order Mac ’N Cheese
While the stash of year-old beer is suddenly appealing.

The only way to save this day is **** it
And pray for resurrection on the  morrow
When wings of hope will fly
And bring the tiny olive branches
Of a new beginning.
                  ljm

11/20/24
ACTRESS

My life is a show
that I’m putting on
for
the audience of all those around me.
I strut and preen
and
I prance on life’s stage,
but
the script that I learned’s
not the show that I’m In
and
I’m always stage left
when I should be stage right.

I drop all my cues,
Can’t
remember my lines,
and
almost tripped over the footlights.

What
am I doing on this giant
stage.
Do the words I say
Have any meaning.
Do my
dance steps convey any feelings
to the
audience
made up of those who know better
and oblige me this turn in the
spotlight
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

I am a mother without a child
Who comes to me for comfort.
I am a mother with a child
Who walked away from loving care
And chose to be a distant friend
Instead of a loving daughter

I am a mother with only one
Who really wanted to have two,
And wouldn’t have been sad at three.
But never won the right to choose
And had to make the best of what
Was offered as my portion.

Fifty years have come and gone
Plus two more for good measure.
The gap has narrowed not a whit
And my path still skirts the chasm.
I reach with practiced carefulness
To read the card that is my lot
As a mother with no daughter.
ljm

Harlan never ever died.  
His words still burn like ******,
Scalding minds that revel in their rut.

He saw behind the curtain long before
The Tin Man or the scarecrow did
And he shouted out the travesties
That everyone refused to see.

His acid pen made pages boil
And much of it splashed over him
Creating scars that in my gentle fingers
I could never heal.

He created mountains where none were
And scaled them to the accolades
He made it known that he deserved.

I rode the wind with him for just a while
Though he offered me forever
It seemed too shiny for my eyes
And I blinked and turned aside
To stand and watch his comet soar.

He one day met a flameproof soul
And lept into the multiverse
With sound and fury as his steed
And her his tether to civility.

I  loved to share his meteor
As it began it’s wild ascent
I thrilled to watch it blaze the years
And see him tear the strictures down.
And even as his comet died
It took a bit of me along
To the place World-beaters go
When it is time to take a rest.
                               LJM

Gazing deep into the well
Where hope was thrown
With abandon so unthinking,
I see no small reflection
That could tell me if
The sun will shine again.

I see the place where parity
Was smashed against the wall
And opportunity ran down the shaft
And disappeared in darkness.

I have a penny that I brought
But I never got to toss it.
All the wishes it embraced
Are left there in my pocket.
          ljm.