Small pages, rimmed with foreign sounding orders
Splash on ink to make them monumental.
Block the wind that wafts them into yesterday
Where all the pills can’t heal a ****
That will not hold the stitches.

Little notebooks filled with sentences
Dug at great pain from a bruised and bloodied brain
Determined to lock away any sheen and glitter
On the every day and Sunday-Go-To-Meetin’ words
That put emotion on a platter instead of in a locked vault.
ljm

Where have all the clowns gone
And the jugglers too.
I only walked down to the river
To sail a little paper boat
And when I returned
The picnic had been changed.

There were different people there
And no one knew my name
Or who told all the clowns to leave.
I found my brother and a friend
But they were both too sad to talk
Or tell me why the flowers died
And who ate all the chicken.

Too early for the fireworks show
There would be no sack races.
We waited for a three leg’d race
And learned the term was incorrect
And marked us as not truly woke.

The carousel began to move
And we lined up to take a ride
But it began to spin so fast
That no one could get on it.
The horses were all painted black
And lacking any sparkles.

Without the clowns and jugglers
The picnic was a total bust
And I felt it was time to go
But when I headed for the gate
It wasn’t where it used to be
And no one knew its whereabouts
So I’ve been wandering ever since
With no way to go home.
             ljm

There are no lilacs blooming in my soul
The last of them was stolen by that wily thief
Called practicality.

The Sweet Peas of my youthful years are gone.
Their perfume scented all my early efforts, but are
Fading in the glaring sun of duty.

How I loved the midnight-petaled pansies of creation.
They lined the paths in many magic gardens, but were
Crushed beneath the millstone of responsibility.

All the Humming Birds and Meadow Larks have flown,
Leaving me with only the cacophony of crows
When In my heart I long to hear the Mocking Bird.

The clouds no longer speak to me.
The breeze flies by with no kind whisper
And shreds the lacy curtains of my life

Leaving me with only dreams of Hollyhocks and Foxgloves,
Straining for the sight of Red-winged Blackbirds,
Longing for the melody that I can’t sing.

I can’t forget the smell of Summer Lilacs.
There must be a place where they still grow
And I will never stop until I find them.
     ljm

I enjoy all kinds of music
Though Country suits me best
I like to dance the Two-step
To the rhythms of the West

I  do enjoy Top 40
I play Long Hair in the car.
But when my heart is breakin’
I want to hear a steel guitar.

Jazz is not my thing at all
Least favorite by far
There is no sound in music
Better than a steel guitar

I went and learned to Disco
Though the two-step’s more my style
And I can handle RB sounds
If it’s only for a while

When I’m happy, I like boogie
When it’s played loud in a bar
But if my heart is achin’
Nothing beats a steel guitar

When everything’s considered
I like all the songs there are
But when my soul gets weary
I need to hear a steel guitar.
                            ls/ljm

You’ve been married for 35 years
You’re unhappy, as any one can see
You’ve been married for 35 years
You’re 82 - there is no plan B.’
         ljm

How many mountains must I climb
To catch a glimpse of sunrise.
How many boulders must I move
To clear a path to my doorway.
And how many rivers must I ford
To leave this gloom behind me.
ljm

Clutching my sanity ever so tightly,
My fingers cramp at the effort.
I don’t know how long I can hold on.
The life in that other world
Creeps up behind and grabs me.
I’m gone before I can say no.
What happens if I lose my way back
To this reality’s landscape.
Fighting to stay in the here and the now
I feel that I’m losing the battle.
My legs ache from running
And my arms hurt with swinging
But I mustn’t accept their kind invitation
To take up residence in that misty place
And finish my life with those other people.
I mustn’t let go - I’ve got to hang on.
If only I had a guardian angel.
ljm

Like a mouse in a maze that has no openings
I scurry around this way and that.
Only bumping into walls and dead ends.
I run til I’m completely exhausted
But I never come across an exit
And just to make it so much worse
I also never find a crumb of cheese.
            ljm

The  purple ripples in the air
Advise you that there’s anger there
Anger that is not contained
By someone who was anger trained.

Listen to the things he shouts
He’s mad as hell without a doubt.
Here he comes towards your door
What is he so ******* for.

You didn’t barge into his lane -
To cut him off would be insane.
You only gently honked your horn
And now you get his shouting scorn.

He bangs the window of your car
And you now know he’ll go too far.
It’s clear he is a total ***
So stomp your foot down on the gas.

Leave him in a cloud of smoke
And give yourself the final joke.
Leave him shouting in the street
And tell yourself “Revenge is sweet”
ljm

The light at the end of the tunnel was a firefly
Bright and so exciting, and just as quickly gone
                          ljm

In a world with far too many people
With way too many things to do
In so many places that are
Just too hard for them to get to,
We can only wait.

The traffic lights are slow to turn
And the phone is never answered.
The vending machine does not give change
And Fed-Ex never stops out front
Even though we wait.

In a world where real is mostly fake
And Fake becomes a brand name,
We spend the funds we do not have
On things we’ll never ever use,
Not even if we wait.

The processes that make things go
Are grinding to a halt.
The future mimics yesterday
And we can’t see tomorrow.
So we can only wait.
   ljm

A week away from the TV set
Is the normal world still there?
Or has the madman burned it down
On his latest crazy tear.

We miss the roundup on the news
It’s different every night.
The elephant’s still cry witch hunt
While the donkeys do what’s right.

He’s angered every friend we have.
He doesn’t know a thing.
He never gives a single thought
To what his antics bring.

He kow-tows to our enemies,
He’d like to be like them
And rule with no one saying ‘stop’
To his next crazy whim.

He’s going to light a world wide fire
The middle class in flames
The wealthy standing by to watch
Like they were seeing games.

Hated by the civil world
He couldn’t give a toss
He wants a place in history
No matter what the cost.

He is already number one
In White House Loser’s polls.
He hopes to guarantee his place
With armies of red trolls.

If we don’t  show him the door
He’ll do what he does best
He’ll lead this country into war
And we’ll die with the rest.
                         ljm

I love you.
I really do.
Honestly and cross my heart.
You’re my sweetie sugar Baby.
And I’m thrilled to be with you.
I don’t care about your money,
I’m just glad you have a lot.
It means we can do special things
And eat in fancy places
And you will know much I love you.
It means that we can travel
To exotic destinations
And I can show you how
I never notice other young men,
And how faithful I will always be.

I love you so much, Pookie Pie,
I really, really, truly do.
You mean everything to me
I don’t care about your mansion
It’s just a place to hang the
Couture clothing that you’ll buy me.
I won’t even see the maid
And the Gorgeous Spanish pool boy.
My eyes will only be on you
Especially as you buy the jewels
I didn’t have to ask for.
I hear the rumors and the whispers
About why we are together;
But I say poo-poo to them
You’re my sugar boo-boo-baby.
As long as you are happy spending,
You will know that I love you.
               ljm

Reading ten incisive and astute poems in a row
I look around to see if I can join in that parade.
I wear my 20-20 glasses in order to observe
The indelible accomplishments around me;
But all I see is Major Quincy Bilbo Hum
Always followed close behind by
Gunny Sargent Aloysius Drum.
The recruitment center seems to be shut down
So I’ll just write a letter to my mom instead.
    ljm

They did it
A bunch of shriveled up old men
With shrunken *****
And withered hearts
Have proved to America
That it’s more important

To populate the world
With unwanted, unloved
Uncared for children
Who will be a burden
To society and the
Criminal justice system,

That their law is more important
Than to give a second chance
To a teenaged girl who
succumbed to the urging
Of her boyfriend for
fear of losing him.

That their law is more important
Than to give a mother
Of four, who’s IUD failed
A chance to raise those four
Without the need of welfare
And free school lunches.

That their law is more important
Than to give some solace
To the girl knocked up by her father
Or the woman brutally *****
As she walked home from church.

This ruling marks you all as thugs
Pompous, righteous hypocrites
Who all suppose that you can
Force your will on women by a law
That violates each tenet of the right
Of women to pursue happiness.
ljm

If you know no one will read it anyway,
It doesn’t matter what you write.
You can be too honest to fool yourself
Or any of those who know the answers.

You can shout epithets at the heart of the cosmos
And whisper sad fables to the marigolds.
You can spread thin slices of your wounded soul
On buttered bread with the crusts cut off.

You can climb up a rock to see where you’ve been
And spray paint graffiti on the walls of existence.
You can carve up life’s meaning like an over done turkey
And hang velvet flocked wallpaper over it all.

If no one will look at the words you have written
You’re free to sing lullabies in quiet places
Or ***** up vitriol that scours the surface
Of the mirror reflecting the world that should be.

You can tap-dance across the bloodied shards
Of what was crystalline and you.
You can pull a plug and watch the swirl
As synonyms for hope pour out onto the ground.

You can fold the page into itself again
And yet again, and it will never disappear.
The ink may fade, but still remain enough
To make it possible to never deign to read the lines.

Was ever there a freedom such as this.

                                   ljm

My words keep bumping into yours
And having to stop to wipe a tear.
My thoughts tiptoe sadly over
Moments shared in brief exchange.

Fellow traveler on a highway
Crowded with ideas and dreams
We touched hands briefly now and then
And warmth became the bow that tied us.

Every path has many turnings,
Some of them with no way back.
But still the memory of touching
Warms the heart that’s left behind.

Travel on to other vistas
You’ve left behind a monument
That will shine as long as eyes
Enjoy the worlds that you created.
ljm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pompous men with secret aims
Gather in the shadows
Hoping to create some sort
Of Panacea for the masses.

One that won’t serve to curtail
Their journey on the gravy train
That stops in oh-so-many-places
To take on endless loads of moolah

All too often soaked in blood
From someone else’s children.
Trying hard to find a salve
For wounds that never heal.

Hoping to placate the mass
That thunders at the door
For just a hint of common sense
And a tiny touch of honor.

The recipe is hard to find
There’s always re-election
Pointing up the need
That overshadows all concerns.

So generate some platitudes
Write rules to be ignored.
Write laws that will not be enforced
Then pat each other on the back
And head back to the shadows.
              ljm

My insinuation was the
Fabrication of an
Erroneous derivation
Lacking any Perspicacion
                 ljm

The tide goes out, and comes a little further in.
The tiny waves don’t make it past
The pebbles in the sand.
They just sink in and disappear.

The rubber ball mistakenly
Tossed out into the churning sea
Recedes and then it reappears
Always just a little out of reach.

Teasingly it comes and goes.
Soon it becomes invisible
Amidst the foaming of the brine.
And likely is forever gone

Unless it manages to journey
To that far and distant shore
Where little hands will gladly grasp it
And the end turns into a beginning.
             ljm

It’s all being taken, bit by bit
And the part that should be railing
Declines and finds it hard to care.

First the beauty slipped away
Followed by the figure.
Memory then tagged along
Searching for the smartness.

On the stroke of one midnight
It all turned even grimmer.
I 'd slept through the afternoon
While I became a lesser person.

Helicoptered New Year’s Eve
Began a never ending list
Of things diminished - or all gone
Discovered in the passing days.

Time drags on and so do I
Uncovering new losses
Of things I never will get back
And striving not to miss them.

My goal is further down the road
They say it is too distant
But battered though my life may be
I still intend to make it.
ljm

Ba-doom,  Ba-doom,  Ba-doom-doom-doom

In my weary soul I hear the drums
That mark the cadence of expiring.
The beat is irresistible
And though my feet are torn and bloodied
I can not but take another steep.

Ba-doom,  Ba-doom,  Ba-doom-doom-doom

The road has been a rocky path
With danger just around the bends
And bandits in the roadside trees
Notching arrows to their bows.

Ba-doom,  Ba-doom,  Ba-doom-doom-doom

Another day, another hour.
How many minutes are left to me.
How many more steps must I take
Before the drum turn into violins
And I am free to join the Minuet.

Ba-doom,  Ba-doom,  Ba-doom-doom-doom
ljm

I’m a balloon with too much air
     Someone didn’t know when to quit
           The huffing and puffing wouldn’t stop
                     And I’m stretched past the breaking point
                               My wit’s been dulled so I don’t fear
                                      That I’ll pop myself with a sharp retort
                               I’m staying on the cobbled path
                        Avoiding the roses in the garden
                 And the cactus in the field next door.
             If I had a clue where I was bound
   I’d have a chance to make it there
    But one sharp look will do me in

And the blast will level Burbank.
         ljm

Dark caverns loom in the distance
Shrouded in mist and underbrush
Birds with black feathers circle above them
Only dimly visible from here

Footprints on a fading path
Seem to wander with uncertainty
From one side to the other
And are very hard to follow.

The wind which should be cooling and refreshing
Blows sporadically with unexpected heat
And black clouds overhead portend of rain
Though no drops ever seem to fall.

Somehow there is music in the air;
Reedy notes that never form a melody
But echo nonstop in an indecisive mind
That finds itself without a goal or purpose.
            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.

DESERT RAIN

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

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

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

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

ljm

Being mocked by empty tablet paper
Whose blue lines lead relentlessly to nowhere,
I wonder where the hollyhocks are blooming
And why there are none blooming in my mind.

Surrounded by the raucous crows of failure
I long to hear the song of nightingales.
Instead I’m treated to the sound of weeping
And the ripping of the veil of prosody.
               ljm

I’m slowly being driven to drink
In a shiny brand new Uber car
That I can’t afford to pay for.
The driver wants to sing Karaoke
And ask me trivia questions for cash.
Is this my lucky day or what.
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

I have a quiet lake of answers
For your raging storm of questions.

I have a placid summer meadow
For your hectic pace of living.

I have a waterfall of caring
For the times you feel unloved.

I have a purple sunset
When your world is without beauty.

I am a fresh baked cookie
When your soul is starved for love.
                      ljm

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

From my 20’s through my 40’s I was the very definition of svelte. Willow thin but shapely, smartly dressed at all times in what would be the next new trend coming down the fashion pipeline. I mingled with people who dabbled in fame and some of it rubbed off on me. In those days I moved in exciting circles. It was painful to watch the years take it away, one increment at a time.  The waistline expanded, new styles appeared ugly, and star studded lovers moved on. I did what I could to hold onto the shine, but I found other mountains to climb.  I conquered new vistas and gathered some trophies, while minutes and years slipped away. So subtly I didn’t pay much attention, I became an old lady who hates having to dress for her age. And refuses.

I still have the photos that prove I was lovely, but no one is asking to see them. I still have the outfits that no longer fit me; they hang in the closet to taunt me.
I’ve learned to make peace with the milieu I live in.  I’m still the svelte damsel inside. I dress in bright colors and billowing fabrics and leave the self judgement behind.
ljm

Once upon a time  in a far away land
Of silken air and fragrant flowers
There lived a spirit bird with golden wings.
The song it sang was dragonflies
And dew drops on white lilies.

It flew in swooping arcs of joy
And floated on the crystal waters
Dreaming dreams of fleecy purple clouds
And meadows filled with poppies
Blooming in the morning sun.

In this land the air was still
And crisp as a fresh picked apple.
No wayward breeze disturbed the calm
Or rustled through the lacy trees
To blur the whispers of serenity.

The bird felt subtle longings for
Another time, another place
It knew it did not want to go.
A place of harsh realty
And ugly opportunities

Where nothing worked the way it should
And people failed on every hand
For only trying to exist.
There was no music, only growls
And the air was thick with worry.

Fighting back the urge to go
And try to somehow make things better
The mystic bird with gilded wings
Found it could no longer fly
And so the choice had been made for it

To stay among the music and the flowers,
In the golden summer light of yesterday.
             ljm

WHAT INDEED

What could make me leave you?
Not any of the things man
Can put his hands upon
And offer me on velvet pillows.
Not golden promises, silver daydreams,
Midnight colored fear or threat
No shining bauble visible through time shall
Lure me from your side

What could make me leave you?
Not any deed to which your hand may turn
Or dagger word that at me may be hurled
By those who look through clouded windows.
Not lack of bread or silky comfort
Nor the stale perfume of age or illness.
No dark moment in the hour that is life shall
Drive me from your side.

What could ever make me leave you?
Only knowing I am not a help to you.
Only realizing that I keep you from attaining
That which guarantees the destiny
Now shining in your eyes.
Only if I felt my weight too much
For you to carry on your way
Then would I, so sadly, leave you.
                 Ls

Alone together
in another
    place,
       it doesn’t feel
like
   Christmas.
The tree
is
              differently shaped
and
       somehow foreign
looking.
The garland hangs
  on
      the usual things
     but now
               doesn’t seem
     as green.
The carols
     sound familiar
     but
           the voices
                      have been
                           changed.
I think
           the calendar
                       is wrong
               and I am
                  where
                I don’t belong.
     ljm

Longer than she loved me has she only tolerated
What she cannot change - her birth -
Though loudly she proclaims that isn't true.

Longer than her childhood are the years
That flowed between the bad one and our now,
When mended teacups still won't hold the tea,

No matter that I add more glue and paint
And fill it carefully with nothing very hot
And place it always on a saucer.

Still it leaks and threatens to give way
Scalding both of us again
With selfish pain and angry, spiteful hurt.

More days than she was mine have passed
As I became bystander on the curb
To only watch and never join her on parade.

More weeks than I was happy am I sad-
I dropped the cup-she stepped on it
And now the ragged pieces don't quite fit.

It makes no difference how I tried
Or what I paid in pain and guilt,
I cannot make the teacup whole.

So I give her the newest one
And take the mended one for me.
I never really cared for tea and we're all out of cocoa.
ljm

I’ve been a lot of places
And gazed into their heavens
But nothing tops the fluffy white
Clouds that float above Nevada.

Voluptuous whip cream tumbles,
Drifts that could be brand new snow,
Arrayed across a sky so blue
It can’t believe itself is real.

No yellow tinge or smokey blur
Those clouds explode beneath the sun
And often times play hide-and-seek
When it becomes the afternoon

They almost never carry rain
Even when  their base turns dark
They tease the desert sands that way
Then on a whim they wend away.
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

Shimmering with dew, it stands there
One perfect moment in time.
Has it been, or is it yet to be?
                    (lsj)

Diana is spinning in her grave
To see Camilla crowned as Queen.
The living proof that if you ****
Yourself in the highest places
There is a chance you’ll wear a crown.

And if you put on Goodie’s 2 Shoes
You still cannot disguise the dirt
You wallowed in to win the prize
That rightfully belonged to Di.
ljm

Holding on so tightly to the final shreds of me
    I need to run and howl the forests down.
        I need to pound into submission
            Everything that jumps to bite me.
               I need to find a breath not gasping,
                  Hand on heart that isn’t racing,
                       Stomach free from panic acids.

Calamity stacked on disaster
   Perched atop catastrophe;
      Mishaps nestled in misfortune-
         Contretemps my middle name.

Fourteen traumas in a listing -
   Some stretch over several years.
     Stress points top the nation’s debt.
       Hated where I should be loved-
          Pushed harder when I should be resting;
             Attacked when I should be applauded-
                 Do I live in the Twilight Zone?

With the end of weeping, silence-
   Save the endless humming in my ears.
      Eyelids sore, too red and swollen
         Let the door and phone bells ring
            I have no things with which to answer.

How can fate keep spawning badness
   Coming up with innovative forms
      To slither out and trip me as I stagger by
         Trying to create tomorrow from the wreckage of today.
ljm

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

ljm

Of all the places in the World
How did I end up here?
Which wave did I surf
With an undertow
That swept me so far
From my roots.

What Zephyr wind did
My kite do a dance with,
That carried it away
From an angry ocean
To set it back down
By a placid one.

What earthquake toppled
The home made shelves
That held all the beads
Of my prospects,
Forcing me to sort them
All back out again.

Why did the forces
Of nature quit
Their never ending storm
And put me down
Midst rocks and sand
To leave me here forever.
           ljm

She wondered if there’d come a time
God wouldn’t call her any more.
A time he’d say “I’m done with her
She won’t give up her sinful ways”.

She puts on holiness like rouge
And thinks good works will pay her way
But in her heart duplicity
Obscures the path she needs to walk.

She reaches out with ***** hands
To touch the spotless hem of faith
In hoping for a miracle -
That God still recognizes her.

But God has turned his face away
He’s knocked her door too many times
To find it opened just an inch