You thought that I was talking *** -
Funny that never crossed my mind.
I was sorting scattered comments,
Trying to see the road ahead.

I thought you would be seeking money.
Previous scams have made me cautious
And sudden friendship rings a bell
That warns me to be careful.

I said perhaps I saw what’s coming
And that the answer would be no.
I didn’t expect your vitriol
And angry doorways slamming shut.

It’s probably all just as well.
We don’t speak the same language
And always will misunderstand,
So let us go our separate ways.
ljm

The glittering lights
Of the City below
Shimmer in the
Sunrise glow
As I perch on
My rocky throne
To admire them.
Neon snails slowly
Inch their way along
The distant highway.
Flocks of starlings
Spray themselves
Across the rosy sky
And I am content.
           LJM

I don’t think anyone will miss me
The one who should cry the most
Will feel relieved of burdensome love
That came from genetics and little else.

The other one will follow soon
Unable to survive the grief
And find a way to carry one
Without the recipes for life.

Who will remember New Years day
To send a Birthday greeting skyward
Or will it be overlooked again
Lost in last nights partying.

Who will touch the things I loved
And wonder who once owned them,
Purchased at a reduced rate
From One-800 merchants

Who will trim the weeds that grow
Across the stone I helped design.
The power mowers of Valhalla
Will caress me once a week.

My words will be stacked in a closet
Or perhaps into a bin.
No one will ever see or read them
Only God will know their lines.

My candle’s flame will flicker once
And with the sundown disappear.
ljm

The Tiara is back on the dresser.
My party shoes are on the floor.
The clock is well past midnight
And I’m the Birthday Girl no more.

My day was rendered as perfect
Everything went just as planned.
There were no major mix-ups -
A blessing from God’s divine hands.

The floats were created from magic
They were stunning in their appeal
The roses in so many colors made
It hard to believe they were real.

The bands each outdid the others
Their Tubas lined up in big rows.
The flag girls and pompoms were twirling;
Drum Majors were putting on shows.

The weather was cold in the morning
But warm in the late afternoon.
My tiara caught other’s attention
And that sent me over the moon.

We ended the day at the movies
To watch whatever was playing
“The Aquaman” was a debacle
That’s only if I’m kindly saying.

This birthday is etched in my mem’ry
A diamond among yearly pearls.
A treasure bestowed by a loved one
Who crowned me the luckiest girl.
                        ljm

Common people called him stingy
And with his funds he was.
But he was parsimonious
In areas that they never saw.

                Epitaph
True, he never spent a dime
If he could get it free.
He never wasted any time
That anyone could see.

He didn’t have much love to give
And wanted no love back
He had a certain way to live
Laid out in white and black.

He didn’t give and didn’t take.
He had no use for friends.
He died alone and that’s the way
This kind of story ends
                      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

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

She never ever let us meet him
Never told us his full name
We only learned it when she shared
the photo of a document in jest
Where he adopted our Grand dog
And became her official Dad.

She asked if we would dog-sit Bella
While they took a Vegas break.
I know they are going to get married
And we’ll be left here with the dog.

There will be no celebration-
He’ll wait in the car while she comes in
To drop off Bella and rush back out
Precluding any conversation
Or questions about the trip.

That scene will play it’s second act
When they come to get the dog.
Him in the car and her a rush.

I’ll check her hand - is there a ring -
Not sure she’d ever even wear one.
I’ll have to call her father for the news
If I want to know her status.

This is the way I live my life
Shut completely out of hers.
The lovely dog our only tie
I pray that Bella never dies.
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

No son-in-law and no grand children.
One more half-empty glass on my shelf.
One more sign that I failed as a mother.

No fancy house, no brand new car.
Not much in my bank account.
Another sign I failed as a mogul.

No accolades, no published works
A folio relatives said was dreary.
A very clear sign I failed as a poet.

All those years and all that sweat.
And everything came up a cropper.
At least I can say I excelled at failing.
ljm

Only 15 and branded a cheater,
How did she know what they told her to take -
She did what they told her and practiced her axels.
The ice was a carpet embedded with magic
And she rode it into the stratosphere;
Graceful, athletic, and lovely to look at
How could she know that a little round pill,
From the multitude that were her daily fare
Could puncture her dream as sure as a saber,
Sending her crashing to that icy carpet.

Only 15 to hoist such a burden
And wear it forever like sack cloth and ashes
Doomed by the powers that only love metal
And mining it on the back of a school girl
Pushing for her to spin ever higher,
And land on the legend-filled pages of glory.
They set her up to bring home the trophy,
But had to take steps to make sure she’d succeed.
In the end what they did was discovered
Which only succeeded in breaking her wings
But they sent her out wrapped in scandal and shame
And tore her to pieces when she couldn’t fly.
          ljm

Tippy toe, tippy toe. tippy, tippy toe, toe
I somehow never hear you come -
I almost never hear you go.

Like a puff of smoke
You drift through my life.
Almost impossible to be your wife.

I never know where in the house you are;
Upstairs, downstairs or at the corner bar;
Inside, outside or someplace very far.

You walk like a phantom,
Your feet don’t touch the floor.
You make not a sound when closing a door.

Trained from your childhood to not make a sound;
I need to put a bell on you to know you’re around.
ljm

My how the staid and tradition-bound
House of Windsor has changed
When an avowed harlot is to be crowned Queen Consort
To rule beside a ****** co-conspirator on the Royal Throne.
Princess Diana must be spinning in her grave.
Not to mention Princess Margaret.
                              ljm

I live in a wretched place
Where only hookers wear perfume
And nobody even seems to own
A proper pair of shoes.

Neither of two department stores
Bother to sell dresses,
And women get lots of their attire
From the nearby Goodwill store
Which sometimes sells remainders
Along with what’s been used.

Jeans are formal wedding clothes
And the minister is armed.
So is the bridegroom’s mother
And several of the ushers.
When the Bride lifts up her
Online-purchased wedding dress
The guests all hope they see
A lacy garter on her thigh,
And not a little derringer.

Guests drive to the wedding
in honkin’ ******* trucks
With mud up to the wheel caps.

Decorations on those trucks
Are often in the form of flags
Mounted by the tailgate hinge
On forty-eight inch metal poles.
Some of them have stars and stripes
Some recognize the Bride and Groom
But most of them are Rebel Yells
Or praises for a disgraced shyster.

Why on earth do I live here?
It all comes down to weather
Not the heat or scorching wind-
that’s just the price we have to pay.
It’s all the stars that hold me here.
I walk at dawn to see them shine
And bathe in Sunrise glory.

I spend the day beneath white clouds
That so resemble whipping cream
That’s been flung against the sky.
As evening comes I do a dance
Beneath the sunset’s flaming glow
When all those puffy clouds catch fire
And tumble down behind the moon
Then rising from the jagged mountains.

This may not be a perfect place
I’m sure those don’t exist
But this is where I’ll end my race:
The desert land I can’t resist.
          ljm

Gaia is totally ******* -
Her world mistreated for so long,
She has finally had about enough -
Vowing revenge for her mistreatment.
She has gathered every weapon
At her command and flung them at us
One by one:
Fire and Flood and moving mud;
Snow with icy coverings;
Wind that trashes homes and lives;
Ground that moves and breaks apart;
Rain that drowns the roadways;
The changing faces of disease
That replicates among us.
But we refuse to hear her cry
The bombs and bullets ever fly
And the clock is striking midnight.
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

I  had  to  delete  this  poem  because  the  algorithm  that controls posts won't  let  it  post  in  the  layout  I  designed  for  it.  I couldn't find  a  hack  to  get  around  it  puting  up  a  looong  string­ of  lines,  one directly  below  the  other.  The  way  it  appeared  was  o­ff-putting  and  I'm  not  surprised  no  one  read  it.   This  is  not  the  first  time  this  has  happened  to  a  shap­ed  write  
of  mine.  Yet  I see other  writes in all sorts of wonderful shapes.   What am  I  doing  wrong?

Four years is a  long, long time
To watch what we’ve long worked for
Erode bit by bit or in big chunks.
How will we survive the watching
While being headed off at every curve
By sycophants who stand in line
To get in on the unearned spoils
Of ravaging ecology, economy
The middle class and truth.

Fourteen hundred and sixty days:
What can we hide in basement corners
To keep it from being broken or soiled.
What can we bury in the back yard garden
To know it’ll still be there for us to use
When the ravaging is over and we can breathe
And try to reassemble democracy
From the leftovers and the cast-asides
That evilness bequeathed to us on leaving.
                 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

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

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

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

If the government can swear by fictitious statements

And then “walk them back” a little later

I’m going to join the fabrication party.

I hearby walk back my age by 20 years
And my weight by 20 pounds.
                   ljm

Like a newborn sparrow in a tall tree nest
You hunker down with your beak wide open
Chirping for a worm.
But you’ve broken my wings so many times
I can no longer fly
And I flop helplessly amongst the branches
Watching as we starve.
                   ljm

I grew up a small town girl
Picking blackberries for the neighbor’s pies,
Picking summer strawberries to buy my new school clothes.
We rode our bikes to the river beach
And watched the lumber ships sail by.
It rained a lot and drizzled more.
My memories paint cloudy skies at night
With a moon that came and went at will.

I grew and went away to college
On a scholarship I didn’t really earn,
Nudged forward by a teacher’s faith in me.
But , the rain was driven by the wind
And the sky was seldom very bright
And night fell like a woolen quilt.
My life was full of books and boys
And I seldom bothered to look up.

Then I heard Big City’s call
And answered with a trial move
That found the sun and rainless days
More intoxicating than the the college wine.
The small town girl dipped in a toe
And found the water to her liking.
I moved my life and attitude
To bright lights dimmed by mustard colored sunsets.

So much to see, so much to do
So many small town traits to shed.
So many city things to learn
So many wonders in the neon nights
I never missed the morning sky
Until I saw Yosemite at dawn
And realized I miss the stars,
And a tiny longing began to grow.

From that time on, I searched the sky
Hoping for a single star, but city lights
Drowned out that hope and if there was
A single dot it was a satelite or plane.

So I stopped gazing at the night time sky
And owned the loss of stars in
A bargain for other shiny things
And times that seemed to sparkle better.

Eventually the city lost its glow
The gold turned greena nd the streets turned mean.
I battled with a will of iron
But I lost ground with every year,
And finally an evil I could not avoid
Backed me to a corner and pulled out the rug,
Leaving me no choice but flee
To some new place, unknown and harsh

Where I face dragons of sand and fire
And emptyness of land and soul.
Alone in hollow, crowded places
With no hand to welcome me
I walked outdoor at 4 A.M.
To find some solace if I could
I looked around and then looked up
And in the sky and in my soul - I finally saw stars.

ljm

I set goals in my early childhood.
I was smart and pretty
And so I seemed unstoppable.

I wanted to be a singer
I have a songster’s soul
But I lacked an instrument.
I could carry a tune, alright,
But only in basket, not on
Angel’s lyric wings.

I wanted to be a movie star.
Drama coursed my veins like blood,
But every door I managed to open
Led only to a filthy casting couch.
And those with honorable intentions
Somehow never looked my way.

I wanted to be a game show winner
And I was lucky enough to be on three.
Won a car which I quickly sold
And parting gifts I still enjoy.
But quiz shows are a youthful  game
And skills diminish with the years.

I wanted to marry only once
And live happy ever after.
For 20 years I lived that dream
But time wore out the fantasy
And bad advice led me to ponder
And finally, sadly, walk away.

I wanted to be Mother of the Year.
I threw exciting Birthdays
Was chairman of the PTA
Never missed the least event
But when my Angel turned 14
She told me that I ruined her life
By telling her she was beautiful.

I wanted to greet the year two thousand
I counted up when I was ten to see
If I had a chance to live that long,
And it seemed that I could do it.
The computers did not crash and
I met a long time goal at midnight.

I wanted a 50-year Gold Watch
And a happy retirement dinner.
I labored faithfully towards that end
Even though the path became
A quagmire of racist hate and envy
And I was let go at year 48 with
No benefits of any kind.

I’ve given up on setting goals
There’s just one left I want to meet.
I want to live a century
And list one hundred as my age.
I think that I can pull this off -
I’ll stubbornly just refuse to die.
ljm

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

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

How different would my life have been
If I had kept to the road I traveled.
If I had found a way to step around
The brambles and the broken stones.

Had I toughed out the blistered feet
And kept my eyes focused forward
Instead of noticing another path
I somehow though a better destination.

Had I not ignored the pebbles in my way
I might not have stumbled over bigger rocks,
But I spent my energy on lime in little glasses
And had nothing left to save me from the rubble.

Had I not seen the other path that took off at right angles,
Had I not set a timid foot on it
And found it seemed much smoother
I would have lived a different life than the one I live today.

My shepherd encouraged his lamb to stray
And then never came to find her.
He launched her down a foreign path
And forgot to mention the washouts

Or the toll booth set at mile 14
That demanded almost more in courage
Than I could scrape together,
And I passed it broken and poor in spirit.

That’s when all the butterflies and blackbirds
Fled to other highways
Leaving mine a very silent path
With little joy to reach for.

If I had stayed the path that I first chose
So carefully and so long ago,
What different place would I be now
And would it be a better one?  Who knows.

ljm

19 stones in the satchel I carry.
Some are huge and lots are small.
I hoist them up each morn at dawn
And stumble through another day
Looking for a place to put them down.
ljm

I seem to be able to post writes on the first try these days.
How about the rest of you?
Things seem to have been reorganized to work better.
KUDUS TO YOU ELIOT.   THANK YOU.

Daubing paint as carefully as I know how.
An image begins to take shape
But it’s a chair, not a meadow
Filled with sunlight and daffodils.

Choosing colors carefully,
I mix pale blue and yellow
But instead of green it turns out gray,
And all I can paint with it is rocks.

I study all the Masters
And marvel at their work
My stomach knots in envy
At the skills I don’t possess

Wishing I could someday
Create something to compare
Wishing I could find the key
To unlock stunning visions.

Clean canvas and another brush
My mind can see the painting
As I work to find it in the paint
I’m mixing on my palette

I labor with unending zeal
Overpainting all my errors
Searching for the beauty in my strokes
Hoping I have broken through

To join the pantheon of Masters.
Standing back to take a look
At the fruit of all my labors
I see another painting of a chair.
ljm

An enclave of vast differentness
From almost everywhere.
A place where
The mainstream has diverted
And left a backwater
Of rebel flags on pickup trucks and
Department stores that
Don’t sell any ladies dresses.
A place where t-shirts loudly shout
“It’s my right to make you sick -
The Constitution says so.”
A place where thinking’s so alike
It could be called homogenized.
Where rumors suddenly become facts
And checking them anathema .
Where tennis shoes are worn to church
And cargo shorts to weddings.
A place bathed in self righteousness
With tolerance a myth.
A place that’s situated
On a small but mighty river
That ebbs and flows
From day to day at the whim
Of men in shirtsleeves
Who control the dam,
And leave their trucks parked just outside
With the flags still proudly flying.
                   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

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

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

It seems as though I live my life
Downstage right and closest to the footlights.
I need the warmth of those glowing bulbs
To thaw a sometimes frozen heart.

I’ve learned my lines and know the scenes
But the blocking still confuses me
And I’m not sure which way I turn
To delver my soliloquy.

I know this drama has four acts
But this is intermission
And I’m waiting for the lights to dim
And call the audience back inside
To watch until the final curtain.
     ljm

I am not The Last Spring Overture
My birth name was Spring, not Greig
And I am not the last of us
Although I soon may sadly be.
I gave my violin away
To someone who abused it
And died with it still in its case
And unavailable to me.
I loaned my autoharp to one
Who never gave it back to me.
My mandolin was somehow stolen
Off my wall during a party.
Years have brought me dolorosa
For the music I’ve not made
On instruments I never learned to play,
The voice that wouldn’t do my will.
My mind can play that Overture
And does it almost once a week
So maybe what I said was wrong
I am The Last Spring Overture
ljm

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

Why can’t you be who you were?
I can’t say I like who you are
Or who you are so fast becoming.

Why can’t you be like before
When everything you tried succeeded
And you always had the right answer?

Why can’t you go back to that person
With wisdom and courage and smarts
And be someone that I could love?
        ljm

Steel blue clouds are rumpled across
The morning sky, looking ever so much
Like an ocean ******* at low tide.
That’s not a color in my paintbox,
And I struggle hard to make a match,
Never quite succeeding.
The jagged mountains are a breeeze -
Black against the morning sky.
The desert landscape spread below
Defies the choosing of a tube or tubes
To mix the multitide of shades of gray.
It doesn’t matter anyway, I hear the thunder,
And see the flash that tells me
Rain will wet my canvas faster than
I Can pack it up and run for home
          ljm

I never managed to become
The one I always longed to be
I didn’t study hard enough
As anyone can see

I used the only tools I had
None of them came from home
I never had a backup plan
I had to go it all alone

I learned to work a pretty face
But though it gave me one step up
I found I gained no real rewards
I held a mostly empty cup.

Peggy Owner was the one
I wanted to become
I worked beside her long ago
And hoped to borrow some

Small portion of the grace and charm
That made her loved by all
Who met her in the student store
And fell beneath her thrall.

Short and plump, no beauty queen
But she had a warm heart.
The love she had for everyone
Is what set her apart.

I wanted so to be like her
And not like hapless me;
But I was chained to who I was
And never could break free.

So many years have come and gone
Since we worked side by side
Sometimes I stop and think of her
Those are the times I cried.

I think about a college girl
With dreams of hope and glory
And realize that I’m just me
And that’s my whole sad story.
ljm