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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Due to a dentist that I’d like to ****
And years that have put me over the hill
I’m left with a face in a permanent scowl
That says if you cross me prepare for a growl.

It’s all just a part of my very sad story
My expression’s not meant to be minatory
But that is the way the bones and flesh meet
So give me a smile when we pass on the street.

I try to remember to put on a smile.
I have several good ones that I keep on file
So trust me - I’m happy, although I look mad
If you get to know me, I’m really not bad.
ljm

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

For kicks I typed into Google my name followed by the word Poetry.
I was taken to a list of several sites showing my name, but the one that got my attention was  "Lori Jones McCaffery: Poetry."  I clicked on that and bam ! there was my whole chronological listing of titles, exactly like you'd find it here.  Anyone can access every poem by clicking on the title. Who put that list on Google?  Is everyone's list on Google too? I didn't give permission to anyone and I'm a bit upset.  It's kind of fun to have all my stuff available to anyone interested but I would have liked to have been asked first because I have been plagiarized before and had to fight for my writing.

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

A pure white dinner taper candle
Sits in a rusty old tin soup can.
It does put out a brilliant light,
But who will ever see it
In this rubble of a desert
Where the tortoises hold sway.

Who lit the flame and walked away?
Who did they think the light would save?
They must have known how hard the wind
Rampages over empty land
And that the flame would disappear
In less time than it takes to sigh.

And yet somehow the candle glows
Impervious and proudly tall.
It’s shadow dances on the sand
And flickers in the breezes.
There must be some soul healed by this
And I suspect that one is me.
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

This time the pipers will be made to pay
No more popping off three rounds and then skating free
This country has been there and done that
Have we finally heard the wake-up alarms
That something is wrong and we gotta fix it

Everybody - just stop and sit down a minute
Are we gonna be who we know we should be
Or morph into some crazy wild west kind of country
Where someone gets clipped for just crossing the street
And parades are fish-in-a-barrel for crazies

Hold on - take a breath - look around you
We’ve created a society of adult school-yard bullies.
Are we gonna keep standing by, saying “tsk tsk”,
Wringing our hands and looking around
For somebody else to step up and fix it.

Ain’t gonna happen if you just sit and watch.
You gotta get out there among them
And blow a few whistles and slap a few heads.
Start it in Preschool and work up from there.

You can go buy a pitchfork and march down a street
Or write  letters and make angry calls to the Senate
But going to church is a better idea
And casting a vote is the ultimate foil.

Get rid of the men in service to Satan
And search out the ones who reflect who we are.
Elect them to office and make them police
Put them on juries and on the high courts

The dice that they’ve given us are loaded-
There’s no way to win at their smarmy game.
We have to upset all the  government’s tables
And set up the game room all over again.
ljm

I’M THE MOTHER OF A ***** -TONK GIRL.  ANNA MARIE is out DRINKING TEQUILA and doin’ THE HILLBILLY WALTZ every night.  She’s turning into a total ***** and I’m HURTIN’ INSIDE.  I constantly tell her I LOVE YOU but it’s just as if MY LIPS ARE SEALED - She doesn’t hear me.  If HEARTACHE IS THE FASHION, I’m right in style.  It doesn’t do me a bit of good to ask WHAT WERE YOU DOING LAST NIGHT?  She won’t tell me because she was with MEXICAN JOE and I’d tell her HE’LL  HAVE TO GO. I’d like to ground her between her own FOUR WALLS and keep her HOME, but I’d just be BEATIN’ ON THE DING ****. I don’t understand why she can’t date that nice BILLY BAYOU.
She laughed when I asked her AM I  LOSING YOU, and said, Mom, you’re WAITIN’ FOR A TRAIN that’s never gonna come. So I’m left with just one question:  WHERE DOES A BROKEN HEART GO. I guess it’ll be a case of MOTHER WENT A-WALKING and maybe THEN I’LL STOP LOVING YOU and just climb aboard a slow boat to TAHITI because thats where I’D LIKE TO BE  until I can begin to feeL as though I’M BEGINNING TO FORGET YOU.

OUR WORLD

We live in a world where starved dogs
   are left out in the blazing summer sun
      wearing brutal heavy collars attached
         to chains fit for a logging truck.

We live in a world where pickup trucks
   plow through flocks of geese to **** them
      and go nonchalantly on their way.

We live in a world where animals
   are are bred to fight for fun and wagers
      and losers are killed in grisly ways

We live in a world where industry
   can lie for years while savaging
      the ecosystem and pocketing the dollars.

We live in a world where it’s OK
   to torture and then butcher creatures
      in the name of research science.

We live in a world where six black robes
   can force a young woman to bear a child
      she doesn’t want and cannot feed
         then scorn her for needing welfare.

We live in a world where far too many
   want to rule as ****** did
      and see no moral hindrance.

We live in a world where supposed truth
   comes in countless clever guises
      and far too many of them are false.
            ljm

You, my dear, are a ****
You flaunt the fact that
You flout the rules
That other people live by.

You smoke and drink and swear blue air
Truck drivers learn new words from you.
The ones who are not boffing you
Are writing your name on men’s room walls.

You, my dear, are a *****
Society’s precepts mean nothing to you.
A wedding ring is but a challenge;
Another notch on your bedstead.

You pose and you preen
And you bat your eyelashes
But on a coming day not too far away
You’ll finally get your comeuppance.
           ljm

Am I the only one who:

1.  Finds every write I post sent to drafts first, and requiring my           wrangling it back out onto my page in order to be seen.

2.  Encounters error 502 not only on trying to post, but on switching    from home screen to messages.

3.  Never sees  half of the comments posted without going back to    look up the write in my index and bringing it up again.  I'm thanking  people for nice things they said over a week ago.  That's not right.

4.  Who has no way to get to anyone else's page unless I see their        
name in a comment they made somewhere else, so I can click on it    and go to their page.  What happened to the index/directory we
once had.

5.  Finds my carefully arranged layout changed when posted, thus
requiring complicated editing to get it back the way I want it.

6.  Felt it necessary to stop my monthly donation to HP because of the way the site has declined, and the refusal of Eliot York to respond
to anyone's e-mails - ever.

I don’t need a big miracle
A little one will do.
I don’t need my feet
To feel like feet again
That would be asking a lot.
I can still deal with
My failing right eye
And what’s going on in my throat.
It’s really a simple thing that I need
I just want to sit down and **** -
Every animal does it…
No thinking or planning involved.
But nature’s denied me
That every day deed
And that is the miracle I need.
ljm

The slate is clean, as it should be.
The chalk’s beside it on the table.
But this is not a quiet room in
Peaceful calm surroundings.

The table is knee deep in mud
Of the most obnoxious ugly kind,
Spread deeply as far as eye can see
That must be somehow waded through,

Avoiding getting mired in it or even
Falling down and getting coated
With the muck that won’t come off
And will smear the pristine slate

To make unreadable any words
Of kindness, justice or fair play
That those unsullied might have written there
In hopes that all the fear was fog

And somehow we will find a way to
Sweep the mud into the drain
And justice wash away the stain
So Democracy can rule again.
        ljm

Some poets write in captious verse
With  meanings hidden and often terse
Making readers want to curse
Through lips that they in anger purse
With thoughts of mayhem that they nurse
Of poets carried in a hearse
To fates that go from bad to worse
       ljm

California Girl
Born in the cold and wet
Of the Pacific Northwest
In a snotty little town
That never recognized her glow
And threw sawdust on her dreams.

California Girl
Went North and found her mojo;
Ricocheted from the
Peace Arch border
To the San Diego beaches
In the warming winter sun.

California Girl
Jumped to the brighter lights
Of a movie spangled city
And rode the waves of Possibility
Until the undertow appeared
And she stepped back to reconsider

California Girl
Found a sheltered harbor
By a lovely sandy shore
And started building fairy castles
Out of dreams and other efforts
As the seasons rolled and years flew by.

California Girl
Catapulted from her realm
By evils set against her,
Into a place of broken rocks and wind
To make herself a brand new life
Beneath an unrelenting sun.

California Girl
Adrift in crowds that cannot see her,
Who do not want the gift she gives.
Anchored far beyond escaping
In a place that starves her soul.
She takes the pen of contemplation
To write the denouement of her life.
              ljm

It’s very quiet now
My sobbing has subsided to small gasps.
My face is wet and needs a drying but
I have no tissue and the air's
Too still and close to do the job.
It’s dark outside and even darker inside
Where the corner begs me to come huddle
And the blue screen mocks my efforts
To concoct a riddle that will save me.
I’ve tried every single thing I know
To find a way to change the past
But it remains immutable,
And I am locked inside
The Amber of regret
9/17/20

Sometimes I like to take a word and see how many short
phrases I can come up with that use it.  I chose HAND
this time.  I won’t list words that have hand as part of it -
like  ‘handsome’, but I will use the plural and past tenses.
I tried to avoid nouns. How  many more can you think of?

     Hand of God      Hand me down
     Hand over fist              Hand delivered
     Hand made      *******
     Hand in glove              Hand in hand
     Hand to mouth      Hand it to you
     Hands off              Hand to hand
     Hand stand      Hands of time
     Hand in   *    Hand over    *   Hand off
     Hands down  *   Hands up    *    Hands off

     At hand      Unhand me
     Glad Hand      Even Handed
     Back handed      Under handed
     One handed      Cack handed*
     Lend a hand      Second hand
     Steady hand      Force your hand
     Hold hands      Lay hands on
     On every hand              On the other hand
     Out of hand      Show your hand
     Take in hand      Try your hand
     Throw up your hands         Wash your hands of
     With a heavy hand        High Handed
     On hand  *  Off hand  *  In hand  *  Out of hand
                                                            ­        LJM
Additionl words from BLT:     Hand over my heart
Hand to God       Sleight of Hand   Grabby Hands
Slick Hands,    

T S Poetry added  :  Gotta hand it to you    Overhand
One in the hand is worth two in the bush (birds)  

Melancholy of Innocence added:  Holding hands

Amanda Kay Burke added:   Shorthand    First hand   Handout

You disappointed me
Your charger was a hobby horse
And you were white with fear.
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

if I could only find my way
Through the gullies dug between my eyes
To quell the anger seething there
That blocks my view of Marigolds

If I could figure out a way
To navigate the wrinkled brow
And gently smooth away the frown
That generates the thunder

If I could calm the troubled orbs
That see the roadblock not the road
And show them how to look again
To see a new reality

Than I would have a mended face
To offer to the world at large
And maybe they would see the change
And welcome my serenity
   ljm

He chopped my head off.
He wanted a son and I gave him a girl
I miscarried twice and one was a boy
It was an unforgivable sin.
So desperate for an heir was he
He evicted the Pope from England
And created his own kind of church
So he could get rid of Catherine,
The mother of his daughter,
And have me, against my own will.
My sister was not enough for him-
A mistress can not be a queen -
And the successor he so keenly longed for
Must be the issue of a queen.

With 2 daughters, Henry needed a son.
Catherine gave him Mary
And I bore him Elizabeth.
He didn’t know - nobody could know
How that rivalry would one day end.
When Henry looked to Jane Seymour,
Something told me I would die.
Hoping for kindness, it was brutality instead,
And Henry fell into a chain of desperation.
With seven murdered wives as links.

He chopped off my head to clear the way
For marriage number three
And buried me in a leaden box
In his ongoing quest for sons.
He thought that was the end of me
But my daughter was made of my same stuff
And through her battles over time
She claimed the throne that once was mine
And the Elizabethan era came to be.
ljm

Mindless of the wishes of the nation,
Ignoring what is right and good and proper,
Telling us that only you know what is best for us:
Christianity run amok for self aggrandizement.
Hell can’t possibly be hot enough for you, McConnell
              LJM

• Empty vases that will not hold water
Hairline cracks across the floral surface seep.
• Pain that waxes with the moon
And can’t remember how to wane.
• Heavy air that cannot transmit sunshine
But also refuses to permit rain.
• Lotteries where no one is the winner
And the tickets cost a fraction of your soul.
• Detour signs that take you in a circle
And bring you back to where you were.
• Silence where the music used to be
And left behind is just one broken Cello.
• Pieces that don’t fit together
So this puzzle can’t be done.
             ljm

Across the street is our old home
But we don’t live there any more
Another couple starts their life
As we did many years before

It doesn’t look just as it did
They changed things here and there
They’re putting their brand on the place
And doing things we didn’t dare

Solar panels on the roof
The lawn an arid scene
They’re into Big Ecology
They will be living green

I thought to see it would be pain
The home I did not want to leave
But it no longer looks the same
So I no longer need to grieve

It’s just another pretty house
I have one of my own
Mine’s in a lovely desert place
That happily I now call home.
ljm

You abandoned me thirty-five years ago.
Why can’t I walk away from you now.
You said I was toxic and poisoned your life.
Why am I still your main shelter in need.
You punished me for the thing I did wrong
And turned a blind eye to the things I did right.
You cheated me out of sharing your life
And you never noticed you cheated you too.
                     ljm

Lost and all alone in the shallows of the sea that is my soul
I find the water deepens with each step that I take forward.
Trying to remember if I ever learned to swim, I pause
And turn to look behind me at the raging flames, and hope
I have not somehow turned into Lot’s second wife.

Where there should be swirling sand beneath my feet
I find small pebbles that all roll and clatter with the tide
And make it difficult to stand and move ahead.
On the horizon, where the ocean meets the sky
The Sun is sliding down the waves and soon it will be dark.

There is no wind, and seagulls do not split the sky
With raucous cries and aerobatics.  It is silent
And the stillness becomes ominous and bleak.
I know that I should turn around, for danger lies ahead
But is it worse than the disaster that I just have left behind.

Standing in the rocky surf that is the landscape of my mind
I am uncertain for the first time in my long and pensive life.
I realize there is no going on or back the way I came.
Which leaves me only up and down and if I’m lucky, sideways.
I lift my foot to take a step, and hosts of watching angels weep.
ljm

I don’t want to be here
I want to go back home.
I never will belong here.
My piece won’t fit this puzzle.

There is a little life here,
But it seems more like a death,
Stuck on a spinning carousel
With no brass ring to catch.

It feels just like a circus
Where everybody has a mask,
A 45 in their waistband,
And sawdust in their head.

I must step very carefully
In my egg-shell breaking boots;
I must never denigrate
This culture that’s absurd.

Guardrails all around my tongue
Hallelujah in my ears
To block what I don’t want to hear
Spouted out in endless rote

There is some sunburned beauty
To be found among these stones
But it comes at far too high a price
And I’m longing to go home.
         ljm

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

I’ll never see the daffodils again.
They come up only in the spring
And I’ll be somewhere that I hate.

They’ll be a surprise for who lives there
A bonus for fixing up the place -
A victim of benign neglect.

I wonder if the Lilly bulbs will bloom again
Special gift, enjoyed and planted by the wall
Tended well. in hopes of more red glory.

Will the roses thrive under better care
And bloom in cycles all year long
To perfume the air for someone else.

The mouses in the memory bower
Will sleep in peace without their markers
And Poco’s stone will go with us.

How much will change - how much will not
When new eyes glance around the rooms
And measure the back garden.

Will everything be taken down
So shiny new can take it’s place
And relegate its memory to a closet

There is no way that I can know
I’ll have to wait and see and hope
That some small touch of me remains
In walls that warmed me for thirty years.
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

I used to be the prettiest girl in the room
And usually the smartest
I was the queen of reparte'
And good at almost everything

I used to always get
The biggest piece of cake,
And the seat nearest the front
Was always saved for me.

I used to juggle seven ***** at once
While keeping ten plates spinning on their poles
And dancing to the latest beat
Dressed up in next year’s fashions.

I used to keep track of everything
I had my finger on the pulse
Of what was new and meaningful
And helped to make it real.

I used to write enduring verse
That awed them when I read it
I wrote of Hollyhocks and love
In words that time could not erase.

I used to visualize today,
No longer beautiful or smart
And wonder how I’d face the world
And make my way across it.

I used to be what I’m now not
So when I make a smaller splash
I find it’s nice to not get soaked
Therefore I’m happy to be me
ljm

I’ve always overtly admired
The poems I don’t understand;
The ones that others rave about
And praise with honors and awards.

The ones that seem to me to be
Random strings of fancy words
That don’t create cohesive thought
And leave me searching for a meaning.

I wondered if it all was real
Or some arcane bamboozle
And I was the yokel suckered in
By the Emperor’s new tuxedo.

Deciding I would test it out
I scribbled nonsense on a page
And posted it for all to see-
It was such fun I did it twice

To see if I’d be recognized
And called out for my shammery
And taken to the woodpile,
But  just the opposite occurred.

The plaudits soon came pouring in -
My ‘talent’ newly recognized.
My bamboozle fooled them all
I laughed, but then I had to cry.
ljm

Poetry Challenge 1    One sentence, 17 syllables

a. I’ll get back to you later when I think of something really special

b.  I only enter contests when I think I might have a chance to win

c.  Depression is a dark room I can not escape from though I do try


Challenge 2     10 words, time, place, emotion

a.  Calm desert morning.  Why am I crying?

b.  Night time in the desert makes me homesick

c.  Rush hour in New York - worse than Chicken Pox

d.  Wedding in a chapel - afternoon bliss

e.  Prayed for hours at his bedside, yet he died


* - first challenge entries 12/21/19

Anna Leonowens called
The King of all Siam
“A flock of sheep
And you the only Ram”

I hear the bleating of
The flocks down at the beach
Who wander free among the germs
Outside of prudence reach.

A belwether is needed now
To step into the lead
And guide the foolish ewes and lambs
To the safety that they need.
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 want to be somebody’s Bijou
Sought after and desirable,
Exquisitely wrought and elegant.
I want to be a delicate jewel
In the eyes of someone Special.

I want to be draped in Onyx and Jade
As signs of my social status
I want to know the way will be cleared
So I don’t get my shoes wet
And everyone will be glad for me.

I want to be the special one
The one more shiny than the rest.
The one that everybody wants.
The one that clearly is the best.
                    ljm

Her phone in California rang
So late one Friday night
Her lover was in Tennessee
And things weren’t going right.

He said can you get on a bus
And come to meet me here
And when I’m done drive back with me
If not I’ll shed a tear.

She said “I will” and set about
Scraping up some dough
She only had a savings bond
But how far would that go

Moxie was her character
So she got on a bus
And cashed the bond in El Mirage
Without too big a fuss

A lesser lass would not have tried
To make that daring trip
But moxie-Lou could not be stopped
When she was in love’s grip.

She made it clear to Tennessee
And met up with her beau
And they drove back to the sunlit coast
That’s all you need to know.
ljm

I abhor a bore
Don’t you?
I’d adore some more
Thank you.
                ljm