Once, not so very long ago
I lived as a somebody -
Important in a lot of people’s lives.
They depended on me and I was there.
I never failed a single one,
Delivering more than was expected.

Once I could be counted on
To always know the answer
Or to find the way around a problem.
They came to me because they knew
I wouldn’t let them down
Or walk away until the job was finished.

Not so very long ago
I was the acknowledged expert
And they came to me with
Questions, needs and problems
That I knew the answers for
Or where to go to find it.

Once I bowed to accolades
And admiration’s smiles
As it came clear I was the best
Of all the others in the realm
At making plans and dreams come true
With words and song and moving images.

Now banished to a foreign place
Where no one knows my name,
I’m just another random face -
A shopper at the mall.
The one behind the grocery cart
Who comes and goes unseen.

Here, no one knows what I can do
Or where I’ve been or what I know,
Or what I’ve built and left behind.
They deal with problems I could solve         more
If I was who I used to be again.

Now I wander in a place
That has no earthly need of me
And what I know and do -
That plays a foreign melody
And dances to a different beat
That I can’t find the rhythm to.

I try to find the raveled thread
The put a hole in who I was
And took away my cloak of purpose,
In hopes that I can catch it up
And mend the gap that renders me
Invisible and useless.

ljm

Looking through my mental cupboard
I find I’m a little short on Meliorism.
I’ve been relegated to using Optimism,
Which doesn’t taste quite the same.

Adding a pinch of Sanguine flakes
helps, but makes it a little spicy.
I wish Ebullience wasn’t quite
so expensive and hard to get ahold of.

I thought I was all out of Dolor
But I found a new jar behind
A box of Pessimism, which
Is 2 weeks past it’s use-by date.

So I will dump it along with a
Packet of dehydrated Doubt hidden
Behind a whole carton of Ennui
That has never even been opened.

I think it’s time to clear the shelves
And restock with all fresh and new
So I can cook up lots of good things
And feed them to the hungry world.
ljm

Seranaea told me I should
Write the skeleton of a poem
And wrap a scarf around it’s neck
And hang ornaments about it’s ribcage

If only I could do that
I’d plant Hollyhocks around it’s feet
And sprinkle glitter over all
And fire up background music.

But I am store-brand verse and prose
Arriving in a plain brown wrapper.
I’d be a good reporter, so they say
But what would that vocation do
To the kaleidoscope that is my soul.
ljm

When the rules say you must rhyme
I’m a muggle every time.

I muggle through the alphabet
And haven’t found the right word yet

They’ll throw me off the “Hello” site
Unless I finally get it right

I feel as slow as Sancho Panza
Looking for a perfect stanza.

Nothing I can do but quit quit
And say I took a muggle hit.
ljm

Just had major back surgery.  Sending her my get well wishes along with those from everyone who puts a heart heart on this post.
Get well Scarlett - we miss you.

• I drew a healthy breath
   On awakening today.
• I came down the stairs
   And my knees didn’t hurt.
• The wind has died and
   The sky looks good so
   It’ll be a gorgeous day.
• My friends are well
   And celebrating too,
   Wherever they are scattered,
• My family is safe and sound
   In their distant places.
• I’ve been welcomed to offer help
   In feeding the poor and lonely
   In the kitchen of a church
   The sister of my own.
• So I feel blessed and offer thanks
   That there is still some goodness
   Left amongst the troubles of this world.
ljm

So many pieces of 4x4 paper
So many names written on every one
So many needs that cry out for prayer
So many reasons for tears that will come.

People with illness that doesn’t get better
People still grieving for one that has died
People knocked down by the trials of living
People with terrible secret to hide.

Countries in shatters from climate change fury
Countries in rubble from war’s evil blasting
Countries all broken from the rumble of earthquakes
Countries who wonder if hope can be lasting.

So many villains afoot in our country
So many rifles in teenager’s hands
So many attacks on our family tree
So many arriving from far distant lands.

So many times we kneel in the morning
speaking the names of all those in need
Hoping that God will somehow be listening
And not turn his back on us as we plead.
ljm

Who nudged that very first domino
Those thirty years ago when
The Klaxon first rang out.
ljm

So many things need to be said
And shouted from high places.
This is not the time for words
To fail me in my anger.

What kind of mongrels have we become
That all precepts of decency
Have fallen by the wayside;
That codes of honor and propriety
Don’t scan in our computers.

It’s now alright to load a gun
Into a car and drive across state lines
To prance amongst an angry crowd
And wave it til someone gets ******
And reaches for it, thus providing
Legal grounds to shoot him -
And two more for good measure.

What kind of wimps have we become
That a kid who swings a skateboard
Becomes a lethal threat and hence
Is suddenly OK to be murdered.

Seven women and five men
Abandoned any common sense
Or rational intelligence
To vote that one who starts the fight
Is justified in feeling thereby threatened
And allowed a wanton ******.

What on earth have we become
And can’t you see where we are going?
Vigilante posses chasing pregnant girls
And legitimate protestors.
Three murderers may well walk free -
One more miscarriage of rightful justice.

Changing rules so blacks can’t vote
Disdaining to protect our dying planet
Playing at adult Lord of the Flies.

God has turned his back on us
So we created another One
From hate and greed and lust
We worshiped it full faithfully
And this is where it got us.

Afraid to mingle in a crowd
For fear that we’ll be shot.
Afraid to walk the streets alone
For fear that we’ll be *****
Afraid to help someone in need
For fear it is a scam.
We don’t answer phone or door
For fear of who might be there.

No wonder we are all depressed
And everyone is angry
There’s very little pleasure left
And life has lost its meaning.
Perhaps the world is suffering
From no pandemic but the wrath of God
And we all had it coming.
                        ljm

I’ll never own an aeroplane
But I’ve jumped out of one a dozen times
And felt the freedom of a Meadowlark.

I’m not an expert on French wine
But I’ve been up the Eiffel Tower
And looked out over the City of Lights.

There is no building named for me
But I stood on a scaffold in a burned out cathedral
And saw it as a beginning, and not as the end.

I’ll never wear a giant diamond ring
But I’ve glued sparkling bits of glass
To a thousand hand made things of beauty.

I’ll never walk a long red carpet
Though I have starred in more ‘productions’
Than any actress with gold statues on her shelf.

They’ll never give a dinner just for  me
But I’ve fed hundreds with the best meal of their life
And cleaned up all the dishes afterwards.

I do not need a body guard
But I’ve watched guardsmen stamp their feet
Outside a Palace that looked nothing like a home.

I’ll never write an acceptance speech
But I’ve seen lines I’ve written in print
And read them to various audiences.

I’ll never stand upon the moon
But I’ve seen the Fjords and Hula Girls
And stolen my very own iceberg.

I’ll never be Mother of the Year
With many outstanding Children
But I created perfection once
And she’s my legacy to the world.
                      ljm

The twice slapped hand
Won’t reach again
For what can never be obtained
But curls into a useless fist
To pound against the forehead.
         ljm

He came to me with the allusion
Of a bump like a contusion.
The circumstances caused confusion.
I thought it just a wild delusion
That would pass with resolution
And a bit of diminution.
When I told him my solution
He declared a revolution.
          ljm

Twenty years of endless anger
Now are etched across my face-
Forehead gauged with v-shaped furrows
That a smile cannot erase.

When not grinning, lips turn down
Sad or happy makes no difference,
My countenance looks like a frown
Though this is not my usual preference.

Eighteen months of peaceful calm
Cannot remove the anger’s trace
Massage and oils don’t do the trick
Nor did moving to a better place.

I am not a harridan,
I need to tell the world,
Even though my angry look
Seems like a battle flag unfurled.

I’m really nice - give me a chance
To show my gentle heart.
Let me put the frown away
And make a brand new start.

Let me speak in poetry
And not get trapped in rhyme.
Let me show a happy face
And try it one more time.
ljm

A microscopic drop of red
In a place no human eye can see
Erased the blackboard of my mind
Of all the words that make me, me.

I’m left here with chalk in hand
Trying hard to bridge the gaps
Hoping to connect the strands
And find myself again, perhaps.

I reach for words and they don’t come -
Simple words used every day.
I substitute less perfect ones
And laugh embarrassement away.

There is a word for what this is:
Lethologica it’s called.
I have it written on my arm
In case it needs to be recalled.

Thesaurus is my new best friend
Where I find the words I need
That are now locked away from me
An unexpected deep brain bleed.

My hand won’t write like it once did
The letters shrink and grow at will
I practice grade school penmanship
But write at third grade level still.

My balance is not what it was
My hands are clumsy paws
Too much saliva wets my chin
And no none knows the cause.

Yet life goes on and I do too
I offer what I can
Perhaps my words will help help someone
To take a braver stand.
ljm

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

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

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

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

What if John Lennon was correct:
“There isn’t any Heaven and there isn’t any Hell.”
What on Earth do we do now?
ljm

I think I’ve come to believe in God
And that He did indeed create the Earth.
But I think He created lots of Earths
And flung them across the galaxies.

I think perhaps He had some off time
And idly rolled up ***** of clay
Each one different from all the rest
Each with its own pattern of life.

I think He had a wonderful time
Draining His imagination
Of all the possibilities
For sentience of various kinds.

Like a crafter making quilts-
Each pattern varied from from the rest,
The planets took on different forms
And life evolved down many lines.

That’s why the cosmos puzzles us
And makes creation hard to grasp.
We need to spend a lot more time
At art and crafter’s shows.

ljm

I wonder what she’s doing today
In her life that I have no part of.
Does she ever wonder what I do all day
Or how often I may think of her.

Does she go about her day
An orphan by her careful choice,
Getting what she needs from friends
And free from my side’s family tree.

Does she meet the mothers of her friends
Comparing them to me
In the distorted image I hold in her mind
That paints me as some toxic monster.

She says I chose this husband over her -
I thought that I could have them both.
It seemed that way at the beginning
A little anger and then peace.

But then a shrink came on the scene
And everything unraveled.
Her every ill became big issues
And I was made the villain.

She said she’s getting married
I’ve never  met the  man
I know I’m not invited
And she has not told me when.

Her day of celebration
Will be my day of tears.
Another piece of heartbreak
To last me through the years.
ljm

You can’t lash out in burning anger
           Unless you’re young or beautiful.
           Trying that at sixty-five
            Just makes you an old hag.
At twenty-five a shapely leg
            Can kick a hapless door
            And pitch away an object scorned,
            But let a gramma throw a snit
            And they say she’s demented.
Why is anger set aside
            As only for the young.
           And those beyond those magic years
           Must settle for a quiet rage.
       ljm

Coming down the street I see
20 folks with masks just three
I ask them why they don’t comply
They offer me a fast black eye

They say they have a legal right
To infect anyone they might
And I should stifle what I say
Or they will send a sneeze my way

They say the bug is just a myth
Nothing they’ll be dealing with
They say they take their cue from Trump
And if he tells them, they will  jump

But til that day they won’t believe
There’s any germ they can receive
And if their Gramma catches it
It was just a bad luck hit

They’re going to a rave tonight
They know that it will be all right
The hundreds there are super cool
And no one there will be a fool.

One of that group, a guy named Weaver
Said feel me - do I have a fever
I think I maybe don’t feel well
I may have caught it - who can tell

They all laughed and walked away
To them another normal day.
I cross the street to give them space
Can’t chance them breathing in my face

I find it so mysterious
That any group could be so dumb
So selfish and oblivious
Of reckonings that soon will come. ljm

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

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

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

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

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

The light cannot stay red much longer.
             ljm

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

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

Because I’m sore afflicted
And burdened with many ills
I seek to find a hem to touch
From a Spirit passing by.

Mustard seeds don’t work for me.
My faith is like a summer breeze
That gently sways the blossoms
But is often deathly still.

I need vast hurricanes of trust
If I have hopes of healing
But I reach out to emptiness
And my candle doesn’t waver.
ljm

Fog hovers just above the barren ground
Waiting for the wind
To pick it up and paint the morning gray.
Only yesterday the rain decided not to fall
But only to deface the cars with ***** splatters.

The Sun, with motives of its own devising
Cannot decide to shine or maybe hide
And chooses to just peek
Between the shutters of the trees
To count the trains as they roll by
Along the tracks down past the corner.

The summer lawn is parched and dry.
They’ve limited our water use.
But all the buried hoses still come on
Beneath the darkness before dawn
And all the local bunnies know it.

Everything is changing
But it always looks the same.
The fog seeps through the kitchen door
And makes it hard to see tomorrow
Leaving us all sitting here
Jointly hoping it will rain.
                   ljm

TP’s back on the market shelves
Easy to find Purell
Lots of bleach for you to drink
And lots of gloves to sell
Clap Hands

Numbers go up instead of down
Nobody’s staying home
They all go out without a mask
When they decide to roam
Clap hands

Everyone’s invincible
“It couldn’t strike me down”
I’m an invisible carrier
Busy all over town
Clap hands, clap hands

I feel a tickle in my throat
And a little raspy cough
It’s getting sort of hard to breathe
I need to take time off
Clap hands, clap hands, clap hands

NO more clapping of the hands
Now is the time to pray
That you’ll survive this killer big
And live another day
Go wash those hands, don’t clap them.
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 with a coffee house side job.  I was in love with a wandering folk singer who was then performing in 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 having had a stroke and I had to fly to Washington State for a few days.
I emptied my piggy bank and the tip jar from my coffeehouse side job, but I didn't have enough for the ticket. I had a series E savings bond tucked away, but no where to cash it in on a Friday night. This was before I had a computer, so I had only my land line phone to help me.  
I called Greyhound and got their schedule and the stops they made along the way to Oklahoma City.
As it happened they had a 15 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 raced to the bus depot. I gave them all my money, much of it in coins, and bought a ticket for Mesa, which was as far as I could afford to go. When the bus was loaded I settled in, and it 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. 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 pretty girls can do things ordinary folk could 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 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 some good things as I looked out the bus window. on the way.
There was tragedy though. I filled one little note pad with  poems and was well into another when it came time to change busses.  I somehow left the first notepad on the bus as I got off and didn’t realize it until on the second one and away. All I could do was write a poem about lost poetry - which I did.
When I arrived I was met with love and wonderful moments.
The drive back to LA. was exciting and romantic.
What an adventure that was. The folksinger was a lovely period in my life, but alas, not permanent. He didn’t last but the love of Folk music music did.

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

There once was a lass from Ohio
Who blushed when she said “Me, oh My-oh
I put on my shirt
And forgot my skirt
Now I sit in jail and just cry-oh”
ljm

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

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

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

Waiting while the white ball spins
Hurry - I’ve got other stuff to do.
So many corrections yet to make.
Why didn’t I type more carefully
Rushing through some new ideas
Throwing words out like confetti
Only to be scattered by the wind
That never seems to take a break.

Watching while the ball still spins
Pounding mental fists on walls
That make the labor twice as hard
As Bragi promised it would be.
Breaking up what’s newly writ
And stomping on the pieces
That turn sharp and cut my metric feet
Which then bleed through my stockings.

The ball will never end its spins.
The buffering goes on and on.
I might as well go dig a grave
And bury all the honeyed words
And clever phrases I created,
Fighting iMac all the way.
Their use-by date was yesterday
And there’s no hope to salvage them.
The buffering has done me in.
ljm

As busy as a cat
  At a mouse convention

    As happy as a dog
     Locked in a bone factory

       As hungry as
        The winner on Survivor

          As dizzy as a pinata
           At a kids party

             As sick as
              A pie-eating contest winner

                As beautiful as
                 Your Grandmother’s smile
                               ljm

Meadowlark Oratorio
Trees decorated with birdsong.
Wildflowers in full bloom way too early.
Bougainvillea rehearsing for their big show.
The never-ending wind has blasted Springtime
Into Laughlin while May’s Lion takes a nap in his den.
ljm

In this instance,
I have an insidious inclination to
incessantly remark upon the
repeated incidence of your
innocuous inability to integrate
your irascibility into an immutable
impression of inceptive incertitude.  
So There!
                 ljm

God sent a sky that promised in crimson
Aflame with the rising of the Sun
Sailing a sea of apricot and indigo
That a boy child will be born this night.

Not in the storied Bethlehem stable
Not in a far land we'll likely never see
Not in a book passed down through the ages
But deep in the heart of all we believe.

Were it not for the glorious sunrise
The clouds flung across the sky
Would bode an oncoming storm
In the cold of the Winter weather.

But the light of the angels was glowing
And the darkness turned pinkey and orange
As it faded into a cloud haloed morning
While the world in all its Winter splendor
Waited to hear the angels sing.
                                  ljm

This ****** Mac is still not working
I know there is an evil lurking
I took it to the Nerd-king’s shop
And told them to give it a pop
I picked it up this very morning
And they did not give me a warning
They said it now was working fine
Yet I can’t type a decent line
All the bugs are still a-bugging
So once again I’m back a-lugging
This thing to them for one more try
If they can’t fix it I will cry
And drown them all in floods of tears
And go to jail for 20 years.
So I’ll be here a day or two
And gone again a half week through
Thanks to those who wished me well
I love you more than words can tell.
Reminding you for one last time
To never say that I can’t rhyme.
ljm

Our President jets off for a luxury holiday in Florida
While America stands in the food lines.
Those you’ve pardoned will eat well tonight
But the rest will eat donated sausage.

You need to cover all the mirrors
In the halls of Mara Lago
The evil they’ll reflect of you
Will burn away the silver.

Enjoy your golf and ***** and friends
Lots of goodies wrapped for Baron
More diamonds for Melania
Who likely figures one more year

Til she can be rich and truly free.
We don’t have to wait a year -
Only thirty-one more days.
We’ll still be poor, but we’ll be free.
                   ljm

Reaching out to nothingness -
There must be something there for me
Letters stacked in piles of gibberish.
Emotion down my cheeks but not my pen.
Where is my muse - the one I promised
To give my life and being to. She’s gone.

My fingers grasp the nothingness
And clutch it to my wounded heart
As if somehow to make it treasure.
The accolade is down the street;
And I have no way to get there.

Crippled pen and crumpled verse
Is what I have to proffer here
Who is it wants what I pour out:
Acid on the desert of my soul
Burnng wth a flame that never dies
        ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
Wipe the salty tracks away
Pick up the barren pen again
And strive to coax a butterfly
Or fawn or bunny from its depths.
Gardenias with their magic scent
Are surely locked inside somewhere.
I need to somehow set them free
And if not that, then find a way
To learn to live with what I have
And never whisper “I want more”.
                       ljm

I sat down to write the Great American Poem
And ended up with just a bromide.
I looked in the mirror and saw another bromide.
I was so upset I had to take a bromide to calm down.
ljm

The first Winter-colored sky of Autumn
Presented itself as a water-colored sunset,
Somehow reassuring; not as dreary as it should have been.
Last week it was Summer, hot and clear and windy -
Then the clocks fell back an hour and Wintertime crept in.

I wasn’t finished yet with Summertime.
There were lots of plans that slipped away,
Put off until another week or month and lost
In the relentless turning of the pages that are time.
Leaving me with wistfulness and guilt.

So many verses started and unfinished.
So many places I somehow ever went.
So much culture I let pass me by.
So many fellow travelers left unmet.
I wonder where I was for ninety days.

Later, as I step outside again, the sky is dark.
A gentle rain is falling very quietly,
As if it knows it’s here too soon, but
After years of parching draught, can’t wait a second longer
And I love the wetness on my upturned face.

The seasons change with subtilty, but they do change,
And there’s assurance in perceiving them.
No need perhaps for winter clothes
But still there is an Autumn frame of mind
That bridges sun to shadow and proclaims the march of time.
ljm

After a long, frustrating sojourn in the wilderness of error 500, the light has come back on and we can see each other again.  Eliot has conquered the dragon and the Holy Grail is within our ken once more.  Odes of joy and thankfulness spring forth from the fertile pens of the faithful.  Thank you, Eliot, and don’t you DARE do that again with no warning.  Some of us almost bled to death.
                                                           ljm

S ometimes situations sneak around behind me
C ausing more frustration than my cup can hold,
R endering my calm demeanor less and less with
E very breath I take, which finally
A llows the rage to grab control and
M eans the only useful thing to do is scream
ljm

The face they see when
I walk past and smile
Is not the face I see
When I gaze into my bathroom mirror
And manage to fantasize away
The wear of those long decades.
The face I see in
That soft-lit mirror,
Practicing a youthful grin,
Is not the face I’m forced to view
In photos that refuse to lie,
And offer me a reality
That breaks my heart to look at.
How can such a  buoyant spirit
Come packaged in such a shopworn case.
ljm

It is my most sincere and humble wish

That my absence for 3 weeks will not

generate a large Hue and Cry among

Those who cannot exist without my

Daily words of Wisdom and Sagacity

On this site that has become refuge

To so many of us wayward souls.
                                               LJM

The feast is over
All the guests have left the table
I hung around until the very end
But never got invited
Looks like I’ll have to make my dinner
From the crumbs.

The party’s ending
The orchestra has packed it’s violins
I kept the beat and wore the smile
But no one signed my card
And I suppose I’ll have to hum the tune
And dance alone.
                                  ljm

If I live long enough, my goal
Is to be the Doyen of Hello Poetry.
Not because I'm the best, though
I strive to earn that sobriquet too.
Not because I'm wise - Oh no-
Wise-guy is more like it;
But because I never ran away
Without a word
As so many others  have done.
                                       ljm

Like a Gingerbread village
Smashed by an angry child
The
     broken
                  pieces    
                            lay
Scattered across the desert.
             ~/#^//~•º#~

Every shard a broken dream
And hopeless vision of the future.
Every
            pile
                    of
                          crumpled!rubble
Hides beneath it bleak tomorrows.
                  ~/#^//~•ª#~

What can ever be constructed
From the
                frac
                        tur
        ­                        ed
                                      shards of
Hopelessness and heartless evil.
That bar the road to being whole again.
                           ljm

The curtain now has fully closed-
So why am I still on this stage
Declaiming words I never wrote.

Why am I in fancy costume, with
Heavy makeup on my face
To hide the wrinkles of my failings
And paint me as a thespian.

Cast in a play they say I’ve written
With a pen that's never touched my hand
And a last act that I’ve never seen.

I haven’t learned the blocking yet,
So I don’t know which way to move
Or which door I should exit through
And what will be my final lines.

As lights go down from the Interval
The audience regains their seats
To watch me in the final scene.
  ^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^~^
It’s over so I bow to scant applause
And no one comes to hand me flowers.
I stumble as the lights go slowly out,
And make my way from memory
To my dressing room down a dusty hall
Where I will take this garish makeup off
And walk home as the girl I really am.
                        ljm