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1.0k · Jan 2023
SUNRISE
When the rising winter sun
Whispers a blush of peachy pink
On the evening’s steel blue clouds,
I know that I am home and safe,
In my small but ever busy world.
ljm
Another morning walk, awed by the Nevada sunrise.
999 · Mar 2019
LIMERICK FOR POETS
There  once  was  a  writer  from  Laughlin
Considered  a  poetic  boffin
She  wrote  corny  verse
That  couldn’t  be  worse
And  thus  wasn’t  read  very  often.
ljm
now who could I be referring to?
991 · Jan 2023
COLD FRONT
The
        sudden chill
    that marked
the
     end
  of last
         month
      surprised me
   because
   the weather
     forecast
  said
      it would stay
warm
  perhaps
warmer than
  was
   comfortable
     for
   this time
    of my year
I was surprised
but not
dismayed
       because my
   summer
   clothes
      were packed
     away a long
   long time ago
   and
I was not
          sure
If I’d find
something
safe for me
             to wear.
     ljm
Well, The algorithm totally fricked up my format and won't let me fix it. WHYP? Why can't it print it like I type it in???? It's correct in the edit phase, but when I hit save it moves half the lines to the left.This is me tearing out my hair and wondering why I don't just use margin left and be done with it.
987 · Jan 2017
BETRAYAL
The years are liars and they don't keep their word:
They promised me maturity,
But all I got was soft places where I should be firm.
They swore me wisdom,
But all I found was a different kind of foolishness.
They said I'd have new insights
But all I saw was how I miss the flowers of youth.

The years are untrue and make vows they don't intend to keep
They promised me contentment,
But all I received was a slower paced restlessness.
They told me I'd find fulfillment,
But all I've discovered is a bigger yearning.
They assured me these years would be golden,
But I can see through the veneer to the green beneath.

And I curse the days and weeks and years
For they lied to me and then ran away.
                                         vvv
977 · Jan 2017
HOMEWORK
A poem, a poem I've got to write.
But nothing seems to come tonight.
I guess I'm just not very bright
When it comes to writing poems.

I crumple paper sheet on sheet.
I think of deadlines I'm to meet.
I haven't time to sleep or eat;
I've GOT to write a poem!

The time ticks on --it's two o'clock
Our light's the last one on the block.
Perhaps if I could take walk
I could better write a poem.

Then suddenly I get a thought--
I put it down to the very last dot…
And then I think, "It's not so hot."
Why CAN'T I write a poem?

But then I say, "'Twil have to do."
The morn is come; the night is through.
I'm tired but proud, I can tell you,
'Cause I just wrote a poem.
                        ^^^
I wrote this in the 8th grade.  I only got a B because it wasn't 'serious' enough.
962 · Dec 2022
TWO CINQUAINS
With just
Two words to use
To say the things I must
I find my dictionary closed.
I’m lost.

A ghost
In search of words
That hide from Poet’s pens
And make contact impossible
For friends.
            ljm
HAPPY NEW YEAR !   AND MAY THE WORDS NEVER STOP COMING
959 · Nov 2017
WHEN I AM OLD
When I am old I will say what I think
And not worry to be thought a clown or a fool.

When I am old I will borrow from youth
As guiltlessly as a child robs the cookie jar.

When I am old I will throw away fashion
And dress myself solely in comfort as I please.

When I am old I will share anger I feel
Instead of letting it take bites out of my soul.

When I am old I will walk away quickly
From those who’s motives I find to be suspect.

When I am old I will sleep in my chair
And have picnics on my bed if I so choose.

When  I am old I will go to the places
That in youth I deemed not appropriate.

When I am old I will will buy stuff that sparkles
Simply because I like shiny things.

When I am old I will sing when I feel it
And not fret that my voice isn’t pretty.

When I am old I will pet everyone’s puppies
And laugh as they lick all over my face.

When I am old I will  stop tearing up like a fool
When parade marching bands with their banners go by.

When I am old I will be sprung from this prison
Referred to as rational adult behavior.

When I am old.

Yes, when I am old.

ljm
I can't wait to be an eccentric old lady!
M y love is like a red, red rose
Y oung with the dew-kissed promises of spring.

L aden with unique perfume,
O n a slender stalk it blooms
V ery near the edge of a sunlit garden,
E ndlessly transforming but always the same.

I  offer you this rose in hopes that
S someday fields of them will shine.

L oving you turns ugly weeds
I nto rare exotic blossoms that
K iss the summer breezes with their scent
E ven as they wither and turn brown.

A bsolute perfection is my love and this red flower.

R each out and touch this rose I offer-
E very thorn is gentle and not sharp-
D o  not fear of hurt from it.

R ather fill your senses with the joy of it,
E ndlessly fresh within your hand, and never
D ying, only changing to become more sweet.

R eceive this gift I bring to you and
O nly let me be that rose
S o  that my soul lies in your hand and heart for all
E ternity.
<< >>
The title comes from a traditional folk song.  The rest of it comes from me.
935 · Mar 2017
DIATRIBE
I’m angry at the world
For not playing fair
And then mocking me
When I do

I hate all the apathy
That stands and observes
And makes no attempt
To enforce the rules

I’m angry at all
That I have to give up
To wait for my turn
And take only my share

I hate that the meaning
Of good has been altered
To apply to group ethics
That are coated in shame

I’m angry to see
How the cheaters will win
And honesty comes
A poor second

I hate all the smugness
(Check Paul Ryan’s face)
And those who are like him
Cheating their way to their goal

I’m angry to be cursed
With the gene of fair play
Permanent - same as
The brown of my eyes

I hate that I have to
Spend so much time hating
Hate is an acid
Dissolving my soul
                    ljm
I need a good rant once in a while to clear my sinuses.  Rewriting the old saying:  Honesty pays - minimum wages.
929 · Jan 2022
NONSENSE
No time to Shilly or to Shally.
No time to Dilly or to Dally.
If all you’ve got is Tittle-tattle
I’ll just up and go Skedaddle.

Got no time for Hugger-Mugger
Won’t put up with Argy-bargy
Rigamarole will have to go
Outside to eat yellow snow.
ljm
I'm deep into the process of writing a word-by-word analysis of the many facets to be found in this remarkable poem, which analysis will be available at considerable expense next year from a prestigious publisher in New York City. Be sure and watch for it!
923 · Feb 2017
THE ARTIST
I’ve been up
  all night
slow dancing
            with the reasons why
                         my canvas is still mostly
empty and
  my palate
  holds only
seven shades of black.
  While I’m weeping
through a
 Foxtrot with
my paintbrush
        and daubing
     midnight
stains across
my walls
the Hollyhocks
still bloom
        outside my door.
      The humming birds
    adore them
standing tall and
lavender
  but I can’t stop
   to waltz with them
I’ll lose
this beat
     and genius
        that fickle muse
will quickstep
   on
and leave me here
behind.
  ljm
I struggled through rearranging this three times trying to get the spacing I wanted, but could only have the spacing the program created.  Is there a trick to this?
923 · Feb 2017
LONG BEACH, WASHINGTON
The Japanese Current
Flows through my veins-
Father of undertow
Feeder of the clam beds
Grinding away
The smooth edges
Of Summer and Autumn

Stranger to Southern beaches
The current creates
Weather of it’s own
And plays rough at it’s mildest.

I watch as the tow
Sweeps away my sandy footing.
How fast I can move
Is how fast I survive.

Don’t turn your back
On the Japanese Current
Mercy isn’t floating in that tide
And it will knock you down.

You can wade into the freezing waves
But only a fool would try to swim.
Nothing for Michael Phelps here
Unless he excels with a shovel.

From little motor court cabins
With linoleum floors
And sand in the corners
We’d pile out in the dark

At four A.M. low tides
Slender shovels in our hands
We braved the gales
That would be banned in Maui
Gifting us with glorious misery.

Wind whipping scarves and hair
And sneaking through the jackets
That didn’t really shield us
From the sideways blowing rain
That couldn’t wash away our smiles.


We’d stomp the sand and look for bubbles
Dig for all we’re worth - plunge a hand
Into the hole collapsing
To ***** for the illusive razor clam -
Treasure of the Northwest beaches.

Special treat for seafood lovers
Fried, or ground or cooked in stew
They seemed like sliced up innertubes to me
My fun was in the finding and the digging
The cleaning was my dad, the frying was my mom
And not eating them was me.

LONG BEACH WASHINGTON

World’s longest unbroken sandy beach
Twenty-eight miles of solid sand
Bring your car, ride your horse or bike
Cut christies in the hard packed sand.
Splash along the edges of the waves
Race with no red lights behind you.

Just watch the turning of the tide
Or boys with jeeps will have to pull you out
(Impossibly heroic idols of
My childhood beach adventures.)

And yet sometimes the sun came out-
Oh rarest gift from Mother Nature
We wandered below the kite filled skies
And sandy castle festivals.

We hid both sorrows and often and joys
And sometime hanky panky
Among the sea grass covered hillocks
That roll like the boil of a bubbling kettle
Between the sand and civilization.

It’s still there, almost unmarred
By glitzy boardwalks and sunglass shacks
Just as I remember it, what seems an eon later
Familiar things at every turn
Small thing tell me that my world abides
And I’m not really home until I’m there.
ljm
I see it beginning to change and become more commerical.  Beard's Hollow, where we used to camp with our tent is now inaccessible from the road.  Clams  have been over dug and now there is a season and a limit.  The little motor ourts have been replaced with multistory hotels, but the little town is virtually unchanged. I cannot go to Southwest Washington without a day at the beach.
915 · Jan 2019
PURPOSE
I have no purpose any more.
I’m a painter who’s gone blind
And a singer who’s gone deaf.
There is no call for what I sell.

I still daub colors on a board
To smell the Linseed Oil again
I hear the music in my head
And mouth the words in silence.

There is no surgery or cure,
What’s gone is lost forever.
And I must find a way to live
In silent darkness, if I can.
ljm
Retirement will never be for me.  Even a short break is painful.
884 · Jan 2017
INFERNO
Building an inferno
Is a part time occupation
Finding retribution
Is a pleasant moment's pastime
Marrying the two takes more
Than just a pastor

Zeus is back from his vacation
And he wants a glass of water.
860 · Nov 2021
MAGAZINE
The New Yorker is Obscurity Central
With a lot of naked Emperors
Parading through its pages.
ljm
I don't understand half of what they publish as poetry and I don't have time to take a college course to find out. I love the cartoons though.
859 · Jul 2023
EMPLOYMENT
When sadness is your occupation
And weariness your pay
There’s not a lot of point in asking for a raise
Or an extra day’s vacation.
               ljm
The truth of the matter.
858 · Dec 2017
ASKING
Can I share your Christmas
Mine’s been ****** away
Too busy closing out my job
To have much time to play

No Christmas tree, no mistletoe
No wreath on my front door
No strings of lights across the roof
No “spirit” any more

I promise not to hog your joy
And I will not intrude
I only want to steal a taste
Of all your special day includes

A whiff of loving happiness
And reverence for the season
I want to feel some holiday
And that’s my only reason

So if you’ll let me have a bite
Of what your Christmas means
I’ll be forever in your debt
For sharing happy scenes.

ljm
Still trying to get disconnected from the place I once worked and loved.
855 · Dec 2016
FADING LOVE
The Merry-Go-Round is stopping - I can hear the music fade.
I can't believe it's ending,  that the last tune has been played.
My horse is still in prance formation - she wants to go again.
How do I say the ride is over and all good things must end.

How do I slack the tightly held rein
How do I slip from astride
How do I ease the stabbing of pains
That tell me this was my last ride.

The carnival is closing - I can see them start to pack.
I don't want it to leave us - it may never again come back.
I haven't ridden all the rides yet - I haven't played the games.
How do I turn and go forever, forgetting all their names.

How do I put the coins away
That I had planned to spend
How save for them for a rainy day
And still have some to lend.

The festival is over - all the revelers are gone.
The only sign they've been here are the footprints on the lawn.
I have not finished celebrating - I want to laugh some more
How do I know the dance has ended - it never was before.

How do I turn and head for home
This was my home, you see
How can I feel that if I roam
I'll find a place for me.
                
854 · Apr 2017
DREAM BASHERS
The ravels in my sleeve of care
Grow longer every night-
Especially in the morning
When I struggle back to sleep
From waking up too early

Only to be bushwhacked
By brigades of unsolved problems,
Battalions of frustration
And whole Armies of defeatment
Marching out to meet me.

While you’re asleep your secret mind
Is solving all the puzzles
That unhinge the hours when you’re awake
And dodging slings and arrows.
That is the scholar’s promise.

That is what the con men say
In psychiatric clinics
Where they write the books
Explaining what it means to fly
And why we never land when falling.

Sleep refreshes and renews-
At least that is the theory.
It’s not supposed to wear you out
And beat you down while dreaming
Out the scripts you didn’t write.

When the raveling is complete
And both my sleeves have come undone
Will I dream of flowered fields
And happy times, successes and rewarding
Or will it end and I no longer dream at all.
                    ljm
I never win in my dreams, I'm always behind the eight-ball - "a day late and a dollar short" as the old saw says.
850 · May 2019
UNHAPPINESS
Unhappiness hangs like a wet, heavy fog
Coating any random happiness with salty tears.
It hovers just above the ground
Snuffing every little hopefulness that glows.

Unhappiness is as silent as a winter’s dawn
That muffles all the birdsong
And the wake-up call of crickets,
And turns the beating heart into a drum.

Unhappiness is as painful as a
Finger slammed shut in a car door,
Where no blood streams out
But turns to purple underneath the skin.

Unhappiness is insidious;
Growing in the half light of depression
Like mushrooms in a lonely cave
That one really knows is there.

Unhappiness is as heavy as a cross
Laid across the shoulders of your heart
As you struggle up the endless hill
That suddenly appears before you.

Unhappiness is a dozen little ills
That mock your efforts to be healthy,
That burrow like a worm into an apple
And curtail the slightest possibility of joy.

Unhappiness is my middle name.
ljm
Wrote this on a bad day. I'm a sad person under a thick veneer of happiness.
846 · Jun 2019
LYRIC
I’ll be there when you call
I’ll be there if you fall
In you I’ve found my future
I’ll be there, I’ll be there.

I’ll be there when you fly
I’ll be there if you cry
In you I’ve found my answer
I’ll be there, I’ll be there.
ljm
A song I never quite finished.
844 · Mar 2023
RESIDUALS
As the sunlight makes it way
Around the window shades
I tell myself it’s just a dream
And I can’t let it haunt me.

I have to be the one you see
To prove I’m not that nightmare
That echos in my deepest mind
And poisons yet another day.
         ljm
All too often it's hard when I wake up, to shake the me I see in dreams.
837 · Sep 2018
IT
IT
I didn’t offer, but you took it anyway

I still wanted it - you didn’t care

You had no use for it - I did

I tried to get it back - I failed

You always knew I needed it -

That didn’t bother you

You saw the empty space it left

And looked the other way

You didn’t take good care of it

You let it gather dust

I had to watch it wither

And suffer your neglect

You are a rogue and vagabond

And have a humbling debt to pay

For what you did to it and me.

ljm
Probably not about what you think it is.
825 · Mar 2017
3-LINE #4 (Actually #6)
He gave her the Earth, the Moon and Mars.
Still she said she needed more space.
      So he gave her the air.
   ljm
Just another play on words.
820 · Jan 2017
I
I
I am smoke from a discarded cigarette.
I am a dogeared page in an obscure novel.
I am rain on the ocean.

I want to be a sunbeam dancing in a glass of pink lemonade.
I want to be a tall pine's love whisper to the silvery moon.
I want to be a baby's first smile.

I am the dark side of the moon.
I am a blank cartridge.
I am a penny on a train track, waiting.

I want to be yeast bread rising in a warm place.
I want to be newly poured concrete growing firm.
I want to be a toddler's prayer.

I am a schoolyard after recess.
I am a Saturday matinee.
I am mist dying in the mourning sun.
                    
811 · Mar 2021
2020 HINDSIGHT
It was 12 months filled with apocalypse
That started at the stroke of the New Year.
The more we tried to make life good
The faster it turned bad and wrong.

A wave of illness washed ashore
Like a flash flood of bacteria.
Even those who laughed at it
Were suddenly mowed down.
We hid like cartoon hermits
In our household caves of safety.

The Grammas and the Grampas died alone,
And soon their grandkids followed them.
The jobs shut down, the schools all closed.
And children could not understand
Why Mommy was their teacher.

The populace was out of work;
Their income disappeared
And folks lined up in endless queues
To get a box of canned goods.

We struggled to avoid the ones
Demanding their God given right
To sneeze and cough from naked faces,
As masks were just for Democrats -
The constitution said so.

All holidays were sacrificed
To the Gods of the Pandemic
Forced to barricade ourselves
Against the breath of others,
We all learned to breathe through paper.

Mother Nature joined the fray -
Mud slides, hurricanes and floods,
Each setting some new record.
        
The West Coast exploded into flames
While the East Coast froze in blizzards
And Tornado Alley blew away.

The sun chased all the rain away
From Arizona’s rocky hills,
For almost two hundred scorching days,
While Mercury reached one-oh-nine
For a blistering ninety-nine of them.

The weather took a slingshot to Nevada
Spring and Fall both disappeared
In unrelenting heat.
Weather played a ping pong game
With thirty degree swings for fun,
And gale force winds for amusement.

The year became an endless Summer
Dog days vaulted over Spring
And every day was August.
Autumn never had a chance
As Winter barged in months too soon.

The weather imitated life
It wasn’t long til politics
Became a quagmire of discord
When an unlikely President
Set out instead to become a King
And join the despots he admired.

As everything went bad and wrong.
Children found themselves in cages
While their parents were sent home
And often lost to them forever.

Around the world they laughed at us
And his parade of sycophants
Who aimed to tear down common sense
And use the bricks to build that wall.

While those with any moral code
Tried vainly to restrain the one
Who claimed to have the biggest brain
Yet startled everyone in charge
With weathervane decisions.

Racism grew with media’s help.
We saw unarmed people die
In graphic form repeatedly.
Black men died in frightful numbers,                                      
Too often with bullets in their back.
And once a knee across the neck
Which proved the final, ugly straw.

That drove the crowds onto the streets,
Where they were joined by Bovver Boys
Who longed to only loot and burn
And turn peaceful protest into riots.

Egotism gone awry
Sent Jack-boots to the Portland streets
With women hustled into vans
While Third ***** vistas came to mind
And Half the city Burned.

Amidst the flailing of his flock,
The Nation’s Shepherd ditched his staff -
Abandoning his sheep, but not his golf.
His only thought, to keep his crown
And stay as King atop the hill.
In desperation to find a way,
He prattled on his fairy tales and
baldfaced, maskless lies.

The righteous folk had had enough
And turned the bully out
In numbers not to be denied,
But he refused to yield his throne
And tried a hundred ways to stay.

Those he danced on Ginsberg’s grave
In order to give candy to

Were supposed to stay his loyal friends
But even they refused the claim
That all his bean bags had been stolen.

He riled the Black Sheep of his flock
To swallow his mendacity
And urged them to stampede for him
And desecrate the country’s home
While he enjoyed it on TV.

Silenced on the air at last
He skulked back to his golden heap
For golfing in the Palm Beach sun
And subterfuge behind the scenes.

Getting past the bile and guile
Will be the next big project.
But we’ve elected one who can,
And normalcy will rule again.

Quiet now, we wait and see
If decency will have a chance
To save us from the boggy swamp
To once again be who we really are.
ljm



Google: Bovver Boots UK
This took months to write and I'm still not satisfied with it but I have to move on.
809 · Mar 2017
WRITER'S BLOCK
The word I can’t find is gagging my pen
Gates slam shut when I knock on the door
The thunder clouds rumble and crash while
The sea nears it’s ebb and the seagulls all land
To scratch in the sand for what I have lost
Intellectual handcuffs chafe but hold firmly
To the cast-iron pipes of yesterday’s genius.
My pencil has a broken lead; the poison seeps
Into the veins that hold my life together.
Fist pounding breaks the thinner ice along the edge
But the navigation channel remains frozen
And thoughts ice skate away to music I can’t hear.
Like a hungry bird chick in a broken nest
Chirping with an open mouth for sustenance
From Mama lying dead below among the leaves.
I know the meal will not appear.
                           ljm
Is it writer's block or Aphasia.
800 · Mar 2017
STREET SMARTS
With a one TRACK
mind, vast determination and a CRESCENT
smile, she set out to DRIVE
a ROUTE
that she hoped would BYPASS
the pitfalls of the low ROAD,
and carry her to a HIGHWAY
that would lead to AVENUES
of success in her search for Primrose LANE,
the BOULEVARD
of dreams and easy STREET.

She paused to MEWS
on her plans and decided that she’d WALK
the CIRCLE
forest PATH
around the public GARDENS
at the bottom of the CUL DE SAC,
but the TRAIL
through the GROVE
was muddy and the gate was about to CLOSE,
so she thought it best to hit the ROAD
and be on her WAY
before she ended up in COURT
asking the judge to OVERLOOK
her trespass in the PARK
          ljm
What I do when I'm boread at work.  Did I miss any?  Tell me and I'll rewrite.
REWRITE #1 ABOVE:  ADDING Crescent, Grove, and Cul de Sac.  THANKS TO PAGAN PAUL AND DAVID HEWITT FOR WORDS  I MISSED THE FIRST TIME AROUND.
799 · Jul 2022
PEBBLES
A shiny stone washed up onto a beach
So easy to discover and enjoy.
A crystal hewn from deepest mine
So valuable but hard to win.
I think I’ll choose the sea-washed stone
And leave the digging to the miners.
                ljm
A study in values? Or just a scribble?
793 · Apr 2023
QUICKIE
I’m old and fat
And that is that
No saving grace
For my poor face
The past is gone
I must live on
And walk this road
With aging’s load
But I recall
When I was all
I’d hoped to be-
An answered plea
I was the best
Of all the rest
I reveled on
Then all was gone
But I’m still here
With mind yet clear
The years roll past
Each one more fast
But as they fly
I never sigh
I’ve had my fun
And now it’s done.
        ljm
Saturday silliness.
776 · Feb 2017
METAPHOR
Like a toothpick on a mammoth river,
I have no say in where I’ll go.
I think I know where I’ll end up.

A tiny sliver on a massive torrent-
I will not sink, though I may tangle
With another floating twig  

And find me carried in its direction
Whether that be to the salty ocean
Or washed up on a riverbank.

I’ll fetch up where the current puts me-
There’s no arguing with life
Or the mighty Columbia River.
ljm
Life too often refuses to give me the final say.
773 · Aug 2019
I JUST DON'T
I don’t know where it went
  I just know it’s gone
    I don’t know how it happened
      I just know I did it
        I don’t know what it even was
          I just know I miss it
            I don’t know where to go to find it
              I just know I have to try
                             ljm
Ever feel like there's something missing in your life?  Every day.
770 · Apr 2019
WALK
The moon’s still high In the dawning sky
And the streetlights cut the gloom.
I go for a walk and a mental talk
That sweeps my mind like a broom.

The desert air, to which none can compare
Banishes all thoughts of doom
I walk the street to an eager beat
Like a Bride on the way to her Groom.
ljm
Every morning I walk.  Once in a while I rhyme.
767 · Feb 2021
CH #37 Belie
In an existence described as
Both boring and sere
She’s like a bright flower
Popping up in the sun.

Blooming in deserty
Rubble and sand.
Her fresh petals
Offer enticing perfume.

Her existence belies
The grimness of the surroundings
And provides a disguise
For the harsh reality of life.
                 ljm
Sometimes a pretty face makes up for drab surroundings.
766 · Jan 2017
MY PORTION
Just a little more than half
The ration for my little cup.
I cannot say it's empty
But neither is it full.

The wine has been not always sweet
But mostly soothed my soul.
On other days its bitterness
Brought rawness to my throat.

The cup is cracked; it's handle's gone
But still it does not leak.
It holds what life's poured into it
And does not cut my lips

When timidly I lift it up
To sample what I've been given
As my portion in the little cup
That represents my life.
                ljm
761 · Jan 2022
CH #68 - Stir Crazy
I’m famous for procrastination;
I put things off til almost too late
And then I rush to get things done.

Well I’ve really done it this time.
The Church bake sale is tomorrow
I’ve promised them eleven cakes.

I’m famous for my Yum-yum cakes,
Rich with fruit and coconut.
They sell like hot dogs at a fair.

The ingredients are all lined up -
They only lack the blending
But my mixer just froze up and died.

So now I’m really in a mess
No time to go and get repairs
I’ll have to do it all by hand
And I will go stir-crazy.
ljm
An entry in BLT's word-of-the-day challenge. A dip into literalism.  I really am locally famous for my Yum-yum cake.
760 · Jun 2019
BLINDED
You pull me down so I can’t see the mountains
You block my eyes so I can’t see the sky.
You take the joy from every day endeavors
And I am left with naught to do but cry.

You don’t return the sentiments I give you
You never say the words I long to hear.
You don’t observe the world the way that I do
It causes me to shed an endless tear.

You know you cannot live without me
Yet you treat me as an unimportant thing.
I’m just expected to be happy
Because I wear your golden ring.

You cast a haze on celebrations
You never help me to succeed.
You always think I shouldn’t bother
To step in where I might see a need.

You put no value on my efforts
There is no praise when I excel
You spend your love on your possessions
There’s none for me that I can tell.

I cannot see a way around this
You’ve blinded me to every hope
I exist in worlds of darkness
In a TV Opera selling soap.
ljm
I don't remember now, what exactly he did, but it made me very mad and every old gripe floated to the surface.
754 · Apr 2017
TEARS
Why couldn’t you have been hateful-
Make it easier for me to go.
Why couldn’t you have been cheating
And I’d been the last one to know.

Why couldn’t you be indifferent
Not caring if I go away.
Why must I see your heart breaking
And want to, but know I can’t stay.  
                  *  ljm
Written many years ago.   Still makes me cry to read it.
741 · Apr 2017
WISDOM
No book of rules and regulations
To warn the jar holds just one quart
So all the pushing of the liquid
Will not fit a gallon in
And I will have to mop the spill

Verses spelled on ***** sidewalks
Written in 3 shades of chalk
Embellished with fantastic flowers
Only end up walked across
And smudged from recognition
                        ljm
739 · Aug 2018
LANDFALL
There’s been so much bad luck
Blowing in the gales of life,
The sails of my happiness are
Tattered and won’t hold the wind.
Life has long been such a heavy load
My little boat is listing
And it needs to be rebalanced.
I have stores of ballast, so
My little craft won’t sink.
My twisted fingers still can hold
A needle to mend the spinnaker.
The tiller isn’t broken and
The rudder still steers true.
I can see the distant shore
And the tide is lifting me.
Soon I will make landfall and be safe
ljm
Finally gettting eccited about the move to Nevada.  All the crap will at last be over.
735 · Mar 2017
3
3
Three times nothing is nothing
Why do you keep going back
Haven't you had enough nothing
To last til forever and back.
                          
Sometimes we just never learn
735 · Oct 2017
ALL HALLOWS
It’s my day at last
To put on a mask
And be someone else.
But who shall I choose.

“The Scream” has been done
The President too
The Ewoks and Yoda
Have used up their moment.

Shall I be avenging
Or Little Bo Peep
Shall I become Gaga
Or Atilla the ***

I’d like to be pretty-
Liz Taylor perhaps
But her day is over
So why not Beyonce.

Pretty gets boring
Just ask Taylor Swift
Maybe I’d rather
Be someone less fancy

Someone who cries
For mistreated dogs
And beautiful sunsets
And other folks love

Someone who laughs
When irony rules
And giggles when
Everything turns upside down

Who is that person
And where is the mask
If I cannot buy it
I’ll just go as me.
        ljm
One of my favorite holidays.
731 · Feb 2017
DREAMS
Am I to be forever maimed
By a childhood I did not devise
Pulled down from every step I've gained
By the phantoms of my night
That twist and shift and leave me bare
In that harshest light of scorn-
That cannot be explained away
And haunt me even as I  rise
To struggle up the stairs again.
                          ljm
Another dreary poem.
727 · Mar 2017
TO W. C. T.
Spirits soaring
Twinkling star
Love awak'ning
Meteor

Gay abandon
Deep repose
Frangrant lilac
Wilting rose

Tendrils seeking
Drawung bacj
Great abundance
With'ring lack

Surging upwards
Windswept sray
Rise to Heaven
Fade away

Seek a rainbow
Sparkling hue
Find a diamond
Drop of dew

Wings of silver
High above
Be the emblem
Of my new love
            ^^^
Most of my love poems were written years ago.
718 · Jan 2017
HALF FULL GLASS
You spilled my half full glass of living.
You clumsied it onto it's side
And everything poured out.
Now how am I supposed to play
The game that says it's half way full
Not half way empty?

Any fool can plainly see
This glass has nothing in it,
Even if I Pollyanna up a smile
And spell out all it used to hold,
It's absolutely empty now
And nothing I can say will fill it.
                    ljm
718 · Jan 2017
EPILOGUE
She looked and looked at the storm-black sky
And couldn't visualize it blue.
But still somewhere down deep within her
She knew the sun would shine again.
                                  
These are the words I live by.
711 · Jun 2017
SHOWSTOPPER
Spinning in circles that have square corners
I'm the new Broadway sensation

The moon is wearing  surprise pink gel
And the wind is rosining it's bow

The Marquee is lighted by roman candles
That change colors as you observe

My name is carved into pumpkins
Lit from inside by gold sparklers

The Phantom Toll Booth is housing Will Call
And the ushers are all wearing drag

The Animal Rights folks are picketing
The unkind treatment of frogs

The clearing of throats often hurts them
And we're all a long way from the pond

My costume is still at the cleaners
So I'm dressed as somebody else

The fourth wall is now made of plaster
And my double is lost in the wings

I look but I can't see the footlights
Through the fog machine's oily haze

The prompter's asleep in the Green Room
And the Concert Master is ******

The Conductor is wearing a trainman's hat
But the Midnight Special won't be stopping here

Like me, it's gone off the rails once again
And there's nobody home in the Roundhouse

The outside decided to come on back inside
But all the seats now are taken

I need to stop twirling - I'm dizzy
I overlooked taking a point

There's somebody up in the flies
I think I see sandbags beginning to swing

I can't hear the music;  the air is too loud
And too many people are breathing

That isn't applause after all - it's thunder
And my key light has faded to three

My funniest line drew no laughter
And I've got to exit stage left

The curtain call was a barrel house polka
And no one presented me flowers

The stage door is painted an angry red
and it needs to be painted coal black

I'm back outside where I've always belonged
And no one is waiting to greet me

With autograph book and stub of a pen
Guess I might just as well walk on home
                     LJM
706 · Aug 2019
FLOCKS
Flocks of birds
Across the morning sky
Tell me
I’m not in the city any more.
             ljm
Don't know what they are, just know they're beautiful.
703 · Mar 2019
NEWCOMER
Walking streets
Where I’m unknown
I stifle sobs
And dab my eyes.
I don’t belong.
I don’t fit in.
There’s nothing here
That smells of me,
That looks like me,
That calls to me.

I climb a hill
To watch the sun
Pour pink and gold
On lacy clouds.
I scan the valley
Full of houses.
Which one is mine-
It’s hard to tell.
they look the same
But I do not.

My footsteps do not
Fit the path
I need to walk
If I’m to find
A welcome here
I worship the wrong
Ideals and ideas
And I must hide
Behind a silent smile
Lest I be ushered out.

I cannot run
I’m here to stay
There is no other
Universe for me.
I’ll choose a
Another middle name-
Chameleon sounds right.
I’ll make them think
I’m one of them
And blend into a life.
                ljm
Another old one (well, 6 mo. old, anyway).  From my "I don't want to be here" period.  I'm better (resigned) now.
703 · Mar 2017
BARN BURNER
Seething anger has burned down the barn
Where iniquity wove its amber curtains
On vintage looms of deceit and falsehood
Skylarks can’t nest there anymore
And the creek is poorer for it

The harvester is grounded and
The scythe lies in the ashes and the brambles.

The Almanac forecasted heavy rain
But the wind instead blew from the East
And was impossible to batten down
Now things once wet are very dry and cracking

There’s naught to load and take to market
Where tears won’t buy the milk and butter
And there’s no one left to bake the bread

Hurry up those stumbling feet
Wishing won’t create a cow
And you don’t own a pasture
Or a salt lick anyway

The only thing that you have left
Is an igneous tomorrow and incendiary dreams
                      ..  ljm ..
This started in one direction and went another.  I am not the driver of my own poetic car.
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