It’s easy to be the biggest wheel,
Passing out the lollipops
Stolen from the little kids.

It’s not difficult to save the world,
When the whole thing fits
Atop your breakfast table.

It’s not so hard to be a hero
When your uncle runs the war
And stations you in Malibu.

It’s a cinch to win the prize
When daddy buys up all the tickets
And mom will draw the numbers.

What’s really hard is to grow up
And be a man of principle
A man who does the thing that’s good
Even though no one will see
And crowds will not shout out his name.

To be a man who does the work
To see his vision through
Without expecting miracles
To make his dreams come true.

The world is waiting for this man
It may not even be a male
But someone with a Hero’s heart
Who isn’t bought with promised gold
And only cares to do what’s right.

Hopefully that person will be found
Before the final trumpets sounds
ljm

I made an icon of a dragonfly pin I found
It rested on my desk under many ceiling lights
Enthralling me with green and golden sparkles
As I went about my daily grind.

I took it with me when I left for home
To continue my enjoyment.
It was fine out in the sun-lit yard
But once indoors, lost all it’s glisten.

It seems the magic wasn’t in the pin
But in the way the office lights fell on it.
In ordinary household light
It was just a costume jewelry pin.

I couldn’t make it scintillate
No matter how I held it up
To every fixture in the house
It was just a pretty shape with stones

A thing with ordinary charm
That anyone could buy and lose
And someone find and be entranced -
A parallel to many lives.
And mine.
ljm

I was given Carte Blanche
To fail spectacularly
At unlimited endeavors
And I utilized that perquisite
With determined concentration
To the maximum that it allowed.
I’m waiting for my banquet.
And the silver plate award.
ljm

As I say the words that I wish could be true
In a place that can never be mine
I long for the moment that passed long ago
When all things were likely and we thought we could fly.
ljm

Another week
Another massacre
Will the flags never fly at full staff again?
                                  ljm

A lump she is
A useless chunk
Of human protoplasm
A mind that can’t untie the knots,
Now neatly wrapped in silver duct tape
On a shelf just out of reach of devastated fingers.
Claw marks mar the surface of the tape
Evidence of effort spent in vain
To free the intellect
Now unplugged
And useless
As a rock.
ljm

No special card, no brand new bill
No waiting to make the phone call.
Too much time on my hands today
Too many thoughts around me.

Mothers Day.  My Mommie’s gone.
Now I’m the Mama of this family.
Why do I feel such a little girl,
My emotional shoelaces untied and tripping me.

Amazed at why we do what we do,
I knew one day I’d live to regret it-
The Sundays just too busy to call,
The failure to find a moment for writing.

That time is now, and I’m battered with guilt
I can’t seem to talk myself out of.
If only I knew she’s forgiven my lapses
Maybe the punishment finally could end.

I   dropped everything and flew to her side
When death took her husband of just a few years,
Again when the ****** who lived up the street
Almost succeeded in killing her soul.

It’s the everyday thoughtfulness where I fell down,
The “Hi!  How are you - nothing’s much new.”
Not finding a way to be there twice a year
Instead of every other, that made me a failure.

Not a day passes that I don’t think on her
Though many had done so while she was alive.
I look on her picture in longing and sorrow
And hope that she know I now see what I’ve lost.

Haunted
Even midnight dreams are shadowed by
The most humiliating failures
And the inability to cope
In areas where I formerly excelled.

Tormented
By my need to get it right
While watching myself get it wrong
And race in all directions
In the hope of fixing things.

Ridiculed
And made to answer for
The things I used to do so well
And now can’t do at all
While there’s no place to hide.

Waking
From another graphic vision of
My inability to do the things that I did best
That specter follows me into the day
Eliminating any hope of joy.

Crying
One more day begun with tears
And lack of understanding of
The reason for the torture
That my dreams inflict on me.

Thinking
Was I bad and evil in my youth
Has it come back to haunt me now
No, I do not think that’s it
I am my own worst enemy.
The one to blame is only me.
               ljm

Silent thunder shakes the windows
Causing birds to flee the tree outside
And fling themselves into the raging wind

Jagged lightning flames the sky
In all the colors of a sunrise
While the moon still says it’s midnight

Rain has finally found it’s way
Around the thirsty desert mountains
And readies itself for the deluge

Sandbags may hold back the flood
But they can’t stop tomorrow
And the monsoon putting on its boots

Dawning comes in dreary clothing
Gray and heavy in the hems
Waiting to start shrugging off

The weather, like a game of
Stack the Timber Tower
Debates the utmost time to tumble

Everything is battened down
Awaiting the first sprinkles
That will presage the downpour

The birds have come back to the trees
But they are silent like the thunder
While the city holds it’s breath

And watches out a million windows
With the TV standing by
As we all wait to meet the wet
   ljm

What do I have left to give
I’m spent and fading like a week-old rose

I gave my beauty to uncaring eyes
Who never saw beyond the makeup

I gave my talent to unfeeling moguls
Who used it just to monetize

I gave my wisdom to foolish clowns
Who read my musings upside down

I gave my razor wit to empty faces
Who never tried to get the joke

I gave my toil to unappreciation
And unwillingness to compensate

I sang my song to deafened ears
And never got to hear applause

I wrote my words on tissue paper
And they left them outside in the rain

I gave my heart in hopeful sharing
And got it back in shredded pieces

I have nothing left to give....but up
And somehow I just can’t do that.
ljm

I long to write of shimmering translucence
Of gentle thoughts with gossamer wings
That float above breeze rippled fields of serenity.

But what comes from my pen is how to bake a cake
And what I see through ***** windows.

I long to write of Hollyhocks and Jasmine,
Of exquisite Orchids blooming in exotic places
That suddenly appear to delight the passing eye.

But what grows from my pen are Dandelions
And vast fields of very common Clover.

I long to plumb the depths of human spirit
Searching for the essence of that magic thing called soul
To set it free in glorious transcendence

But my pen spits out confusion not perception

And it maps a path that only goes in circles.

I long to create music from the written word
To build crescendos that fade into lullabies
And obliviate the need for language.

But what thunders from my pen is mostly noise
Without a beat and lacking any melody.

I long to write the words that cause the world to cry-
That opens them to vistas that were hidden
And shows them landscapes of a better place to be.

But my pen seems locked In every-dayness
And I can only write up what I long to do
And blur the words with wistful tears.
ljm

IF  YOU  HAD  A  PENNY  FOR
EVERY  TEAR  I’VE  CRIED  FOR  YOU,
YOU’D  BE  A  FREAKIN’   BILLIONAIRE.
                                    ljm

A paucity of creativity
Brings on a lack of productivity
Which causes incivility
That leads me to mendacity.
ljm

This is the story of an aching love.
A hopeless schoolgirl kind of thing.
He was a basketball star player on
The Monticello Mustangs team,
Not showy, but quiet and a little shy.
He was glorious to look at
through the lenses of my brown eyes.
I had to work to learn his name-
it was Finnish, spelled Laulainen.
I said it lots of different ways until I heard
somebody say it right-
Ed     Law lie’ nen
All the bells rang out and bluebirds sang
As I crooned and whispered that magic name
In the quiet of my room.
I never had a class with him-
he was a year ahead.  
He wasn’t part of rowdiness
when passing in the halls
from one lesson to the next.
If he walked past I turned into
A pillar of salt dyed crimson
From the blood that burst my heart.
I don’t recall now how I came to have it
But I had a small creased snapshot of him and
I slept with it under my pillow every night.
I touched it and looked at it and imagined
him touching me.  The thought of him
kissing me was far beyond my wildest dreams
I suspect my mom knew it was there,
but she never said a word
And I guarded it like my virginity.
And my best friend had no idea.
He never knew I was alive-
he didn’t know my name.
I was one of the nameless girls
That are present but unseen.
One day I was sent to the cafeteria
For something the teacher needed.
Standing by the now closed door
Was God Who Walked The Earth,
Ed Laulainen in the flesh.
The shock of standing next to him
paralyzed my tongue.
I dared not look at him
and finally only said “Is anybody there”.
Did he answer - I don’t know.
I was terrified and in paroxysms
of ecstasy. I was sharing the same air he breathed.
He left Junior High for Senior High and I lost track of him.
But I loved him with ferocious fervor and wishful longing
If desire could have made him mine, Midas would have
been poor by comparison.
OccasionallyI think of him and the plain little girl who worshipped him.
Where did he go - how did  he grow - what kind of life did he live.
In ten more years the little girl could have most anyone she wanted
but the crinkled photo stayed in a trinket box for a long,long time before
it washed away on the tides of new loves, real loves, and living.
I wish I could see him once again to tell him the story of
the little girl who chose him to love with all her soul and first flush of emotion.
                                   ljm

In the valley of the Apricotted Sunrise
The black mountains with their jagged cliffs
Rise up each day to block it - and fail totally.
No mountain can hold back the dawn.

Seeping across the Eastern sky
Like an oncoming ocean tide
What was black and cobalt blue
Finally gives up the fight
And turns the color of a peach.
A delicious Arizona morning.
        ljm

Words are floating in the air like
Dragonflies in summer.
They reflect on placid waters
Only ruffled by the silver fins of tiny fish.
They dangle ripe and tantalizing
From the brambles growing by the train tracks.
They soar and cartwheel in the azure sky.

Words are lurking in the shadowed places
In the forests of emotion, and the dells
Where sunshine is a seldom visitor.
They tumble like a child’s balloon
Down waterfalls of jubilation.
They pounce like kittens from the top of cabinets.
They curl up in a mother’s lap.

Words can be illusive as a chimera
So difficult to capture in a pen,
And once ensconced, impossible to lure back out.
Words are currency to purchase immortality -
To bargain with the vicissitudes of life
And bandage wounds of disappointment.
They build a wall and often hide behind it.

Words are letters rearranged a million times.
The songs of living, loving, laughing life.
They can be the voice of brilliant minds,
The moans of breaking hearts and souls,
The sigh that sounds the same in every tongue,
The cry to God when all else fails,
The one true tool that separates us from the Apes.
ljm

MOTTOS

I have two mottos that sustain me
Through whatever comes along.

Number one says simply:
“LIFE IS TOUGH - BUT I AM TOUGHER”

The second is
A little longer.  It says:
TOUGH TIMES DON’T LAST -
TOUGH PEOPLE DO.

I don’t know where
These words all came from.
I only know they keep me
On my feet and moving on.
ljm

The wind has stopped
blowing
A leaf settles slowly
on quicksand
and does not sink
The wind has
stopped howling in
the canyons
but the fires
burn on
and you
dare not
walk across
the quicksand
to put them
out.
       ljm

JINGLES

Sad in such a happy place
I can’t find my clown suit

Nor the paint to make a cheerful face
And I forgot the song I sing.

All too often that’s the case
I haven’t any joy to share

And I cannot keep up this pace
I know I soon must find a way

To exit with a little grace
And vanish me without a trace.
ljm

Sands
Time
Endless force
Eddying beneath me
Moving me against my will
Taking me from that I long for

Down
Deep
Sinking low
Straining ever  upward
Reaching for a perfectness
Losing much and gaining little

Light
Life
Blot away
Journey into darkness
Settle deep my lonesome heart
Here let my anguish slowly lessen

Sleep
Dream
Wishing star
Bathe me in translucence
Memories perfume the air
Lotus bloom on stems of longing

Peace
Rest
Vapeurs thin
Nonexistent valley
Shadow world of gossamer
Blown by winds of truth to frenzy

Wake
Climb
Face the wind
Let it wilt the lotus
Reach toward the icy light
Find a balm to heal the hurting

Look
Grasp
Values great
Pain has served a purpose
Follow paths to beingness
See his guideposts never erring

Be
Aim
Waste it not
That which he has given
Nurture it and make it grow
Seed he laid in fertile garden

Truth
Peace
See it out
Find it in reality
Not in hidden valleys
Recognized my solace stands now.
                      ^^^

Who are these people?

I baked them bread. I made them welcome
And they left **** and ***** on my lovely carpet.
They smiled as they stole my Gramma’s silver teapot
They pulled down the curtain in my dressing room
And mopped the bathroom floor with it

They each got a Jeep in ’59, parlayed it
To a better place to be and live
And perfect superior attitudes that
delegate those with rounded eyes
To the lonely space beneath contempt.

Who are these people?

I learned their songs and sang along
But they stole my record player
And sold it for a dollar ten
And gave me only half the money
Saying that was all they got.

They rob their kids of childhood games
To run the shop and study hard
To be the best at everything
And social mores and etiquette
Are something for the native born.

Who are these people?

I helped them when I saw a need
And never got a thank you
I smiled when they pushed me aside
To reach the goodie table first
And take the biggest piece.

They piously bow heads to pray
On entering a holy place
(That serves as Country Club)
To listen to the words of God
And leave to serve the devil.

Who are these people?

They are the winners in an evil game
A hive that can’t be overcome
I watch myself go down in flame
And wait for justice to be won.
                      ljm

It’s all over now
All ******* with a velvet ribbon and ready to be put away
With the other memories saved for my old age.
Why can’t I close the closet door on it.
Why am I reluctant to consign it to the dark.
It was only twenty years and a single child.
It was only everything I ever wanted and much less.
I’m the one who rang the final gong
Why is it’s echo so discordant.

Maybe the things saved for my golden years
Should be unpacked right now.
Perhaps I lost track of time, and now the moment’s here.
Why do I expect the gold to have turned green.
How do I know the dust can not be blown away.
It can’t be midnight for more than an hour.
Why shouldn’t the sun come up again today.

It’s all over now
And nothing can be changed.  Life provides few erasers for our use.
What has been will be forever.  What is gone is lost forever.
Tomorrow will arrive in empty boxes
And I’m the one who put them in the mail.
I suppose they’ll all come postage due -
And me with only credit cards.
I wonder if the bank is open at this hour
And if this check is any good.

Maybe I should not be home when the postman rings the bell.
Perhaps I should be out job hunting when he comes.
Why do I think no one will hire me,
There’s no reason to despair.
There’s lots of kinds of things I do
How do I know I’ll never do them again.
Why shouldn’t I be usefully employed.

It’s all over now
And time to get on with whatever it was that seemed it would be better.
Time to see if pig ears really do become silk purses.
Time to learn how many hills I’ve yet the legs to climb.
Why aren’t I excited at the prospect of new vistas?
I couldn’t possibly have seen them all.
Perhaps the rain and fog have put me off.
I shiver in the wet and can’t see through the mist-
Which leaves me ever standing here, right beside the closet.
                                      

Sometimes you have to run really fast
To keep the dark from catching up with  you.
ljm - I think

The jar is mostly empty -
Firm packed words and phrases
Taken handfuls at a time
And flung at parchment and the world

They did not boomerang to fill the void
Replenishing what was taken.  

The clotheslines of the hoi-polloi
Are burdened with the excess,
Straining in the winds of nonchalance
Exhibiting the lack of contemplation.

Do the thoughts that ride those words
Accept that they will blow away like dust.
         ljm

Awake too early once again
Afraid to read myself to sleep
Because of badness always hiding
In the bushes of my dreamlands.

Filthy restrooms, windows where there should be walls
People that don’t seem to like me
Things I need and cannot find
My life’s work an apology.

Tortured pets and wounded hopes
Mazes made of halls and stairwells
How fast I can’t run away
From dangers with their faces hidden.

Can I drive on narrow rails
And not fall to the canyon floor?
What happened to the coins I found-
All mine for the collecting.

Who is it I’m letting down
As I discover that I’m late
And all that should have been arranged
Is still locked in the closet.

Who are all the nameless faces
Everywhere not helping me
But mostly getting in the way
Of what I need to finish.

Wide awake before the dawn
I stumble from one nightmare
Hoping not to find another
When I go crash upon the sofa.
ljm

I told everyone that I’d be fine -
They dynamited my golden years
And put the pieces in the trash -
But I said I would be OK.

I have resources and reserves
That paved the way
Past rocky highways in the past
And would suffice me once again.

I reassured the ones who wept
That this was not to be an ending -
That I had maps and GPS
To guide me to a safer haven.

But when I looked inside the box
Containing my bravado
There was a hug and a kindly word
And nothing else to help me.

Shocked at all that emptiness
The first thing that I did was cry
And gape into that hollow space
To wonder where the courage went.

But when I saw the others stare
I clamped the lid back on real tight
And glued a smile onto my face,
Picked up my box and strode away.

Now I’m hidden safe at home
Astonished at my disbelief
That years could warp away and melt
The fortitude I counted on.

That I should find myself alone
With nothing but a broken crutch
To help me cross the quicksand bog
And locate solid ground again.

How shall I navigate the mire?
My GPS and maps are gone.
Bravura’s just a memory.
I’m not the big girl after all,

There is no Mommie I can call
No friend to offer magic beans
This time I find myself alone
To see if I can find a way
To fill back up that empty box.
ljm

In a weary last-week world
Crammed with too-much not-enough
and everyone forgot their password

In vast emptiness-es crowded
With everything nobody wants
And someone else is boldly hoarding

In a time that passes in a blur
Of somehow never being able
To find a key to wind the clock

There is a little flower growing
In a most unlikely place
Hoping for an eye to spot it.

There is a tiny four leaf clover
Waiting for someone to find it
And remake a dreary day

There is an end to that beginning
And the band will play again
And then at last we all can dance
                         ljm

Wrapped around by dawning
cotton candy clouds,
I turn and turn
to scan them all.
Squadrons of Starlings
punctuate the quiet
as the crooked moon
decides it’s time to maybe set.

On a gravel hill that
overlooks a minor wasteland,
I selfishly enjoy
a time that’s mine alone;
reminding one who felt
hard-done-by,
that in reality she
rolled the dice
and won.
     ljm

Not allowed to be part of her life
Only a casual bystander
Feeding on the crumbs of her
Tossed to me by others
ljm

Why does this site rearrange spacing when you hit the Save button.  Time after time I type something in a certain format and when it comes up on screen, all the spacing is different.  I wrote a thing shaped like an evergreen tree.  Took me forever to get the words to fit the spacing needed.  I hit the save button and it was totally unrecognizable.  I hit the Edit button so that I could manually correct the spacing and what came up was a perfect rendition of the original.  So how was I supposed to correct the posted version from that?  Can't be done.  This is not the first time for this to happen and make my blood boil.  Anybody got a solution?
If you want to see "The Tree", I can e-mail it to you.

The Humming Bird feeder is full to the top.
Do they not come around any more?
The tree is bare of its sheltering leaves
So it’s not out of sight like before.

In this Winter of feeling afraid and alone
The tiniest bird can bring joy
And hope that tomorrow will come as a gift
That we can unwrap like a toy.

The days have drug by at a crippling pace;
People have gone by the wayside.
It seemed like eternity marched on ahead
And life was just one frozen sleigh ride.

As we slowly awake from a desperate sleep
It’s clear we’re not out of the woods,
But at last in front of us there is a path
That will lead us from evil to good.

A light has come on in our government’s home;
The dark specter’s been wafted away.
A promise of better times floats on the breeze
With the chance for a sunnier day.

As I look out the window, my heart skips a beat
The sun glances off glistening wings
I see not one, but two humming birds
At the feeder, and now my heart sings.
   ljm

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

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

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

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

I’ve always had this fantasy
That if you die and go to Heaven
You’re not aware of earthly things
But if somebody left below
Should think of you, a bell rings.

A bell that only you can hear
With such lovely tinkling sound
A bell that tells you someone cared
That someone’s thinking of your smile,
Remembering the times you’ve shared.

Other Angels all around
Are doing what the angels do
Then one will stop and tilt her head
And you know that she’s hearing things
And smiling with the joy it brings.
ljm

Life was fine for just a little while
Until it wasn’t pretty any more,
And I remembered how
The Sea sends waves
Across a rugged beach
I can no longer get to,
And the bottoms of my feet
Are aching for the sand.
The seagulls know the answer
To this problem
But they will almost never tell
       ljm

I find myself in a terrible state
Too old to be young and too young to be old

I am indeed in a terrible state
Too rich to be poor and too poor to be rich

No escaping this terrible state
Too weak to be strong and too strong to be weak

How do I deal with this terrible state
Too smart to be dumb and too dumb to be smart

I’ll just learn to live with this terrible state
Too sad to be glad and too glad to be sad
ljm

Springtime rain pays no attention
To everything that might get wet.
Yes, it stresses comprehension.
Springtime rain pays no attention
Rain creates a new dimension
And gets most everyone upset.
Springtime rain pays no attention
To everything that might get wet.
ljm

Evil has gotten itself a gun
              The end of the world has just begun.
                              ljm

No more tears allowed.
There is a Palace at the end of this road,
Which turned out to be long and stony,
Pieces washed out by floods of tears
And avalanches of regrets,
Highwaymen around each corner.

No more sobbing in the night.
The castle walls are within sight
And the drawbridge is slowly coming down.
There is a light in the tower window
And the smell of dinner in the air.
Only one last mile to conquer
And at last I will be safely home.
ljm

Plowing fields of acid soil
Where nothing good will ever grow
I swelter in the summer sun
And didn’t bring some water.
ljm

Thoughts,
like fingers trailing in the water of a quiet lake,
making ripples that fan out and eventually fade
into the stillness that makes reverie a balm
to mend the broken pieces of my wounded spirit.

Small boat
big enough for only two but I’m alone and very still,
paddles stowed and sunhat on, I drift
on currents imperceptible and slow
in directions that the birds won’t tell me.

Pine Trees
on the distant shore, unmoving in the tiny breeze,
create the vision of a cool and private place of safety
not for me, but for all those I cannot see but know
are sheltered in their shadowed depths.

Tiny Fishes
going happily about their business, clearly seen
beneath my little boat in water that’s so clear
they seem just inches from my trailing fingers,
Unafraid that they might be in danger.

Dragonfly
neon needle in the sky darting close to visit me
then swooping left to disappear against the sun
and leave me musing in my tiny boat as I discover
I am whole and healed of spirit, and can go on.
ljm

I want to be the lady who
                had a dainty stone teahouse
                                     built on the tiny island in
  the middle of Emerald Bay
                      in South Lake Tahoe,
accessible only by
          the little yellow boat with
                            the scalloped awning over it,
   which she kept by the dock
                              below Vikingsholm,
her glorious stone-built castle
                                       in the nearby pine trees.
Who is she?  
          Who was she?  
                   Why couldn’t I have been her?
                                                           ljm

When you’re not newly or madly in love
When no new thrill has come your way
When the sunset is hidden by the smog
And the draught has killed all the flowers

What do you write about

When you’ve suffered no great disappointment
When you’ve won no award or any prize
When you haven’t gambled on love and lost
And the mountains you’ve climbed are just hills

What do you write about

When inspecting your navel is boring
When you can’t really tell how you feel
When you can’t see the humor in pratfalls
And nothing exciting has happened

What do you write about

When everyone you know remains healthy
When the trees in the woods are just trees
When the butterflies don’t visit your garden
And the hummingbird feeder’s abandoned

What do you write about

When you reach for the stars but can’t touch them
When you hear the song but can’t sing it
When you stare at your blackboard and it’s empty
And you’ve run out of ink for your pen

What on Earth do you write about.
ljm

The unsmelled rose on the back of the bush
Is mocked by the one in the vase
But water can not replace good soil
And the unsmelled rose laughs last.

ljm

1.  The only escape from this nightmare is death
     But that’s not escape - it’s nothing but a blackout.
     The only hope left flickers and dies
     Like an ill-tended summer campfire
     As the lucky numbers refuse to compute,
     And all that’s left is sand and sun     
     That scorches all attempts to find a way
     To make accommodations to the heat.

      Safe for now inside a fragile stucco igloo,
      What will happen when the statement comes
      That says we can’t afford the ice
      That’s needed to stave off the burn,
      And there’s no shady place to go and hide.
      With no escape to dream filled sleep
      There’s only counting minutes on a clock that                                                          never  moves.                             
                                                                ­                                    
2.   The ragged sleeve is not caught up at night
      And the road ends at a chasm of despair.
      The winds and tides are out of sync
      And morning comes at midnight.
      Writhing in the tangled sheets, I’m
      Thinking thoughts with no way out,
      Of what was always bound to come,
      Riding on another bad decision.

3.   Death will not lure me this night -
      Too cruel to leave him here alone
      Without the necessary tools to live
      And find a road that leads to hope.
      If only slumber was my friend
      And I was not out counting stars
      When it’s too dark to find my way
      And all the nearby world is snoring.

4.   Huddled in a corner with a pen
      The paper blots up tears and ink
      And offers no hope of surcease
      To seeds of panic poised to grow.
      If only a little rain would fall.

ljm