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292 · Nov 2023
RIDE
The Ferris Wheel is slowing down
  The ride is almost over
    The zooming up was thrilling
      The view from there exciting
        The downward swing was also fun
          Because it turned to rise again.

                                  It seemed the ride would last forever
                              But we knew that wasn’t true
                          We just refused to think about it
                      Til slowing motion made it clear
                  The ride was coming to an end
              And it would very soon be time
           To loose the seat belt and get off
        And walk amongst the land-bound
    Remembering the view from high
While heading for the Tilt-A-Whirl.
             ljm
This is not about an amusement park.  No.
292 · Oct 2017
ALSO RAN
I came in the very first
In the race to golden treasures
And was told I had no entry form
And only those who paid that fee
Could carry off the trophy.
            ljm
A day late and a dollar short, as always.
291 · Jun 2019
SUNRISE WALK
Looking like white cotton ***** pulled and stretched
Til they are thin as gauze and wispySpread across the morning sky
With other clouds that ripple like enormous corduroy.
I see them as I step out on my daily sunrise walk.
Up sloping streets, down slanted lanes,
I revel in this twilight of the night time.

Knowing there will be a show to take my breath away,
I climb the rubbled hill that separates our steeets
From those across the access road. It’s very steep
And I place my feet with caution on the narrow path.
It would’t do to slip and tumble down the rocky *****.
I walk the ridge-line - half a mile - avoiding
All the off-road tracks that scar the tumbled surface,
Making daring runs across and up and down the steepness

First the bottom of the clouds turn Cotton Candy pink,
Just at the horizon line of jagged, distant mountains.
Then as I watch, the color seeps across the other clouds
Until the morning sky resembles bubble gum.
As quickly as it comes, it fades and takes a golden hue
That gradually turns pink to gold, as the clouds
All change their dresses.
The indigo of the pre-dawn sky plugs in to nature’s power
And the sky begins to glow a neon azure blue.

A flash on the horizon line announces the
First shimmer-glimmer of the sun
As it wakes up and stretches arms across the sky,
And all the pink and gold goes home until tomorrow.
At which point I do the same.
         ljm
Never seen dawns like these before.
291 · Dec 2017
TUESDAY
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
Still in a spin from being fired.
291 · Jun 2017
DOOMED
Doomed
The writing on the wall
Cannot be scrubbed away
Or painted over.
It is burned into the surface.

Doomed
The carefully wound clock
Has lost it’s main spring
And the hands no longer move,
Though the alarm still rings.

Doomed
The rising of the tide
Eats steadily at
The edges of the castle
So skillfully constructed.

Doomed
The wind has changed direction
And the breeze become a gale.
The aging oak tree
Lacks to roots to save it.

Doomed
The fragile flower’s beauty
Is no match for the equipment
Paving over gardens built
For other times and people.
                   ljm
The end of my career is in sight, and not by my choice at all.  Too sad to think about.
290 · Mar 2021
OH NO
We all know error 501 - locks us out in the cold
Today it's error 500 - this is getting very old.
The Home page is locked beyond my reach
I'm going to pull my hair and screech.
Is it the site or is it my mac
Getting back at me for my attack.
I don't know and I don't care
There's poetry I want to share
So let me get to my home page
Before I fly into a rage.
And write some more of this bad verse
It's awful now, but  could get worse.
                                     (ljm)
Afraid to sign my name to that one.  But why can't I get to my Home Page to read????  What is error 500?
287 · Aug 2017
THEN
When I have said the last thing
That I ever need to say
I will lay me down to die

When I have learned the last thing
That I ever need to learn
I will lay me down to die

When I have sung the last song
That I ever need to sing
I will lay me down to die

When I have seen the last place
That I ever need to see
I will lay me down to die

When I have held the last hand
That I ever need to hold
I will lay me down to die

When I have shed the last tear
That I ever need to shed
I will lay me down to die

When I have lived all the life
That I ever need to live
I will lay me down and die

And not until.
ljm
I think I'm gonna need about 20 more years at the far end of my life, in order to fit it all in.
287 · Nov 2022
KEITH WILSON
A warm and welcoming word
To one just learning to speak,
One treading timidly on grounds
Being trod by more poetic feet.

A kind and steady presence
To encourage and support
The growth of words as flowers
In the gardens of my mind.

He often here  wrote of planting things
And thoughts that came to bloom
In lines that will be evergreen
To those who will remember.

Above all things, a kindly man
Of wit and inspiration
Lake Windermere will miss his words
As I will here in far Nevada.
                             ljm
Keith was the very first person to offer a compliment on something I held my breath and posted on HP back in 2015. He encouraged me all through these passing years and I will miss him for the wonderful person and poet he was.
285 · Sep 2019
WEATHER REPORT
We’ve bottled up the rain and sent it East
Where it has swept away the treasures of a lifetime
And howling winds have torn the roofs
Off our houses and our souls

The furies march in endless waves
Of lightning led by thunder
Across the sacred middle lands
That form the heart-beat of our being,

Ravishing the Eastern shores
With hurricanes and floods
While we here in the scorching West
Watch all the green things wilt and die.

We got so little in return
For sending all that water East:
Parched and ravaged forest lands
On Fire in endless places.

We need some of that rainfall here
To cool the blazing desert sands.
To even out the catastrophic
Damage we have done to Gaea.

While little planes fall from the stormy skies
And land on fields and homesteads,
The houses all hide troves of weapons
With angry trigger fingers waiting.

Our lungs burn in the Amazon;
The leader won’t accept our help.
It’s getting hard to catch a breath
As we choke Inhaling flavored vapors.

There’s little hope, but still they come
Across the muddy borders
Seeking safety and prosperity
That’s nothing but illusion

The weather Gods are furious
At what we’ve done, and we’ve become
Just twisted icons swirling in the flames
Of hatred, greed and apathy.

Following a Judas Goat, we march
Toward destruction of our planet
Shouting slogans filled with lies
And promises that all is well.
ljm
Last night, at 98 degrees hot, we  had the mother of all wind,   thunder, lightning, and dust storms. And not a drop of rain to ease the pain.  There's an old folk song called "What Have They Done To The Rain".  Joan Baez sang it. In the song it never stopped raining  .It's  just the opposite here, sad to say.
284 · Dec 2017
OLD LADIES
The doors that looks could open up
Are padlocked to us now.
The passing years have turned the key
And we are locked outside.
Standing in the icy rain, still trying to get in
Where beauty generates the warmth.

The more bedraggled we appear
The more we disappear.
The paper on the wall becomes
The pattern of our lives.
We arch the brows and paint the lips
And dye the silver strands

But nothing short of neon lights
Will draw attention to our mein.
We see the glance like lighthouse-sweep
Wash over us and then away
As quickly as revolving beams
And we are left here in the dark,

Remembering the longing glance-
The interlocking of the eyes
That told us we had been approved
And freed to move about the sphere
Where all the pretty people were,
And we were added to that sum.

How bittersweet to meet the days
We knew were there but still refused to see
Encamped along our road of life
Like brigands poised to steal the last
Of shimmer from the faces that we wore
And leave us all with masks of wrinkled, sagging age.

ljm
I see the handwriting on the wall !  There's no escaping it.
283 · Oct 2019
GHOST
Last night I woke up terrified
Of a visage by my bed
A ghost perhaps?
Do I believe in ghosts?
I never thought I did.
But who’s been poking
My shoulder while I sleep
And moving my big toe.
Where’s the label
From my special water jar?
No one took it
But still it’s gone.
Who moves things
Once they’re put down.

This all sounds like la-la land
But I don’t think I’m crazy
But last night the strangeness
Filled the air
And I was terrified for real.
My pounding heart
Was not a fake
Or maidenly hysteria.
I’m far too practical for that.

So what was that beside my bed
Masculine in form, unmoving,
Not quite opaque or shimmering,
Gone the instant I spoke out,
Crying “I just saw him!”
And sleep was just a memory for hours.

What was it?
I don’t know.
Was it real?
Who can say.
Will it return?
I certainly hope not.
Have I gone bonkers?
I don’t think so.
Am I puzzled?
You can bet your life on that.
    ljm
Strange things happening in this house.
283 · Nov 2024
JUST DESSERTS
America will now get what it voted for-
What it wanted more than decency.
It will unfold for 200 weeks.
Wish I didn’t have to be here to watch.
ljm
Getting it all out of my system.
283 · Dec 2018
FUGUE STATE
I never know I’ve gone til I come back
And realize that life
Has moved on for a period
And left me here behind

I don’t slip off to fall asleep
I doubt that sleep is involved at all
I jump to other nonsense lifes
Against my wish and flagging will

Not nightmares, but scenarios
Of things and people I don’t know
Doing things I’ve never done
In times and places I’ve not been

Not unpleasant in the least
Just people doing people things
But in some other universe
That skates around outside of this one

Sometimes I’m still conversing there
When something drags me back to here
Where someone looks at me and says “Beg pardon?”
And I reply “oh, nothing. I’m just talking to myself”

I can't remember where I was
Or who were those there with me
The memory fades as I return
And realize that I’ve been gone

Without farewells or by-your-leave
To visit in a different world
With nothing that I recognize and people I don’t know
I’m moving through a life that isn’t mine

I don’t know how to make it stop
Am I insane or is this real
I have no way to know for sure
I just know it will come again.
                                 ljm
Escapism in its purest form
282 · Feb 2021
IF FOR TODAY
If you don’t know who’s side you’re on,
Come stand by me, it’s mine.
If you don’t know who’s right or wrong
We’ll sort it out in time.

If you don’t know what choice to make
For none of them look good
Come join me for convenience sake
It’s something that you should.

If you don’t know what you should do
Come sit by me and learn
I’ll tutor you the whole way through -
Teach you which way to turn.

I’ll walk with you along the way
I’ll even take your hand
I’ll tell you all the words to say
And help you make a stand.

If you will put your trust in me
I will not lead you wrong
I’ll give you power to be free
And make you fine and strong.

If you don’t know who’s side you’re on
It’s safe to stand by me
If you can’t tell what’s right or wrong
Just come and stand by me.
                   ljm
Feeling older and wiser today.  One out of two ain't bad.
281 · Sep 2022
CH13 ESTIVAL -
This year’s Estival
Was supposed to be the best of all
But a Chinese pandemic
Gave us something not to mimic
ljm
Too easy.
279 · Dec 2021
DECEMBER MORNING
The chill is seeping
Through my sweatsuit
As I walk this
Cold December morning

My cheeks feel icy-
My nose is red.
(Rudolph will not get
The best of me.)

A con-trail rips
Across the sunrise sky -
White slash against
The pink-tinged blue.

An increasing yellow glow
Begins to seep its way
Slowly down the
Jagged mountains.

And the gentle rising
Of the Winter Sun
Gives promises
Of warmth and comfort.

To a world in need of both.
                                ljm
Walking stirs my creative juices.
279 · Feb 2021
CH #38 Indissoluble
After all these years you ask if I still love you.
Are you afraid my heart will walk away?
Do you fear my mind seeks other pleasures?
Why would you doubt what should be evident.

My love for you is very indissoluble.  
It cannot end. It will not go away.
There is no way to break it. It will not wear out.
It will never fade in sunlight.  It is strong.
It will not shrink if washed in tears. It’s durable.

Passing time cannot erode the feelings that we share
Nor dim the memories we’ve made in sadness and in joy
Take comfort in these simple words: We’re gonna be all right.
There’s nothing that can damage us. We’re totally secure.
So put your doubts into my hands and let me mold them
Into something that will reassure you always.
            ljm
Still playing BLT's word game.  Haven't written a love poem in a long time.
278 · Dec 2022
IT'S TIME
Time for the sadness to find an end
Time for the hateful words to hush
Time for the wounded to find a balm
Time for universal love to blush

Time to find abandoned paths
And travel on them once again
Time to lend a helping hand
And plant new courage deep within

Time to act when there’s a need
To be the person who steps out
To bridge the rivers yawning wide
With cataracts of fear and doubt.

Time for the star that glowed one night
O’er the hills of little Bethlehem
To work a magic in our souls
Eliminating “us and them”

Time to bathe in gentleness
And soak in honesty
Time to set the world alight
With all the things that ought to be.
ljm
M E R R Y    C H R I S T M A S   D E A R   F R I E N D S
278 · Aug 2017
MIC
MIC
Why search the world for a microphone
When there is nothing left to say
And no one left who wants to hear it?

    ljm
I believe it was in Hamlet that Shakeseare spoke of the "sound and fury, signifyng nothing".  Seems to be a lot of that going on these days.
277 · May 2023
GLITTERATI
With their store-bought *****
And Botoxed faces
With Gucci bags and corset laces
They smiled on us like we were Rubes

Who didn’t know the stuff they learned
From whispers at the Polo Bar,
And how some gal became a star
Rewarded for the tricks she turned.

To them class is designer’s names
On things worth less than half their price
They always seek the biggest slice
Of that big pizza known as fame.

They’re always at the big events
When there are cameras around.
If there are headlines to be found.
Their statements seldom make much sense.

I wouldn’t want to be like them
Living such a plastic life
Longing for the surgeons knife
To give them beauty on a whim

I’ll go on my Rube-like way
Without the glitter and the glam
I’ll just stay the way I am
And live a happy, useful day.
ljm
KISS is a good rule to live by.
277 · Oct 2017
COLD CALL
I knocked on the mansion door of life                                
And was told the servants entrance
Was downstairs, around the back.
And please vacate this entrance.
ljm
Maybe a little self esteem problem??
276 · Sep 2017
MISSING D. H.
WHERE  ARE  YOU,  DAVID  HEWITT?

WE  MISS  YOUR  SENSITIVE  VIEW­  OF  THE  WORLD

AND  YOUR  ROLLICKING  SENSE  OF  HUMOR.

WHERE­  DID  YOU  GO?

                             please come back

please

                       come

                                                back

     ­                                                                 ­                                       ljm
He suddenly stopped posting.  Is he allright?
274 · Dec 2021
DOGGEREL
I picked up my pencil
And sat down to write
I had nothing to say, for
I’m not very bright.

But that didn’t stop me
I needed a Pome
I needed to scribble
A life-changing tome.

I sweated a little.
I crossed out a lot.
I hoped it was brilliant.
I sensed it was not.

I read the New Yorker
Their poems are obscure
I may write only drivel
But my meaning is clear.

So now I am finished.
I’ll read it and you
Then go get a pencil-
Be a famed poet too.
           ljm
What can I tell ya - it happens.  I can't stop it.
274 · Jun 2023
BIRD
I sat by my morning table grieving
And feeling sorry for myself
When I glanced out the kitchen window
And spied a strikingly beautiful bird
Slowly pacing among all the pebbles
That cover the surface of my back yard.

His  head was iridescent purple and blue
Flashing in the wintertime sun.
He didn’t seem to be in a hurry -
Just taking himself a casual stroll.
Looking around as if on vacation
And seeing the sights in a wonderful place.

I had no idea where he might have came from
Or if there was a name for his breed.
I only knew I found him a pleasure
Who turned a sad and depressing hour
Into something healing and warm
That I will remember for more than a day.
ljm
Approximately 20 quail have set up housekeeping under our front yard hedge. They scurry across the street if we come too close.  Absolutely charming
273 · May 2022
FATE
The Good son died, a victim of fate.
The Other cashed in and created a state
That cost their father who loved them dearly
Everything….or just about nearly.
ljm
And may yet do it.
273 · Feb 2019
SILENT NIGHT
All alone on Christmas day
Oh, Boo Hoo, poor me
By myself in the mess I’ve made
Shed a tear for me

Wandering the empty halls
Who will bring me tea
Someone working without pay
On this Christmas day.

Wife and kid are far away
Having a wonderful time
I’m left here, lower lip stuck out
Determined to have my way.

I’ll stamp my foot and kick the wall
They must all bend to my will
Don’t say I’m wrong if you want your job
I'll kick you off the Hill.

All by myself - where are my gifts
Under the red Christmas tree?
Oh no, there are ten of them
Under which one could it be?

My pity comes in self-made waves
That I should be alone
And suffer for demands I’ve made
For things that can’t be done.

Oh Boo Hoo, feel bad for me
I’m sulking on T V.
I’ve ruined my day and you must pay
That’s how it’s going to be

I can’t admit that they are right
For that means I am wrong
And wrong is not a thing  I do
I’ve said that all along

So martyr-me will sulk and pout
And make the people pay
The price for leaving Donald Trump
Alone on Christmas Day.
                      ljm
A little late to finish this.
271 · Jul 2023
G... ALAN... JOHNSON
A poet whose words I so admire
Once turned my compliment around
And said I was his favorite too.
I didn’t have the word for thanks
Quite grand enough for how I felt.
I’ve never been a favorite -
Not in life, or work or even love.
He put a warm place in my heart -
A Cinnabon fresh from the oven -
That perfumes my day each time
I savor those kind words from him.
              ljm
Haven't seen or heard from here in quite a while.  If anyone knows how to reach him, please send this horribly belated ode to him.
271 · May 2024
BIRDSONG
From the depths of despair
Where God is unknown
And only danger surrounds me
I feebly fight against the call
That draws me ever on to destruction.
Only the call of a Whippoorwill can save me.
ljm
Thank God our neighborhood is full of them.
271 · Apr 2018
UTOPIAN
A world where everyone waits their turn
And takes no more than their share
Does that make me a communist-
Call me that if you dare.
                   ljm
Dream on, Lori- dream on1
271 · Mar 2024
IDES OF MARCH
IDES OF MARCH

What’s the purpose of it all
It’s only raining dust and grit.
The sky is weeping spatter
And the only sidewalk is
On the far side of the street.

They shined up Highway 95
But out front here is nothing
But deep breaches in the tarmac
And anything that doesn’t hurt
Me manages to itch.

All the good stuff is locked up
In upstairs rooms down endless halls
Where something has been splashed
Across the carpeting
And the door is always padlocked.

The book inside is second handed
And it’s marked up in random places
That don’t align with what
The index says should be there
And the Ex Libris page is missing.

The day is pecking at its shell
Of hopelessness and need
In hopes of gaining freedom.
The prayer wheel is no longer spinning
And the crimson candle has gone out.

There are reasons for it all
It’s written up in Sanskrit ink
And plastered on the backyard wall
That keeps it all inside or out
And I’m stuck in the middle.
ljm
Rampant randomness.  Befitting.
270 · Apr 2023
BRIEF ENCOUNTER
I went to the squantum faire.
A handsome lad was there.
He admired my raven hair
And seemed to really care
So I began to share
More than I’d ever dare

He seemed like someone rare
My excitement hard to bear
We made a fulsome pair
Alas he was just a snare.

Today I sit and glare
And sometimes even swear
That I’d been made a mare
And Motley’s clothes must wear.
ljm
Once again tangled up in Teen-age-Mickey-Mouse-*******.
266 · Feb 2022
LEXOPHILE
Brace yourself for a juggernaut, for I’ve a tale to tell.
I’m not out to bamboozle you, for that might send me to Hell.
I’d love for someone to collaborate on this lugubrious tome,
But I’d need to check your bonafides to let you in my pome.
I must admonish all readers to jettison schadenfreude
And accept my obsequious garble as a meaningful factoid
I’m careering about in my Websters, like a disheveled maniac
But I am fastidious in my yen to to give something useful back.
You may think my view is myopic, as I meander to and fro,
But my outlook is homogenous, as you already know.
This write may be intemperate, but I’m not a reprobate,
It’s actually a billet doux that’s a day or two too late.

The love of words is in my soul and swimming in my mind.
I kept a log of every challenge word that I could find
I tried to use them in a way that didn’t change their meaning
Even though that goes against the humor in my leaning.
I owe a lot to BLT for setting up this game we play
And hope I’ve written up enough to get me through this day
ljm
How many words from BLT's Meriram Webster Challenge can  you find?
266 · Jan 2018
OLD SAW/NEW SAW
THERE IS A SAYING:

THE INSTRUCTIONS FOR LIVING OUTSIDE THE BOX

ARE WRITTEN ON THE OUTSIDE OF THE BOX.
With Thanks to Van Young for sharing this with me.  He doesn't know who wrote it either.
264 · Dec 2021
THIS HOUSE
My mother would have loved this house.
All she ever wanted was a fireplace -
And I have one that’s never held a fire.

She lived in what the rich would call a hovel.
It was clean but it was old and worn.
I have two stories and a chandelier.

She would have liked my upstairs guest room
And the elegant stairway leading there.
She would have reveled in the sun-filled aerie.

Would that I could give it all to her right now,
But she never lived to see this house,
To leave her essence in the air and walls.

She died without a fireplace of her own.
Because of that, I’ll never light the one included
In this house that far exceeds what I deserve.
                                ljm
I've written about her longing for a cozy fireplace before.
264 · Oct 2017
CONSTITCHUENTS
A thousand tailors stitching in the darkness
Cutting grotesque patterns from the whole cloth
And fitting them to phantom saviors
Who are fat or thin depending on the day

They use colored threads and wishful thinking
That tends to break at awkward moments
Leaving a garment tenuously sturdy
Until the moment when it’s not

As waterproof as cotton candy
As close fitting as an id
As cost effective as a wedding
As colorful as oil on water.

The garments must all be delivered-
A shiny new one every sunset.
Tailors strive to meet their quotas
Such urgent need for what they make.

They must replace the fraying tatters
Spattered with the grime of loathing
captured from the filthy air
And the footprints etched in mud.

They must fill closets ever empty
Though FedEx comes by every night.
It’s Cinderella’s slipper syndrome
When the clock hands stand up straight.

Tailors with their bleeding fingers
Have no idea what they make
And who will wear it for what purpose.
That’s why they labor in the dark.
ljm
I have nothing to say.  I don't understand it either and I wrote it.  Has something to do with those in high-but-not-very places.
264 · Feb 2021
ALLITERATION
Riddled with regret
I cringe at who I used to be
And who I have become.

Rattled with remorse
I cry out for forgiveness
But I don’t know from whom.

Saddled with sadness
I struggle with the load
That grows heavier with time.

The clock hands can not turn back
There’s just one life to live
And the Piper must be paid.
          ljm
The depression doves are flying again.  But I'm still glad to be back after a month without my mac.
264 · Jun 2017
TRIMERIC #2
When the road curves out of sight
And you're not sure how far to go
when what awaits you is a puzzle
No one else but you will know.

If you're not sure how far to go
To find the thing you're hoping for
It's very tempting to turn back.

When what awaits you is a puzzle
You have to find the special key
It's hidden there among the many

No one else but you will know
If it's a prize that you have won
Or if the lock won't come undone.
                           ljm
Defeated by the format again - Dang !!
264 · Jul 2017
WATCHING A ROSEBUD OPEN
Forty year old rose bush in the garden
Pink bud called “Queen Elizabeth”
Tightly furled at ten A.M. - no trace of gold
I know lurks at the heart of all the petals.

Strolling by at one P.M.
The first soft petal has made its move
And the one beside is pondering
How soon it needs to break away.

Four P.M. and the outer petals
Form a blushing halo around the bud
And there begins to be perfume
That hot house roses never have.

Eight PM. and the Queen parades
In all her pink and golden glory
Fully flared to mark her presence
And delight my eyes as I pass by.
ljm
263 · Apr 2018
DASHED
Five O’clock in the morning
And I’ve been crying for two hours
There is no ever after
The locked door has no key
The sun will rise to darkness
And I’m where I belong

I bought the knife that stabs me
Spent every dime I had
It looked so pretty in the case
I thought that I could cut a swath
Through all the strings that bound me
And at last be free to fly

It didn’t work that way
It cut the ties to all I love
And left me just the ragged edges
So now the fabric fades and frays
And will not make a parachute
To save me as I fall.
ljm
Situational depression is also a terrible thing.  No pill will help it.
262 · Jul 2024
HW-1
With Highway One almost completely to myself
North of San Simeon
I find a pristine ocean on my left
Green covered hillsides on my right,
And a warm sun in a light blue sky above.
The stresses of the city and my topsy-turvy life
Begin to fall away as I relax and revel in it,
All alone here in my faithful Jetta.
This was a road trip I took a while ago.
262 · Apr 2021
BIRO
Broken Biro on the street
(That’s an English ball point pen.)
Crushed by cars’ uncaring wheels
It’s ink a useless smear.

What words could that ink
Have produced on sheets
Of clean white paper
Guided by a poet’s hand.

Visions of fantastic lands
That beckon with their beauty.
Invitations to explore
Another way of thinking.

Broken Biro on the street
Was it thrown out on purpose-
Obsoleted by a phone
That puts its words into the clouds.
             ljm
Inspired by David.
262 · Feb 2021
BRASS RING
No one will ever read my journals
Any more than they read my odes.
I’ve left my mark so carefully
But I wrote it in the sand
And I wrote it at low tide.

You need to carve your name in stone
In words that live eternally
Not write in smoke across the sky
Where zephyr winds will scatter it.

I wanted to be recognized
A standout in the crowd
I hoped my brilliant verbiage
Would capture fashion’s eye
And I could win the cakewalk.

But the cameras turned the other way
And never saw me fan my plume.
I followed them for half a mile
But they never turned to look.

No one will note my journal here
The one who could, strives to forget.
I’ll be someone without a name
Who couldn’t reach out far enough
To grab and keep the golden ring.
           ljm
Battling depression again.  Losing.  Who do I think I am, anyway.
262 · Aug 2019
SCORECARD
Standing atop the pile of ****
The’ve heaped on me for years,
I am not buried in it. Even
The soles of my warrier boots are clean.

My righteous coating still holds fast
And everything they throw at me
Richchets to land as notes
On their St. Peter score card.
       ljm
Written a couple of months before the ******* found a way to do me out of my decades long job.
261 · Aug 2019
SINK OR SWIM
My hours are filled with business
To camouflage the gloom
That fills my mind with dizziness
At my oncoming doom.

There’s no way to turn the tide
I’d jumped off the dock.
I should have found a place to hide
Behind a nice safe rock.

In truth, I didn’t really jump
Someone came up behind
And gave my back a mighty thump
How could I have been so blind.

I always knew they hated me
And wished that I would die.
But I was where I had to be
To get my family by.

The water’s deep and I am cold.
I have no choice but to swim
I wish that I were not so old
But I will still show them.

I see the shore not far away
Much prettier than here.
It promises a brighter day
And living without fear.

I know that I can swim that far
And I’ll have the last laugh
When I excel in my new life
To spite that hateful staff.
ljm
This was written last year, right after I lost my job.
261 · Feb 2023
CAPTIVE
Playing near the giant
I thought it fun to pirouette
        And seem to stumble,
Hands thrown out
And thus be captured.

Oh the shrieks and moans
Til I decided it was time
To be set free, and tried
         To twist out of that grasp
That never once relented.
ljm
I don't really remember writing this back in 1992. Did I?  If not, who did I steal it from?
261 · Oct 2022
TONGUE TIED
I want my words back, Lord -
The ones you’ve locked
Up in the furthest corners
Of my wounded mind.

The ones I have to search
For endless seconds to discover
Hiding in the brambles and the fog
That renders me an imbecile.

I need to have my language back.
There are visions I must paint
In vocabulary’s medium
On the canvas of my life.

Please give me back my words again
I can’t go on while this bereft,
Not knowing what to call a flower
That I planted years ago.

So on my knees beseeching you
Unlock the vault that hides my words
And let me be who I once was
So I can find my way back home.
ljm
It doesn't seem to be getting any better. Sorry for whining
261 · Feb 2019
BY CHOICE
I don’t write poetic verse.
My words don’t wear a frilly gown.
When I open wounds that haven’t healed
I touch them gently in an honest way.

I may not make the last words rhyme
But I blossom in the freedom from those chains,
Refusing to be taken where they’d lead me,
Uncovering the feelings in my own way.

Is this a cop-out for lack of skill
Or a well considered choice
To pay attention to the thoughts
And not be tethered by the rhyme.
ljm
I have several times been criticized for not rhyming.
I have things posted here that prove I CAN rhyme, but on reading them back to myself, I have to admit they don't say what I want exactly the way I want to say it.  I don't just sit and bang out line after line and post it.  I write with pen and paper and agonize over word choice and flow.  I slave away towards getting across the feeling I want to convey. not in finding a suitable rhyme.
It may be possible to do both.  Robert Frost did. But I don't have that skill.
I still feel my talent is valid.
260 · Jul 2021
SECRETS
I have a hideous secret
That I can never tell
It’s heavier than bundled lead
And I can’t put it down

It hides the sunrise in heavy clouds
Makes rainbows disappear
Makes me walk in muddy shoes
Across the spotless floors

It eats at me like hungry fleas
It’s hard to hide the welts
The music has gone out of tune
And poetry won’t scan

It stands before me like a bull
And I am dressed in red
It rumbles like a logging train
And I’m tied to the tracks

It rides me like a cowboy
Like I’m some broken horse
It digs its spurs into my side
And pulls the bit up hard

No Galahad will rescue me
I’m strictly on my own
I have to hoist it up each day
And stagger on alone

I’m crippled by the effort of
Protecting such a lie
That I can’t tell a single soul
Until the day I die.
                        ljm
Don't even ask.
260 · Feb 2018
OLD FLAMES
The weight of my anger grows too heavy to carry
I search for a place to at last lay it down
But there’s a steep wall  on my left, a sheer drop on my right
And those coming behind me behind me are pushing me on

My disappointment is as tall as a mountain
Big stone at the bottom I’m too weak to push up
I’ve worn out a groove on the road to the summit
And life carved a path for it on the way down

I once loved an SF writer named Harlan
His anger made mine seem like a mere whine
How I envied his command of the language
The words of his hatred set fire to the pages

His anger was TNT in a small package
The fuse so short it couldn’t be seen
The world around him resembled a matchbook
And Society always offered a light.

But that was a journey I took long ago
He strode into sunlight - I slipped into shadow
He never taught me to make bonfires of language
And I so wish I’d stayed til that lesson was learned.
ljm
259 · Dec 2022
CHANCE
Whispers that morph into screeches
Disturb the strands that tenuously hold
The ragged edges of reality aloft
In storms of self recrimination and regret.

Slender stalks of rationality bend down
Beneath the weight of foolishness
Grown fat and heavy in indulgence
That is justified by cobwebs of desire.

The music in the background plays
On bagpipes and a penny-whistle band
While the conductor tries to turn them in
To violins and harpsichords, and fails.

A river jumps it’s muddy banks
And floods the playing field with muck
As strands and stalks give up their load
And it all falls to nothingness.
ljm
Day 3 trying to post this.
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