Pretty girls get listened to
Fat old ladies are ignored

A lovely face will unlock doors
A homely face will find them closed

A shapely figure’s always noticed
A shapeless one’s invisible.

This is the way society works
Not even pretending to be fair

How do I know about these rules
I have lived by them - Three out of six.
ljm

I’ve not been kissed in 30 years
I’ve almost forgotten how it feels
I have a man who shows he loves me
But kissing’s not part of the deal

I used to practice on my hand
And think back to my younger days
When dates consisted of a film
And hours of kissing in a car

He won’t say why our lips don’t meet
Breath doesn’t seem to be the reason
Nor the fullness of my lips
I’ve asked but there is no reply

There is a little airport peck
When I’ve been far away someplace
But it’s mostly for the show
To others locked in warm embrace

Is it because he’s Capricorn
Well I’m the same sign too
And I would love to hug and kiss
And do romantic things with him

But I expect that this is how
We’re going to spend our final days
Me longing for a tender kiss
And him still pushing me away.
           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

Gentle susurration of the gathered
Moving aimlessly in patterns of fantastic
Symmetry that no one planned.
Music in the silence between breaths
That energizes inner computations
Of the reasons for assembling.

Unexpected rustling of wings
Fantasizes outlines in the air
Creating something very like a blackboard
Waiting for explosions to appear.
Whereby the peacock fans its tail
And turns it to the flock of doves.

Voicing cries of strident self esteem,
The proud bird struts and preens
Which terrifies the doves who turn away
And skittle into corners
With their feathers all tucked in,
Forming cautious circles in the maelstrom.
ljm

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

I don’t know how to not be an actress.
I have no idea how to be real
What is it I really am any time feeling
And what is it that I truly want to do.
I need to tear down the theatre curtains
And stand without costumes on life’s stage

What can I use to take off the makeup
That turns me into who I am not
That covers up the scared little girl
Trying so hard to figure it out
Aching to know what the real villain is
And finding a way to subdue it.

Sensing the final act has begun
And my script is missing those pages,
I vainly search back stage for a prompter
Or someone who knows if I exit stage left
And what the script says is my final line
And if Curtain Call has now been cancelled.
                    ljm

The grass is usually green
The sky is always blue
That’s irrefutable they say.
But then sometimes
The grass turns brown
And the sky is black
With storm clouds.

Deep inside we always know
The grass returns to green.
The sky will soon be blue again.
Identical to Married love
That tends to wax and wane
With the passing of the years
While the basis stays the same.
                         ljm

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

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

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

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)

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

I am a mother without a child
Who comes to me for comfort.
I am a mother with a child
Who walked away from loving care
And chose to be a distant friend
Instead of a loving daughter

I am a mother with only one
Who really wanted to have two,
And wouldn’t have been sad at three.
But never won the right to choose
And had to make the best of what
Was offered as my portion.

Fifty years have come and gone
Plus two more for good measure.
The gap has narrowed not a whit
And my path still skirts the chasm.
I reach with practiced carefulness
To read the card that is my lot
As a mother with no daughter.
ljm

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

Pick-up sticks and ashes
All that’s left behind
When hurricanes and forrest fire
Have done their deadly work.

Broken people searching  through
The rubble that is left
Of happy hours in former lives,
Hoping to find a keepsake

Something that will tie them to
The place they used to live
And give them strength to persevere
And somehow build a life again.
ljm

I’m so sorry, Mrs. Ames.
You saw potential in me that
I didn’t know I had
And found the means to free me
From the cage of my upbringing
And launch me towards
The chance of greatness.  

I apologize, because I could not
Break the shackles of my Mother’s ire.
I set my goal to prove her wrong,
Searching in too many alleys,
Looking for a brighter light.

I know I let you down, Mrs. Ames;
I had a chance to climb a step or two-
But that ended up as not enough
And sideways seemed a better bet.

I was permanently wrong.
I live among the ruins I created,
Grieving for the hearts I  wounded,
Knowing I have no more time
To try to make things right
                 ljm

Do you all know how old I am?
If I tell you, will you run away?
Will you say that I am way too young
Or far too old and gray?

I see myself as middle aged
Some would tell me that’s a lie.
They’d tell me that the truth of age
Is really in the viewer’s eye.

I think it is a state of mind.
I’ve been around a while.
I’m not so young but I’m not old-
I say that with a smile.

I know a lot of useful things.
I know a lot of places.
I know how to make things work
And fill the empty spaces.

I can labor like a mule,
Or act like I’m the Queen.
I can charm the upper-crust
Or those who’s hands aren’t clean.

None of this depends on age,
It all depends on skill;
So don’t ask me how old I am-
I’m not over the hill.
                 ljm

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

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

Two headed monster who’s sole purpose
Is to **** the earth and all its people
For power and esteem unearned.

Trumpelon: two minds without a single thought
For the needs and wellness of any others.
Let the starving die and the injured wither.

Trumpelon: Promise delivered in inhumane ways.
Promises made and rationalized away
When they could not be delivered by fiat.

Trumpelon: The price of single issue thinking
Is handing over democracy
In vain hopes of cheaper groceries.

Trumpelon: have stacked the deck -
There is no way to stop them
If each of us does not stand up
To send them back to Hades.
ljm

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

One two three
Look at silly me
Try with all my might
Never get it right.
         ljm

The Clock Eater loves the taste of fine time
Sauteed in juicy New York minutes and served
With seconds spiced with instants and moments.
He’s a founding member of the Clean Plate Club.

The Clock Eater does not wear a watch.
To him there is only this moment in time,
Like a freshly baked roll it’s aromatic
Impatiently waiting to be devoured.

The clock eater has an evil, hungry soul
And he hides in unexpected corners
Waiting for a precious leisure moment
To stuff into into his greedy face.

The Clock eater doesn’t often share
The banquet that is on his plate,
Perhaps a nibble now and then
To ease the other diner’s wait.
ljm

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

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

All alone in an unhappy place
Where all the walls are mirrors
And ugliness is looking back
No matter which way I may turn.

There doesn’t seem to be a door-
Just only mirrored walls and ceiling.
The cold floor hurts my shoeless feet
As endlessly I pace in circles.

The crowd of people in the glass
Have followed me for many years
Behind the curtains - in the shade-
Never coming face to face.

But here they now encounter me
With looks of reprehension…
And all I have to offer them
Are bitter tears of sad regret
ljm

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

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

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

Built on land stolen from the natives
On the back of blacks who were
stolen from their own land.

Indigenous slaughtered like the buffalo they herded
Rounded up and marched into unwanted corners
There to starve until oil was discovered
And it became time to march them again.

Blacks who were declared to be less than human
Denied the right to do anything but work.
Families that were like grapes in a cluster
Ripe for the picking off of the best ones
And no thought given to those left behind.
Premiums paid for those enceinte,
Harbingers of the two-for-one sale.

Righteous blindness is a national disease
That overlooks the broken teacups
In the mad pursuit of tea.
That cannot see the trampled flowers
In the race to make perfume
That reeks self satisfaction
At the carnage left behind
And waves the flag of liberty
At those the cause enslaved.
                              ljm

Camilla owes her crown to Diana.
If Diana had been a traditional royal Spouse
She’d have turned a blind eye to Charles’s betrayal
And just enjoyed the perks of Queenhood.
But - alas - she loved that perfidious son-of-a-monarch
And couldn’t abide being only his *******.
Had not she stormed away from that Sovereign Throne
Madam Parker Bowles would have had to remain
The grasping and greedy, outstandingly common
***** that she was and will ever remain.
And Charles could have then joined in the very long line
Filled with unfaithful Kings and their cheated-on queens.
                 LJM

(BLT challenge: song titles from one singer)

This is the story of THE STRANGEST ROMANCE I ever encountered.
It didn’t involve me because I was then TOO YOUNG TO GO STEADY. I  hadn’t even purchased my FIRST FORMAL GOWN yet.  MOST PEOPLE GET MARRIED, under the ALLEGHENY MOON in this part of the country, but this couple said no to that. I kept telling them to GO ON WITH THE WEDDING, but they insisted it would be ANOTHER TIME, ANOTHER PLACE.  I then suggested OLD CAPE COD, but they said THE WALL has ears, and if anyone found out they were eloping, it would be GOODBYE CHARLIE. I told them to TRUST IN ME and I wasn’t FIBBIN’ when I said it.  They said: REPEAT AFTER ME: “I’LL  REMEMBER TODAY and keep your secret. I swear this on a CROSS OF GOLD”
Swearing on a gold cross made my heart go PIDDLY PATTER PATTER and I now felt like WITH MY EYES WIDE OPEN I’M DREAMING.  They told me to HUSH, HUSH SWEET CHARLOTTE, and to GO ON HOME.  
I had my Walk-man on, so I trudged home with THE SOUND OF MUSIC in my ears, but the walk seemed like TWO THOUSAND, TWO HUNDRED, TWENTY THREE MILES, and as I thought about their rejection of me,  I WISH I’D NEVER BEEN BORN.  Being brushed aside like that left me with A BROKEN HEART AND A PILLOW FILLED WITH TEARS.
EVERY TIME I think about that day, I want to throw MAMA FROM THE TRAIN for not letting me even go to their wedding when it finally happened.  I had kept their secret and told no one.  I’m proud of me.
                              ljm

All my paths are serpentines
That lead around in circles.
My destination is so far
I cannot see it in the haze
That eddies in my vision.

I planted hollyhocks and marigolds
In the garden of my dreams.
I had no way to water them;
They withered in the Summer sun.

I haven’t any more to lose.
I’ve given everything I have.
There’s nothing left but hopelessness
And waiting for the final end.
ljm

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

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

Being ***** is not a sin.
Staying ***** is.

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

Why search the world for a microphone
When there is nothing left to say
And no one left who wants to hear it?

    ljm

"Transporting a Dream" by Old Poet MK, brought back to mind an episode when I was in my 20’s, and working in an insurance office in San Diego with a night job as a waitress at a Beatnik Coffee House.  I was in love with a wandering folk singer who had left to perform at a club in Oklahoma City and I missed him terribly.
He called late one Friday night and said why not come there and drive back to California with him.  At first I told myself all the reasons it would be impossible. Then my heart told me I had to find a way to do it.  I called my supervisor and told a fib about my mom being sick and I had to fly to Washington State for a few days.
I emptied my piggy bank and the tip jar from my coffeehouse night job, but I didn't have enough for the ticket. I did have a series E savings bond tucked away, but nowhere to cash it in on a Friday night. This was long before we had computers and cell phones, so I had only my land line to help me.  
I called Greyhound and got their schedule and all the stops they made along the way to Oklahoma City.
As it happened they had a 20 minute rest stop in Mesa, Arizona at 10:15 AM. which was about as far as my gathered money would buy a ticket for. Good enough!  I grabbed some clothes and my E-Bond and raced to the bus depot. I gave them all my money, much of it in coins, and bought a ticket for Mesa. Soon the bus was loaded and I settled in as we rolled on through the night.  Too excited to sleep, I wrote several poems along the way.  When we got to Mesa for the rest stop the next morning I leaped off the bus and flew into a nearby bank (Talk about miracles - it was just across the street from the depot ) I pleaded with them to cash my Savings Bond so I could continue on. The handsome teller listened to my story and then called the bank manager over to hear it as well. That was the day I learned that very pretty girls can do things ordinary folk might never manage.  Without knowing me or really checking out my ID, the bank manager and handsome teller actually cashed my savings bond for me.
Had they not done that I would have been stranded alone and penniless in a strange city.  Only the confidence of youth and beauty could lead someone into a situation like that.
I raced back to the bus as it was loading again and bought my way on to Oklahoma City. I wrote more verse as I looked out the bus window on the way. Some of it very good.
There was tragedy though. I filled one little notebook with  poems and was well into a second one when it came time to change busses.  I somehow left the first notebook on the bus as I got off and didn’t realize it until well away on the second one. I was heartbroken. All I could do was write a sad poem about lost poetry - which I did.
When I arrived in Oklahoma City I was met with love, music and wonderful moments.
The drive back to LA. was exciting and romantic as we stopped to admire the scenery and take photos of each other.
What an exciting escapade that was. The folksinger was a lovely period in my life, filled with other adventures and Whippet dogs, but alas, not permanent. The relationship didn’t endure past two years, but the love of Folk music and Whippets did.

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

I swim a sea that has no shore or bottom
The North Star hides behind a cloudy sky
The winds increase with every passing moment.
The waves, once flat, are looming very high.

A jellyfish has stung me on the ankle.
My side is knotted in a painful cramp.
My arms are growing numb with endless flailing
And the clockwork of my mind has gotten damp.

Before the rust locks down all hope of thinking
I must tread salty water for a span;
Stop contemplating how I dumbly got here,
Somehow devise a working rescue plan.

Can hope be found amidst the desolation
Of knowing all the errors that I’ve made:
Believing I somehow could walk on water
It didn’t matter how my game was played.

Though I had several copies of the rule book
I never found the time to sit and read,
So I jumped in, expecting native cunning
To lift me to the top, where I would lead

Those lacking my superior perception
To places they had only dreamed about.
I’d be hailed and lauded as a savior-
Instead I only heard the fearful shout

Of those who swim behind me in an ocean
That shows no sign of coming to a beach-
That certainly will pull us down and drown us
As angry yells become a frightened screech.

The sea I swim that has no shore or bottom
Is really just my ego in disguise-
So big it blocked my vision and my hearing
Til only now, at last, I’ve heard the cries

Of hopes too waterlogged to keep on floating
Of soggy dreams that never can come true- more
Of efforts wasted training in a puddle-
Of agonizing clarity of view.

At last I’ve come to recognize this ocean.
I know what’s on the nonexistent shore.
It’s swim or sink so I keep stroking forward
Although there is no reason any more.

And though my strength is quickly disappearing,
There’s really nothing that I haven’t tried.
So I just flounder onward in my struggle
To somehow make it to the other side.

Knowing there is no one there to greet me-
Knowing there is nothing there at all-
Knowing that no miracle will save me-
No one will ever see the tears that fall

In vain attempt to expiate my folly;
To pay atonement for the things I’ve lost.
To somehow make my life not end up wasted-
To gain some value from it’s painful cost.

So left arm, right arm, kick, kick, kick.
I gain an inch and just as often lose one
The sea I swim that has no shore or bottom
Will take me with the rising of the sun.
ljm

Too sad to cry
Too weary to care
Too worn-out to try again

Too stubborn to quit
Too stupid to fall
To give up and call it a day

Too needy to give
Too loath to receive
Too desolate to have any hope

Too angry to smile
Too bashful to sing
Too depleted to ever recover

Too hungry for notice
Too often passed over
Too much like the papered wall

Too late to the party
Too far back in line for the prizes
Too early to be forced to leave.
                      ljm

Am I to die with you still hating me
For something I never knew I did?
Has nothing I have done for you
In these last thirty-five heartbroken years
Earned me a tiny bit of your forgiveness?

I am old and sick and growing weak,
And life’s a struggle every day.
Your anger is a load almost too
Heavy for me to carry now,
But I can’t put it down because

My love for you has never wavered
And I nurture a small flame of hope
That some day you will realize
That I did the very best I could
With what I knew of parenting.

That I tried with all my heart to be
The television mom you longed for
And to master all the rules attached
That were impossible because
I couldn’t get past being who I am.

I so regret my imperfections
And the moments when I failed.
I’d give the last years of my life
To have a chance to try again
And maybe get it right this time.
          ljm

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

Desolation
All the should-haves stacked like prison walls
Make it impossible to see the sky
What was big is now too small and
Cannot hold the folly on it’s way to bury us.
Crippled by the scorch, it won’t be possible
To rearrange ourselves out of this crisis.

Desperation
Incapable of letting go the few nice things
That beautified our former lives,
We know the tide is rising and we will sink
Beneath the weight of all the detritus we clutch,
Paying triple for the privilege of watching
As we drown in bad decisions and remorse.

Depression
Midnight tears that vanish in the arid air,
Stifled sobs that can’t repair the breach
Or heal the wounded vision of tomorrow
That inches ever closer, in the waking hours
Once designated as the time for sleep
Now put to dreary use as time for weeping.

Denigration
Too pale for the blazing sun but briefly,
We cower in the no less burning shade
And guard the meagre treasures of our lifetime,
Heaped in unmarked cartons in the corner
Where they wait for designation to the dump
Or hauled off piecemeal to a resale place

Denouement
We could have seen that this would happen
And lanced the hoarder’s boil before it broke.
It would have been so less expensive
In the pocketbook and in the soul
But here we sit at midnight crying
As catastrophe knocks on the door.
                                        ljm

A low-flying squadron of Mourning Doves
Swooped over the neighbor’s ten-foot wall
And strafed me with their grace and beauty
                                            ljm

The toilet roll is narrowed by at least an inch
The kleenex box is shorter too.
The tuna can is lighter by an ounce
And applesauce has followed suit.

They take some costly spices out-
Call it improved and new.
The fancy wrapper doesn’t hide
That this is only one big *****.

They want to keep the prices low
At least that’s what they say
It’s all to pad their bottom line
And we’re the ones to pay.

A stylist says that less is more-
That may be true with art
But when it comes to merchandise
It stabs you in the heart.

Nothing lasts past warranty-
It’s obsolete next week
There is no point repairing it
The bottom will still leak.

The Doctor has no time for you
His patient list is endless
Insurance pays him less and less
That’s why for tests he sends us.

We all complain and grumble on
But yet we pay their prices
We need to get a rumble on
And cut their scams in slices.

We need to knock upon their door
And bang upon their table
We need to stomp upon their floor
As hard as we are able.

Then maybe can size once again
Will fit the recipe
And we can live with things that fit
No matter what the fee.
ljm