You can’t conflate two nothings
Into something of great worth
You cannot have true progeny
Unless you first give birth.

You cannot wear the laurel crown
Unless you win the race
You cannot be a beauty queen
Without a pretty face.

You cannot swell yourself with pride
And call yourself a hero
If all the actions that you laud
Have added up to zero.
      ljm

I live in a wretched place
Where only hookers wear perfume
And nobody even seems to own
A proper pair of shoes.

Neither of two department stores
Bother to sell dresses,
And women get lots of their attire
From the nearby Goodwill store
Which sometimes sells remainders
Along with what’s been used.

Jeans are formal wedding clothes
And the minister is armed.
So is the bridegroom’s mother
And several of the ushers.
When the Bride lifts up her
Online-purchased wedding dress
The guests all hope they see
A lacy garter on her thigh,
And not a little derringer.

Guests drive to the wedding
in honkin’ ******* trucks
With mud up to the wheel caps.

Decorations on those trucks
Are often in the form of flags
Mounted by the tailgate hinge
On forty-eight inch metal poles.
Some of them have stars and stripes
Some recognize the Bride and Groom
But most of them are Rebel Yells
Or praises for a disgraced shyster.

Why on earth do I live here?
It all comes down to weather
Not the heat or scorching wind-
that’s just the price we have to pay.
It’s all the stars that hold me here.
I walk at dawn to see them shine
And bathe in Sunrise glory.

I spend the day beneath white clouds
That so resemble whipping cream
That’s been flung against the sky.
As evening comes I do a dance
Beneath the sunset’s flaming glow
When all those puffy clouds catch fire
And tumble down behind the moon
Then rising from the jagged mountains.

This may not be a perfect place
I’m sure those don’t exist
But this is where I’ll end my race:
The desert land I can’t resist.
          ljm

My precious Baby
My wonderful child
My headstrong teenager
Gone radically wild.

My breathtaking grownup
My source of delight
My hope that tomorrow
Makes everything right.

The decades have trebled
My efforts have failed
My key cannot open
The place where I’m jailed.

She’s made me a stranger
To the life she’s created
She claims that she loves me
But I sorely debate it.

She married in secret
I’ve not met her groom
I don’t think we’ll ever
Be in the same room

She says I am toxic
All know I am not
Her shrink is the villain
And ought to be shot.

I live on the outside
And only look in
On the life I created-
A game I won’t win.

I’ll swallow my heartbreak
As I’ve always done.
Still reach for redemption
And settle for none.
ljm

At the exact moment when
My shoulders were their weakest
The load I bear was doubled.

In the autumn of my mental skills
The maze I have to navigate
Was rearranged by evil fingers.

While I tried to make some sense of it
The slender options I created
Melted in the blazing heat.

When my tiny flame of hope
Grew almost bright enough to see
It was blown out by reality.

And there is only desert left
Where desperately planted seeds
Will have no chance to grow.

Like a candle left out in the sun
My spirit softens and then slumps
Into waxy pools of hopelessness.
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

It was 12 months filled with apocalypse
That started at the stroke of the New Year.
The more we tried to make life good
The faster it turned bad and wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



Google: Bovver Boots UK

I think that I will take the time
To come up with a thrilling rhyme

If you could see me yesterday
You’d  know I’m not the same today

If I could win a golden prize
You’d see it shining in my eyes

The seaside is my spirit’s place
To step outside the rodent race.

I have a tale I want to tell
but rhyming will not do it well

te-dah te-dah te-dah te-dah
Pentameter’s unfailing law

Restricting laws I can’t abide
So I’ll set rhyming verse aside.
                               ljm

Three times nothing is nothing
Why do you keep going back
Haven't you had enough nothing
To last til forever and back.
                          

There was a big heart that beat steadily in the name of duty
It beat strongly in the name of love
It beat for years beyond expectations
Until the evil crows descended
First they took a little nibble here and there
It must have tasted good
For they started taking bigger bites
Restricting the rhythm of the beating
A new flight landed to join the feast
And there was a year long frenzy
Soon there was nothing left but scraps
Pulsing weakly, yet refusing to die
So they got the elephant in the room
To stomp across it several times
And that worked just the way they hoped
What was left was scraped up off the floor
And thrown out with the garbage.
ljm

He gave her the Earth, the Moon and Mars.
Still she said she needed more space.
      So he gave her the air.
   ljm

The only child at the Easter Egg Hunt
Lacks a big enough basket
To collect the bounty all laid out
Across the rolling lawn

Those who were not allowed to run
Look sadly from outside the fence
Their empty baskets tossed aside
In hopelessness and envy.

Who painted all those pretty eggs
And who decides who gets to run
Why can’t those other little hands
Collect an egg or two

They can, you say.  Here’s two or three
For each of you, if you applaud
The Golden Child who smiles at all
In sympathy and pride

And tells you you will likely never
Be the one they choose to run
So be content with your two eggs
And never let your green eyes show.
ljm

Fading
Like a beauty queen
Grown old,
Sunrise is too quckly over.
ljm

Seven times seven to the seventh power
Will tell you how much I love you this hour.
If you tripled the stars and a few more could borrow
It would give an idea how I'll love you tomorro  
                                            

I’m a little short on Joy today-
Got lotsa Pain and too much Duty.
Seem to be totally lacking in Glee
And Overdrawn on Happiness
While overstocked with Misery.
My Contentment check is overdue.
Got too much Little and hardy any Lots.
My Merriment has been recalled,
Leaving only wheels of Gloom.
My Happy Place is in foreclosure
And my Spirit’s locked in Chapter Seven.
My hopefulness is now Maxed Out
And tomorrow is an I.O.U.
ljm

P  erhaps it’s time to scribble down a word or two,
E  ven though I have nothing cogent to proclaim.
N  evertheless the urge is one that must be answered to.

O  nce a long, long time ago the words poured forth, but
N  ow the well has seemingly gone dark and dry.

P  ossibly the act of touching pen to empty pages-
A  s an act of penance for strangling the muse of
P  oesy in a knotted, convoluted scarf of dreariness- will
E  nable what was meaningful so long ago to finally
R  ecover and deliver something worthwhile once again.
                                                          ­  ljm

11/20/24
ACTRESS

My life is a show
that I’m putting on
for
the audience of all those around me.
I strut and preen
and
I prance on life’s stage,
but
the script that I learned’s
not the show that I’m In
and
I’m always stage left
when I should be stage right.

I drop all my cues,
Can’t
remember my lines,
and
almost tripped over the footlights.

What
am I doing on this giant
stage.
Do the words I say
Have any meaning.
Do my
dance steps convey any feelings
to the
audience
made up of those who know better
and oblige me this turn in the
spotlight
ljm

I thought I might be a musician
Mom couldn’t afford my lessons
My eyesight wasn’t great
I couldn’t read notes fast enough
Practicing annoyed the family
I only managed last chair, 2nd violins
              But still
I got to play in High School concerts
In shiny dresses with glitter in my hair
              However
I haven’t held a violin in years
I loaned mine to a Bluegrass band
The leader died - and it was gone

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

I thought I might become a dancer
But my fingers can not touch the floor
I couldn’t kick much higher than my waist
Choreography was hard for me to learn
I had the stamina if not the skill
My partner wanted someone else
                But still
I danced on stage in a college play
And Morris Danced at the Old Globe Theatre
                However
I’ve forgotten how to keep the beat
And all the dance floor moves I made
I’m too self conscious now to try

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

I fancied I could be a singer
I knew the words to all the songs
And I could keep the melody in tune
But I had a voice with no vibrato
And the quality was thin
My range was very limited
              But still
I sang Blueberry Hill at a talent show
In a black lame’ dress and surprised a few
              However
I couldn’t get the hang of harmony
And found I fit best in a choir
My family wouldn’t hear my solos

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

I thought that I was born an actress
I practically got that one right
I had a lead in an Ibsen play
And toured the state with Macbeth
But Hollywood was one big casting couch
And I could see no way around it
          But still
I got to be on TV  shows
Winning games and merchandise
          However
I sold the Firebird Convertible I won
I needed rent money more than a car
And rules allow you only three shows in a lifetime

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

I always thought I was a poet
I started young and never stopped
But family ignored and scoffed
Then I got trapped inside my mirror
And only wrote when all was beak
Somebody said my stuff was dreary
          But still
I stumbled on the HP website
And found a group who like the words I write
          However
When I read the others’ writes
I realize how limited my skills
And fight the need to run away and hide.
    ∞
It seems I dabbled in all the arts

Looking for the one that fit me
And finding they all needed alteration
And I never had the proper needle
  ∞  
Still, a moment in the sun
Is better than a lifetime in the shade
I had a taste of everything
Though the banquet was not mine.
ljm

Holding on so tightly to the final shreds of me
    I need to run and howl the forests down.
        I need to pound into submission
            Everything that jumps to bite me.
               I need to find a breath not gasping,
                  Hand on heart that isn’t racing,
                       Stomach free from panic acids.

Calamity stacked on disaster
   Perched atop catastrophe;
      Mishaps nestled in misfortune-
         Contretemps my middle name.

Fourteen traumas in a listing -
   Some stretch over several years.
     Stress points top the nation’s debt.
       Hated where I should be loved-
          Pushed harder when I should be resting;
             Attacked when I should be applauded-
                 Do I live in the Twilight Zone?

With the end of weeping, silence-
   Save the endless humming in my ears.
      Eyelids sore, too red and swollen
         Let the door and phone bells ring
            I have no things with which to answer.

How can fate keep spawning badness
   Coming up with innovative forms
      To slither out and trip me as I stagger by
         Trying to create tomorrow from the wreckage of today.
ljm

The lights did not go out
The walls did not shake and tumble
There were no clarion horns or cymbals
Streets were not awash with blood
But nevertheless blood did run cold.
Promises wrapped in glints of hope
Made screeching sounds as they were broken
And shattered bits of progress
Littered streets and pathways everywhere.
The rumble of the coming doom
Arrived on Humvees made in China
For the use of United Nations troops.
Everybody saw it coming
In vast Tsunamis of dread and fear
But there were simply not enough
Little Dutch Boys in blue hats
To poke their fingers in the dikes
That shuddered as they slid away
And buried ordinary people in the deluge
There was no way to win that war
The Russians tried, so did the French.
You can’t turn oranges into apples
But the women, oh the women
And their pretty little girls
Having had a taste of freedom
In forms that were once denied
They will now be forced by brutes
To give back everything they gained
And become in sad defeat
Merely property of men
swallowed up in flowing burkas
Black as the intentions of their rulers
             ljm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I think the proof is in the air
For those who love and those who care.
So many things that we don't share
Hallelujah
ljm

You’ve left us in a world that’s ugly and cold
Filled with pain that won’t be assuaged.
Alone in a place with no compassion or grace,
We wait for your sons to come of age.

Our only hope of ever seeing you again
Is hidden deep in William’s smile.
Perhaps he can share all the love that we bear
And make all the sorrow worthwhile.

The profiteers have crawled out of the woodwork-
They infest every conceivable nook.
Hawking Diana-clothes and Queen-of-Hearts prose
Their avarice bleats everywhere you might look.

Am I any different, wanting my words
And those of my peers to be placed on your grave.
As I yield to the tears that will haunt me for years
I mustn’t be one taking more than you gave.

It’s curious watching what was known would occur
Actually unfolding before our eyes.
Any piece of the action gives such satisfaction
That we become subjects to drama and lies.

But we turn our backs on the items they sell
And refuse to play ball with the vultures
Who will not go away thought we weep with dismay
And wonder what happened to culture.

All the words from our pens are no match for our loss
And cannot diminish our sadness
As we plod through the days stretching into the haze,
Searching for some bit of sustainable gladness.

How can you possibly be not in our world?
What’s to become of us now that you’re gone?
Where are we, after the loss of our laughter
And how will we manage to just carry on.

We need your feeling, your beauty, and soul.
We need to share in your living.
You made us better by breaking the fetter
That taught us the value of compassionate giving,

You were the teacher and we avid pupils.
Sometimes we were slow, but eventually learned
That life is for caring and happiness-sharing -
Gifts received are greater returned.

You were the gift of the twentieth century
To a world undeserving of such
With red, weeping eyes, that world now decries
The loss of your magical touch.
ljm

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

I PLAN TO DIE AT AGE 45
NO MATTER HOW MANY YEARS I’VE LIVED
-stolen

A futile pen, mortally wounded
By the razor hands of a leering clock
Lies bleeding;
Staining irrevcocably
The snow-white side-ruled shroud
That once was hunger's meal;
Casting low, long shadows
Over unborn, nonexistent lines.
                     << >>

You may feel so young and strong today
But eventually the years will have their way.

Youth is a gift that is often wasted
Thrown away before half of life is tasted.

Old Sol’s shadow moving on the sun dial
Won’t stop though you try using guile.

Time is a thing more valuable than gold
Money can’t keep you from ever growing old.

Puppies will grow old and die
Reminding you time’s passing by.

That means not a thing to you today
You’re all dressed up to go out and play.

Shadows are for old folks’ eyes
You know that you can win the prize.

You are full of vim and vigor
You know that your life will be bigger.

Nothing now can trip you up
You will win the loving cup.

And so you charge full steam ahead
With dreams of glory in your head.

You ramble through productive years
Engendering more smiles than tears.

You think it will go on forever-
Times of joy and proud endeavor.

You don’t see the years slip by
They pass in blinkings of your eye.

Then suddenly you’re sixty-eight-
They put retirement on your plate.

They do not need you any more
And show you to the nearest door.

You say that’s fine and you’ll just chill
But all too soon you’re falling ill.

One thing goes wrong then several more
Your favorite shop is the drug store.

With creaking joints and aching back
You face senility’s attack.

You wonder how the time has flown
And relish happiness you’ve known.

Until you hear the final gun
And know your race has all been run.
ljm

Is anyone teaching AI to pray?
Is it learning the ten commandments?
While we’re making them
Into mechanical Gods,
Have we introduced the two
To each other?

Will the robots prove that  
God is a myth
And assume that throne
For themselves?
Will the robots create
A different world
And people it with
Only machines?

Who is asking
And who is replying
To these fundamental questions?
                  ljm

It’s my day at last
To put on a mask
And be someone else.
But who shall I choose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who is that person
And where is the mask
If I cannot buy it
I’ll just go as me.
        ljm

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

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

I live my life alone with you
You're here, but not with me
You travel in a different orbit
That only sometimes crosses mine.

My cup of joy is not half full
It's cracked and liquid seeps away
To vanish in the same place as my tears
Though it looks pretty at a casual glance.

The things that once beguiled my heart
Now chafe up blisters on my soul
I try to tell you of my pain
But we don't speak a common tongue.

Our eyes don't look at things the same
Our ears perceive two different tunes
When I reach out to take your hand
It feels like 'dead man's finger' -

Childhood game in a grown up world-
A guarantee of shivers
In the eeriness of misperception
That so mirrors all we do.

Now I'm lonely in bed beside you
Back to back with dog  between
The distance that we've slid apart
Measures out in months and  years

And I long for a sharing touch
To tell me I don't live alone
It isn't there although I search
Leaving me empty, lost, and all alone.
                                 ljm

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

It’s very quiet now
My sobbing has subsided to small gasps.
My face is wet and needs a drying but
I have no tissue and the air's
Too still and close to do the job.
It’s dark outside and even darker inside
Where the corner begs me to come huddle
And the blue screen mocks my efforts
To concoct a riddle that will save me.
I’ve tried every single thing I know
To find a way to change the past
But it remains immutable,
And I am locked inside
The Amber of regret
9/17/20

Plunging through the mud and brambles
We chase a butterfly we’ll never catch
Still we cannot stop pursuing
We push ourselves to go a little faster
Even though the tangled vines
Wrap tight around and scratch our legs

The seeping blood becomes a whip
To urge us ever onward
The butterfly with glowing azure wings
Lites long enough to give us hope
Of finally catching up with it
And holding all that beauty in our hands

But then it lifts and floats away
Leaving just it’s siren song behind
To echo in our longing minds
And send a message that tells us
The goal we seek is possible
If only we do not give up

No matter how we spend our strength
With aching legs and burning lungs
No matter all the meadows that we race across
The butterfly continues to float out of reach
And in the end we realize
That we must settle for a moth.
ljm

When I joined, I assumed that the name I put on my poetry was
the name I should use here.  So I put Lori Jones McCaffery.
After being here only a few days, I realized many people had
created pen names for themselves and I wished I had done
so too.  Too late to go back and change my name on
everything I've posted, but that's OK.

However, when someone sends me a nice compliment,
they often use the whole name too.Kinda makes me feel like
a school marm or something.  I'm not at all a formal person.
I'm at the other end of the scale, so please one and all, feel
free to call me Lori.  It'll be easier for you to type and make
me feel more like "one of the gang".

If only I could just forget
The woman I once was
Maybe I’d be happy with
The woman I am now.

If maybe I could just forget
How much I could do then
Perhaps I could accept how
Much of it I can’t do now.
ljm

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

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.

He chopped my head off.
He wanted a son and I gave him a girl
I miscarried twice and one was a boy
It was an unforgivable sin.
So desperate for an heir was he
He evicted the Pope from England
And created his own kind of church
So he could get rid of Catherine,
The mother of his daughter,
And have me, against my own will.
My sister was not enough for him-
A mistress can not be a queen -
And the successor he so keenly longed for
Must be the issue of a queen.

With 2 daughters, Henry needed a son.
Catherine gave him Mary
And I bore him Elizabeth.
He didn’t know - nobody could know
How that rivalry would one day end.
When Henry looked to Jane Seymour,
Something told me I would die.
Hoping for kindness, it was brutality instead,
And Henry fell into a chain of desperation.
With seven murdered wives as links.

He chopped off my head to clear the way
For marriage number three
And buried me in a leaden box
In his ongoing quest for sons.
He thought that was the end of me
But my daughter was made of my same stuff
And through her battles over time
She claimed the throne that once was mine
And the Elizabethan era came to be.
ljm

As busy as a cat
  At a mouse convention

    As happy as a dog
     Locked in a bone factory

       As hungry as
        The winner on Survivor

          As dizzy as a pinata
           At a kids party

             As sick as
              A pie-eating contest winner

                As beautiful as
                 Your Grandmother’s smile
                               ljm

The drums of doom are echoing
Across the barren hillsides.
  Heavy carts on wheels of hatred
   Loaded high with steaming tubs of vitriol
    And the ugly trolls who brewed it,
     Are rolling down the twisted roads,
      Toward a city newly named Perdition,
       There to dance the Sarabande
        While flocks of screaming Peregrines
         Circle through the storm black clouds
          And all the shutters are nailed tight
           Against the wind that that rattles doors
            And augurs the millennium.
ljm

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

“I’ll be fine” she said
“The golden apples are within my reach.
I hear the distant thunder
And the flash of lightning
Lights the sky beyond the hills
But if my steps are ever forward
This muddy ground can’t trap my feet
And keep me from the prize I’m seeking.
I need only to climb up that tree.”

“I’ll be OK” she said
I have a sturdy ladder
And the shining apple tree
Is in a meadow not too far away.
It’s heavy - who will help me carry it
And hold it steady while I climb?”
There are many who raise hands
To offer buckets for the fruit
And shaded sheds to store it in.

“Tomorrow starts today” she said.
And dressed in apple picking clothes
With sturdy ladder climbing shoes
She set out across the fields
Where stood the golden apple tree.
Two fell behind along the way
And one decided to sleep in
So as the morning sun grew warm
She was left with just a step stool.

“I can do this” she proclaimed
I can figure out a way
To reach the apples lower down
And put a few into the basket
That replaced the heavy bucket”.
But the storm is closing in -
The metal stool, a lightning rod.
No longer safe out in the open
And not a single apple picked.                  
“I was over confident” she said
I thought the cheers and smiles all meant
That I could climb that golden tree
And gather apples to sustain me
Through the coming winter’s snows.”
But it appears that smiles and handshakes
Do not morph into a ladder
Tall enough to reach the fruit
That hides amongst the tallest branches.

“I feel despair” she moaned out loud
And flung herself into the brambles
Praying she would find black-berries -
Something to replace the apples
She knew would never be her meal.
But the blooming time was over,
Only withered nubs remained and
All she managed was torn clothing
And bleeding scratches on her fingers.

“I have no hope” she cried
“I’ve wasted all my energy and strength
Chasing visions that can not be mine,
Seeking golden apples I can’t reach.
Trusting hands that tried, but could not help me,
Facing knowledge that the winter will be hungry
And the only safe place is away
Where hands and smiles must be discovered
In a different kind of garden.”
                   ljm

One more hour in the job I love
Then they ****** it all away
Too many letters in my last name
And I won’t join the games they play

One more hour in my office home
Before it becomes not mine
They took away the reason why
I need a space to spend my time

I’m sitting in a dunking booth
My chair held by a pin
The ***** are going to come my way
Which one will tip me in

Which lame excuse will be the one
They hand me on a plate
Which evil lie will be pronounced
To seal my future fate

Fifty minutes left to carve
The end of my career
Until they push me out to starve
And turn a deafened ear

Or maybe only cut my time
To watch me slowly bleed
And later do the coupe de grace
As they eliminate my need

The time is slowly racing by
My calm is wearing thin
I’ve tried so hard to handle this
To walk out with a grin

But jitterbugs have made their home
In all my quiet places
My throat is learning to seize up
And spoil my placid faces

My mind has owned the coming doom
But my belly missed the memo
I vowed to not succumb to gloom
And ride out in a limo

The hour is up - the hatchet *****
Has done her thing and gone
It hurts much more than I had guessed
I’m not sure I can carry on

What goes around will come around
A saying tried and true
I grab the courage I just found
And know I’ll make it through

ONE HUNDRED HOURS LATER

I’ve found a way to stay afloat
I’ve given it much thought
Perhaps the Gods will smile on me
And I’ll end up on a yacht.

The people I’ve dealt fairly with
Have rallied round my cause
They’re going to help me find a way
To sidestep hunger’s jaws

There is a path that I’d not seen
That leads to greater riches
And I will now begin that walk
And spite those loathsome *******

Who thought that they could throw me out
Like Sunday morning trash
With never a thought of what I’d use
For weekly grocery cash

What goes around has come around
To me - I’ll be just fine
The people that I’ve served so well
Have helped me cross the line

The storm has finally passed me by
I see an end to sadness
I now know I can carry on
Despite their evil badness.

So now my time has ended here
I’m wistful but not crying
I’ve seen a sunrise just ahead
And I’ve new wings for flying

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