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They said I gotta write some things down
But I don’t liketa write and what can I say.
I disappointed my Mama and I’m real sorry for that
I tried to stop once, I truly did.  But it was so much fun.
I enjoyed cowboyin’, and all the guys too
They called us The Wild Gang.
Them months in jail was not any fun.
I promised 'em that I’d be good, but
The banks was there, the trains was there
They called to me and I had to answer 'em
I don’t feel bad for them that died.
They all had it comin’
I finally got tired of bein’ chased,
And me and Sundance tried to lay low,
But there wasn't no place to hide any more.
Both Robbers Roost and Hole in the Wall was known to all.
And them dad-blamed Pinkertons was ev'rywhere.
So we lit out on a boat, and Etta tagged along.
San Vicente was pretty, but the bank was a’callin’
Nothin’ else we could do but hit it.
Hiding didn’t work out so well that time.
All in all I think going to Bolivia was a big mistake
That’s about all I got to say.
-Butch
My pittiful attempt to take part in the challenge set up by Thomas W Case and BLT to create a poem written by a historical figure.  The funnest part was reading up on him.
I worked hard for
Everything I got
And didn’t get.

I’ve been cheated
By evil hands
And friendly ones
With their fingers crossed.

I looked for love
And found mostly
*** and degradation.

I reached for God
But my fingers
Were too slippery.
ljm
I think I may have already posted this.  If so, sorry.
The Tiara is back on the dresser.
My party shoes are on the floor.
The clock is well past midnight
And I’m the Birthday Girl no more.

My day was rendered as perfect
Everything went just as planned.
There were no major mix-ups -
A blessing from God’s divine hands.

The floats were created from magic
They were stunning in their appeal
The roses in so many colors made
It hard to believe they were real.

The bands each outdid the others
Their Tubas lined up in big rows.
The flag girls and pompoms were twirling;
Drum Majors were putting on shows.

The weather was cold in the morning
But warm in the late afternoon.
My tiara caught other’s attention
And that sent me over the moon.

We ended the day at the movies
To watch whatever was playing
“The Aquaman” was a debacle
That’s only if I’m kindly saying.

This birthday is etched in my mem’ry
A diamond among yearly pearls.
A treasure bestowed by a loved one
Who crowned me the luckiest girl.
                        ljm
Best Birthday ever.
Wars and storms and refugees
Spoken together ring like a bell
Wars and storms and refugees
Portray the people who now live in Hell
Wars and storms and refugees
Is this the ending of the world
Wars and storms and refugees
Flying the banners of death unfurled
Wars and storms and refugees
Is no solution to be found
Wars and storms and refugees
Or will we hear the trumpets sound
Wars and storms and refugees
War and storms **** refugees
And bring the world down to its knees.
ljm
Seeing the same footage over and over, like a roundlay.
I’m told real poems always rhyme-
Anything else is drivel.
If we abide by that stern rule
Then real music can only be opera.

Real dance can only be ballet
And real paintings photographic.
Why is there so much latitude
In all the other art forms

And no acceptance for blank verse,
Even with fantastic formats,
Even if it makes you cry...
If there is no rhyme, it’s junk.

Everyone who does not rhyme
Quite probably can do it,
But they can write blank verse sublime
If you only leave them to it.
ljm
All done with this topic now.
Play fair
Wait your turn
Don't cheat
Help the other guy
Don't be cruel
Don't be selfish
Be friendly
Be kind
Care about the Earth and its people
Take what you need and leave some on the plate for the other guy
Smile more than you frown
                                  ljm
That longest line came from my late father-in-law, the most honest and upright man I've ever met.
I won’t be sad to leave this world
Where people beat up on the dogs who love them
And lock their children in a closet to starve.
Where people throw bags of baby kittens in the river
And think it’s a lark without a pang of guilt.
Where lying is always the accepted answer
And stealing is taking what’s felt as deserved.
Where thoughtless unkindness is the rule of the day
And no one can see past their ‘want’ of the moment.
I don’t think I’ll be sad to go.

My hopes have been wounded and bruised
By callous uncaring and selfish spite.
My dreams became nightmares
When trampled on by the bottom line.
My plans were unraveled like a badly knit sweater
When worn in the cold wind of cheating
And bragging of gaming the system.
My ethics are pummeled in rapid succession
By those with agendas much blacker than sin
So I don’t think I’ll be at all sad to go.

The world is now vinegar in fine champagne bottles
The liter of Coke, a molotov cocktail
And our very best friend is the enemy.
The rage on the highway makes it unsafe to drive
And the muggers defy you to walk.
The unwanted ads that spring out from hiding
Are like death from a thousand small cuts.
And the blood of my joy soaks into the ground
Where nothing can grow without any rain
And the heat never melts the ice in your veins.
It won’t be all that sad to just go
       ljm
Where is the GOOD news, the story of kindness and caring, of helping and encouraging?  I'm so weary of the evilness in this world
Ruth, you didn’t do us right
You knew that you had cancer
You couldn’t know how long you had
You must have thought Trump wouldn’t win.

And so you took the gamble.
You should have exited the court
Before Obama’s term wound down,
If you were thinking of the nation.

Your ego kept you on the bench
Until it was too late to go.
We all held our worried breath
As we watched your health decline.

Once you saw the damage
That was daily being done
To your beloved country
You could do nothing but hold on.

We know you tried to last him out
To keep some balance on the Court
But even you, with your fierce strength,
Were not a match for what was in the cards.

Ruth, you didn’t do us right.
In the final reckoning
You should have known to step aside
And save us from destruction.
ljm
My heart is broken.  Whatever will become of us now. Pray.
I dug a hole in the seaside sand
But it didn’t fill with water
And the sides did not cave in.

The rain came down
But the sand stayed dry
And the ocean got the drenching.

The seagulls danced
Their tide-line jig
Avoiding my sand cavern

I lined the hole with dry seaweed
And covered it with clam shells.
I crawled inside and hunkered down
At last safe from tomorrow.
ljm
Just fooling around.
The Bible story tells the flood
That cleansed a very sinful world
And saved the barest minimum.

God sent a rainbow promise saying
Water would not bring doom again
And fire would bring the end next time.

Wars created conflagrations
But the world survived, and evil grew.

Then forests burned across the planet
Leaving desolation in their wake.

But the people found a way
To build new castles on the ash
And again the evil was let to grow.

A tiny germ that can’t be seen
Did everything the fires could not;
Bested blizzards and tornados,
Seeped into the earthquake crack
And learned to travel on the wind.

The Bible should have warned us
It would be a fever, not a fire;
That when those trumpets finally sound
It will be to call the cleaning crew
To come mop up what little’s left
          ljm
Hard not to be pessamistic and refrain from going to church.
Clutching my sanity ever so tightly,
My fingers cramp at the effort.
I don’t know how long I can hold on.
The life in that other world
Creeps up behind and grabs me.
I’m gone before I can say no.
What happens if I lose my way back
To this reality’s landscape.
Fighting to stay in the here and the now
I feel that I’m losing the battle.
My legs ache from running
And my arms hurt with swinging
But I mustn’t accept their kind invitation
To take up residence in that misty place
And finish my life with those other people.
I mustn’t let go - I’ve got to hang on.
If only I had a guardian angel.
ljm
Sometmes my daydreams seem a little too real.
Wringing what little joy I can
From a disappointing existence,
I go along my daily way
Wearing a pasted on smile

So no one ever will detect
The abject misery I hide
That seethes and boils inside
This construct of a person.

    I dot the I’s and cross the T’s
    And show up when expected.
    I pay the bills when they are due
    And share a bit with the needy.

          I’m organized, personified
          As an outstanding citizen,
          But deep inside where truth
          Be found, a desperate mirage

              That hides an angry little girl
              Who knows she’s being cheated
              Of all the things she knows she’s won
              And watched awarded elsewhere.
ljm
We all have our own little masks to wear in hopes of never being discovered.
Waves of deep pure shimmer in the background.
A muffled roar of anger rumbles in the distance.
The white gardenia in a clear glass bowl
Doesn’t smell as sweet as memory recalls.
All the wight of merely being is a burden.
The cuckoo clock is running slow
And needs to have its chain pulled down.
The shutters on the windows are all closed
And the walls are painted in a cheerless hue.
The tablecloth is cluttered up with  nothings
That demand attention but give no reward.
The painting in the attic slowly ages
While the face seen in the mirror stays the same.
The creaking hinges of existence
Slowly start to close the door
And all the butterflies are left outside.
kjm
I posted this five days ago and it never appeared, apparently.  I just tried again and got the dread error 502.  One more try.
Just had major back surgery.  Sending her my get well wishes along with those from everyone who puts a heart heart on this post.
Get well Scarlett - we miss you.
40 or 50 hearts would be nice. Thank you.
Lost - reality in multicolor shatters
Scattered by the breezes from the sunrise
Gaping holes with ragged edges
Filled with swirling mists of sadness

Perusing maps of certainty
The tick-tock of the day grows louder
But the tide washed out the roadway
And the darkness didn’t leave at dawn

There is no clay for making bricks
So nothing will get built today
And the penny found along the walk
Will only buy a feckless dream

A can of worms not good for fishing
Sits atop a dusty shelf above
A dog that wants more petting
Than you or I have hands to give

The echo of this joylessness is deafening
And there’s no reason to go on.
      ljm
Things are not going well this week.
A hundred and seventeen by day
Cools to ninety overnight
No relief but the shower stall.
Humidity at sixty-five
Mixed with sweat for a nasty soup.
Cold water from the tap is warm.
The shade no cooler than the sun.
Trapped in Air Conditioned caves,
It’s hunker down and find a way
To forge a path though ninety days.

Why does anybody even try
To live in this forsaken place.

Bcause it’s lovely in the Winter.
The gorgeous skies are like no other
With clouds that tumble into billows
Of fantastic size and shape.
The Craggy mountains circle round
In jagged homage to the sky,
And sunrise is excelled by none.
In March wildflowers explode in bloom.
Along the streets and in the fields
Where little bunnies hide in bushes.
And tiny lizards scurry by.
The air is clean and brisk and new
And snowbirds make their yearly trek
Infusing new and different views.

That’s the Yang to scorching Yin
That keeps us here, content to be.
ljm
Making it through the first summer of our new home state.  Barely.
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.
S ometimes situations sneak around behind me
C ausing more frustration than my cup can hold,
R endering my calm demeanor less and less with
E very breath I take, which finally
A llows the rage to grab control and
M eans the only useful thing to do is scream
ljm
I posted this a week ago and it never appeared.  Gave a whole new meaning to the write.
S ometimes situations sneak around behind me
C ausing more frustration than my cup can hold,
R endering my calm demeanor less and less with
E very breath I take, which finally
A llows the rage to grab control and
M eans the only useful thing to do is scream
ljm
If you've got an hour I'll tell you about my adventure yesterday with the arcane medical bureaucracy of Laughin, NV.  It gives new meaning to the phrase "You can't Get There From Here".
The tide goes out, and comes a little further in.
The tiny waves don’t make it past
The pebbles in the sand.
They just sink in and disappear.

The rubber ball mistakenly
Tossed out into the churning sea
Recedes and then it reappears
Always just a little out of reach.

Teasingly it comes and goes.
Soon it becomes invisible
Amidst the foaming of the brine.
And likely is forever gone

Unless it manages to journey
To that far and distant shore
Where little hands will gladly grasp it
And the end turns into a beginning.
             ljm
Reverie
My Titanic’s slowly sinking
The mighty horns are blowing danger         danger
And the iceberg’s in my soul
No way now to read the charts
That might have found a safer route

Launched with golden expectations
To set new records on the wires
Steady progress, ever forward
Mindful of the precious cargo
Forging through the troubled waters

Then a squall blew from the north
All the maps were obsoleted
Other captains took the helm
Said they’d be sailing by the stars
But only they had eyes to see them

Battered by the winds of evil
Banners flapping in the gale
Sent a message of confusion
Warning help to stay away
Praying that it still would come

As the ocean laps my ankles
All the lifeboats are long gone
Every hope has washed away
And I must learn to love the water
That will be my final home.
LJM
This is not about the Titanic. It is about my working career.
(I hate this new format - There is an extra word danger in line 2.  That wa the only way I could get a space long enough to type a whole line without it being broken into two lines.) Maybe I'll figure it out, but why do I have to.
I still pine
       for what I’ve lost
               the promise and
                               fulfillment.

I still search my memory
                for hidden fragments
                                 of that treasure.

     Time has covered
                some of them in
                            shadows of nostalgia.

     But the flaming pain
                        still brightly burns and
                                      tears will not extinguish it.
                        ljm
Sometimes I feel like a broken record.  Healing much too slowly.
The first Winter-colored sky of Autumn
Presented itself as a water-colored sunset,
Somehow reassuring; not as dreary as it should have been.
Last week it was Summer, hot and clear and windy -
Then the clocks fell back an hour and Wintertime crept in.

I wasn’t finished yet with Summertime.
There were lots of plans that slipped away,
Put off until another week or month and lost
In the relentless turning of the pages that are time.
Leaving me with wistfulness and guilt.

So many verses started and unfinished.
So many places I somehow ever went.
So much culture I let pass me by.
So many fellow travelers left unmet.
I wonder where I was for ninety days.

Later, as I step outside again, the sky is dark.
A gentle rain is falling very quietly,
As if it knows it’s here too soon, but
After years of parching draught, can’t wait a second longer
And I love the wetness on my upturned face.

The seasons change with subtilty, but they do change,
And there’s assurance in perceiving them.
No need perhaps for winter clothes
But still there is an Autumn frame of mind
That bridges sun to shadow and proclaims the march of time.
ljm
Is this a progress report or a weather report.  Not sure it's a poem.  Oh well.
Writhing sea of dancing faces
Roiled by electric currents
From a storm that I can’t see-
No high, no low, no ebbing
Just tumaltism from
One Sean cut to another.
In the middle is a wooden box
Painted big and black and square.
On it is a Nereid
Arms out flung, long red hair flying
Turning in the basting of the spotlights
So willow-thin above the starfish in the tide pools.
Powered by the lack of sun
She floats her rhythms
On the breakers
And becomes a beacon
For lost eyes and hopeless dreams.

How I wish I was her sister
Cousin or best friend.
How I’d love to fusion with her
Show her where she got her licks.
But I hold back- I don’t dare it
My time was yesterday
Today is hers alone
I must be jetsam on the shore
So sad that my tide’s moving out as
Hers is rolling in.

If I could only be her peer
Instead of Sea Waif’s mother.
ljm
Watching my daughter take center stage.
You can’t paint the Sistine Chapel with a roller
You can’t carve The Thinker with a jack hammer
You can’t write a symphony on a Kazoo
And you can’t dance Swan Lake on a trampoline

You can’t bake a cake if you have no oven
You can’t sew a gown with a knitting needle
You can’t build a house out of Lego Bricks
And you can’t win at Lotto without buying a ticket

Why do my eyes not notice the humming bird
Only that the nectar tube needs refilling
Why do I not glory in a field of orange poppies
Only struggle to walk without stepping on one

Why do I pass up small kudus when offered
So I can wallow some more in rejection
Why do I long so for the glow of acceptance
When I have no use for the face in the mirror

We all have to work with the gifts we are given
Talent is not something you can go out and buy
You can’t sigh your way into winning the race
And you can’t coerce people into your fan club

You have to dig deep if you want to find oil
You have to cast bait if you want the big fish
You have to believe that the war can be won
To put down your pen and ******* your sword
           ljm
That first step is always the hardest, especially if you're not sure of the way.
Four years is a  long, long time
To watch what we’ve long worked for
Erode bit by bit or in big chunks.
How will we survive the watching
While being headed off at every curve
By sycophants who stand in line
To get in on the unearned spoils
Of ravaging ecology, economy
The middle class and truth.

Fourteen hundred and sixty days:
What can we hide in basement corners
To keep it from being broken or soiled.
What can we bury in the back yard garden
To know it’ll still be there for us to use
When the ravaging is over and we can breathe
And try to reassemble democracy
From the leftovers and the cast-asides
That evilness bequeathed to us on leaving.
                 ljm
Prices are not going down.
Immigrants will still pour in.
They'll tell us that we're better off
And hope we do not notice.
Prove me wrong and let me love you.
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.
My most secret wish is to somehow become
A Bandaid for all the wounds of the world
And an Aspirin for it’s pain.
ljm
If only.   Happy New Year
A  mustard seed
Is a mountain I can’t climb.
My faith can’t move
A single grain of sand.
ljm
The smallest of all seeds yet big bushes grow from them
See me
Find me in the crowd
And SEE me.

See who I am
See what I know
See what I do

See me

See what I stand for
See what I work towards
See what I’ve left behind me

See me

see why I care
See why I laugh
See why I cry

See me
          ljm
Feeling invisible lately.
You took a selfie yesterday
And this is what you saw
A woman with the saddest eyes
Trying hard to make a smile.

Your face was etched with weary lines
Though your complexion was still fine
You looked as if you’d seen the world
In all its ugly guises.

Pain and utter hopelessness
Had left tracks on your spirit -
And dimmed the sparkle in your gaze
To just a faint remembrance.

You looked like you had fought a war
And were forced to sign a treaty
That left you with no place to go
And no more foes to conquer.

Your eyes, the mirror of your soul,
Projected only sorrow -
Yet somehow they produced a glow
That said you have hope for tomorrow.
                  ljm
There is always hope.
Why is a glitter different than a glisten:
Evil eyes glitter with malice
Gentle eyes glisten with love.
Diamonds glitter, real or not
Opals glisten with a silken sheen,
The sun shining on the ocean glitters
The moon on a quiet lake glistens
Elizabeth Taylor Glittered
While Julie Andrews glistens.
There is no bridging word to use
One puts you in a meadow
And the other on a rocky shore
Which verb do I want to be
I never really could decide.
                ljm
Just a random comparison.
Can all of the real Chrstians,
The ones who actually
Follow the commandments,
Outvote the Quasi Christians
Who hold their Bibles upside down
And can not quote John 3:16

Probably not.

But add them to the multitude of  
Non religious voting people
Those who read and understand
The message written on the wall,
And  know they want to vote again
And have a choice when four years pass.

Then maybe yes.
                ljm
Still on my soapbox
SHOW BIZ

You knocked on every Show Biz door
Until your knuckles cracked and bled.
Sometimes doors opened half an inch
But always they swung shut again.

You got a tiny peek inside
Of where you longed to be
But you were left out on the porch.
You somehow didn’t get the memo

Saying you can never just arrive
And say “I’m here, so use me”.
The business doesn’t work that way.
You need an invitation.

A father or a brother’s work
Will get you through that door.
You may start at the bottom
But you won’t be there for long.

You finally gave up in despair
And found some other occupation
But the longing never went away
And drains your life of joy today.
ljm
For all who tried and failed to make it big in Hollywood.
Spinning in circles that have square corners
I'm the new Broadway sensation

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

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

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

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

The Animal Rights folks are picketing
The unkind treatment of frogs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With autograph book and stub of a pen
Guess I might just as well walk on home
                     LJM
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
Everyone who cooks knows how frustrating it is when a recipe calls for a 6 oz. can of Tuna Fish and tyour can now holds just 5.  So you lose 1/6th of the flavor or you waste most of a second can.  Maddening.
When you borrow trouble
The interest rate is
Very high.

     ljm
Things are going south at my job again.  Circling the bowl.
Looking for a sign that I’m heard-
Is it a bird outside my window,
A shaft of sunrise in my sky.
Is it a song come out of nowhere
Remembered and sung word for word.
How can you recognize a sign
When you don’t know what you’re looking for.
ljm
Is God listening?
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.
I know it’s hiding out there somewhere
That long sought after perfect verse
A silver dove that is a poem
And rides the wind on platinum wings
But I am blinded and I don’t know
The where or how to look for him.

I can hear his melody
And even catch a trace of words
But his glossary eludes me
And I can’t unlock the message

The pain’s a little bit like childbirth
I don’t know how to let it out.
I can’t pick up a razor blade
The need is more than only blood

Longing is a visual thing
Comprised of mist and foggy shadows
That render it impossible
To see a way to find that dove
The one whose tracks are etched in time
Across the sands of living
And the roadway to achievement

The struggle yet continues on
The beating in my weary chest
Is other than my  heart.
Another bird is trying to escape
It may not be the silver dove
But no one shuns a Robin

Somehow the vents are closed.
And little wings are growing weak.
It must not suffocate inside
Unsung, unwritten and unread.
                ljm
What can you say.....
Ukraine is doughty little David
Russia is Goliath
His slingshot is a flying drone
And he needs bigger pebbles.

Poland offered flying rocks
Big enough to knock things down
And even up the playing field
With boulders of destruction.

David needed just one stone
Zellenskyy may need several
It’s hoped that when Goliath falls
He misses the red button.
                               ljm
Step by step...slowly we turn...
SIN
SIN
Words of wisdom from Pastor Kay Arthur

Sin will take you farther
Than you ever intended to go.
It will cost you more than
You ever expected to pay
And it will keep you longer
Than you ever expected to stay.
L
Wish I'd written this.
I’m goin’ awaaaaaaay, for to stay
A little while…..
But I’m commmin’ back….
Though I go ten thousand miles
Look awaaaay…
Look awaaaay…. over Yondro.
I don't know where Yondro is either, but I needed a goodbye song.  I will be back on Oct 11 to catch up on all I missed.  Going to Burbank, CA, to the old neighborhood, to visit all the friends we left when we moved here 3 years ago. Gonna throw in Disneyland, a Luau and Universal Studios too.  Wow -actual fun. Can't wait.
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.
Other places, other times
Send hints of melodies
That echo in the hollow air
And call repeatedly to me

To leave the harsh and bittersweet
And find a way that leads
To those remembered days
Of usefulness and joy.

The notes play on an endless loop
That turns sad dreams to Musicals
And interferes with getting on
With all the mundane that is life.

Those other days and times are gone
They cannot be recaptured
The only thing they leave behind
Are notes of sad and wistful longing.
ljm
Longing for the good old days.
Only 15 and branded a cheater,
How did she know what they told her to take -
She did what they told her and practiced her axels.
The ice was a carpet embedded with magic
And she rode it into the stratosphere;
Graceful, athletic, and lovely to look at
How could she know that a little round pill,
From the multitude that were her daily fare
Could puncture her dream as sure as a saber,
Sending her crashing to that icy carpet.

Only 15 to hoist such a burden
And wear it forever like sack cloth and ashes
Doomed by the powers that only love metal
And mining it on the back of a school girl
Pushing for her to spin ever higher,
And land on the legend-filled pages of glory.
They set her up to bring home the trophy,
But had to take steps to make sure she’d succeed.
In the end what they did was discovered
Which only succeeded in breaking her wings
But they sent her out wrapped in scandal and shame
And tore her to pieces when she couldn’t fly.
          ljm
Now that the Olympics are over and the "Olympic Truce" has expired. Russia is now free to invade Ukraine.
My life, she said, is so akin
To a twisted, knotted piece of yarn
Tied around an unknown object
Hanging from a broken limb
Blown by whirling, dusty wind
That never ever makes a sound.
                           ljm
I'm on a roll !!  Here's  #5 for today. Hey - f the "bad Gateway" is finally open, I'm comin' through full steam ahead.
Daubing paint as carefully as I know how.
An image begins to take shape
But it’s a chair, not a meadow
Filled with sunlight and daffodils.

Choosing colors carefully,
I mix pale blue and yellow
But instead of green it turns out gray,
And all I can paint with it is rocks.

I study all the Masters
And marvel at their work
My stomach knots in envy
At the skills I don’t possess

Wishing I could someday
Create something to compare
Wishing I could find the key
To unlock stunning visions.

Clean canvas and another brush
My mind can see the painting
As I work to find it in the paint
I’m mixing on my palette

I labor with unending zeal
Overpainting all my errors
Searching for the beauty in my strokes
Hoping I have broken through

To join the pantheon of Masters.
Standing back to take a look
At the fruit of all my labors
I see another painting of a chair.
ljm
Doubting my abilities.
SKY
SKY
A contrail scratches a long pink scar across the dawning sky,
Alarming the wispy clouds that stretch themselves into nothingness,
Oozing rose madder from their bottom edges.
The faint sulphur yellow glow behind the ragged horizon
Lurks with the Son’s intent to loom at almost any moment.

The air is clear, and distant fires have not smudged it gray.
It is too early for the birds to be abroad,
But there are little bunnies on the roadway,
Welcoming an autumn morning, unbothered by my passing.
They look warm in their fur coats and little padded feet.

There is no wind, surprising in this desert place of river breezes
But my hands are tucked up in the sleeves of my sweat suit
Against the chill that paints pink roses on my cheeks
As I take my morning walk in Laughlin,
Enjoying my ownership of the quiet air.

My walk is timed to get me home before the sun
Can crash it’s way into the sky
To scare away the bunnies while it wakes up the birds
And forces me to shield my eyes
Against the glare of another busy morning.
         ljm
I do two brisk miles a day in the neighborhood at 6 AM.  Trying to get healthy and lose weight.  It's all so different from L.A.,  and I'm learning to see the beauty here.  You don't get any bunnies in Burbank!
Reading a book, I found a list of funny old laws on the books that were never removed. My favorite was from Pasadena, CA, where it was against the law to "lurk with intent to loom".  In other words, you couldn't hide with the intention of jumping out at someone.
The subtle beauty of the dawning sky,
As it paints the bottoms of the fluffy clouds
A delicious fire opal pink
Makes a vivid contrast to the vista
Of the brutal desert spread below it,
Rocks and sand in gray and tan.
Jagged cliffs rear fierce and black
Against the glory of the sunrise.

A land of thunder and sheet lightning,
Giant ploppy drops of rain
Blown sideways by the angry wind
Create a night of little sleeping,
Waiting for the appearance of the Sun
To boil the moisture into steam
And wilt the flowers and the soul,
Proving gentle beauty often hides a barb.
ljm
Just can't get enough of the Nevada sky.
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