Forty years in this old house
It’s filled with treasures lacking worth
To anyone expecting gold,
But priceless in the life recalled.

The warnings came a week ago-
A cataclysmic storm they said
Stock up water and food to eat
That won’t require electricity.

I laid in water and granola bars
And put some things in plastic bags
I wrote my ID on my forearm
Feeling silly as I did.

I moved things to the second floor
Assuring them of some protection
I wish I could have carried more
But the rain was knocking on the door.

It came seeping underneath
And as I watched, it soaked the rug.
Not satisfied with ruined carpet
It crept up the sofa’s skirt.

What am I still doing here
They said do not evacuate
So I am forced to watch the death
Of all I worked so hard to own.

I’s almost knee deep in the kitchen
Where’s my hammer and crow bar
Dang! they’re both out in the shed
I should have thought to bring them in.

It’s lucky I don’t have a pet
No dog or cat or bird or fish
Another life to fret about
When I can barely save my own.

The water’s nearly hip deep now
And rising at a hellish rate
The walls are shaking from the pressure
It’s time for me to move upstairs.

The rain’s a wall I can’t see through
I don’t know how my neighbors fare.
The power’s out - the house is silent
Except for the drumming of the rain.

My lantern is the only light -
How long will the batteries last.
Oh Lord, I’m starting to get frightened
Water’s coming up the stairs, silent as a burglar.

They said don’t go into the attic
Get up on the roof instead.
They didn’t tell us how to do that
How to break ceiling and shingles.

I’m old - I’ve lost the strength of youth
I don’t think I can get up there.
If the water keeps on rising
I must prepare to meet my maker

All I love live far away
Are they as frantic now as me
Will a neighbor come and find me
My cel phone battery just died

Still the ugly, ***** water
Inches further up the stairs.
The old house shudders in the windy gusts
And I can’t keep my fingers steady

I just wrote something on the wall-
A farewell to my family
They should know I thought of them
As water seeps across this floor.

I’ve broken out a window
Over the submerged porch
There’s no point in going out it
I’d only just be swept away.

The water’s almost knee deep here too
I know it’s never going to stop
It’s foolish to stand up on a chair
I’ll say my prayers and go to bed

I’m sure that only God can save me
Neighbors have their problems too.
I’ve lived for eighty happy years
It’s time to shake the hand of fate.

I wonder what it’s like, this drowning
They say you see your life again.
That almost makes it worth the going
Except the sadness left behind.

The bed clothes now are wet and sopping
I never knew I could feel so cold
There’s a rumble in the distance
Like a giant waterfall.

Growing closer like a jet plane
What do you suppose it is
Now the house is really shaking
And I can

ljm

I pass a bush on my morning walk
A big round bush with dark green leaves
Trimmed to be symmetrical.

Today it called as I walked by
Demanding that I turn and see
The first red blossom of the Fall.
The bravest and the quickest one-
Point-bloom for the rest to follow.

As richly red as burgundy,
It seemed to shout “I’m here!
And you can take a moment from
Your busyness to savor
This free gift I’ve made for you.”

Humbled, I stood very still,
Accepting beauty for my soul.
          ljm

When  I was a small child in a little town up in Washington State, there was a kid’s radio show that came on every day at 3:30 PM starting each December first.  It was called “The Cinnamon Bear” and was the fantasy story of two children trying to get back the star for the top of their Christmas tree that had been stolen by a bad character. Each show was only 15 min. long, and half of that was taken up reviewing what happened the day before.  There were endless twists and turns to the plot and the kids showed their plucky spirit  in order to overcame all sorts of little obstacles and finally get the star back on Dec. 24.  The show ended with them putting it atop the tree.
We neighborhood kids always raced home from school to hear the program and we let nothing get in our way. It played every year from a radio station in the nearest big city, which was Portland OR.  By the time we were too old for the story, we practically knew it by heart. In all my years I’ve never encountered anyone outside of South-west Washington who ever heard of it.  But “The Cinnamon Bear” was magical to us kids.  I searched for years and finally found a cassette tape of the entire show.  It’s one of my treasures.
                           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

From the darkness of a midnight corner
a sudden gleam - light on a shiny surface      
wet where everything is always dry a
lump of something darker than the night
huddles in a heap against the plaster
broken by the jackboot toes  of time
rushing through to other places
There is no definition to the shape
that quivers but does not ever move
or shift the silent air with breathing

From the corner where no light invades
the shadow of a recent battle
hides the echoes of the last defeat
and muffles cries for help to come
and blends itself into the blackness
that’s both transparent and opaque
presenting as a silly fun house mirror
changing all perceptions of reality

In the murky gloom that dominates the corner
keeping time to music no one hears
the marks left by the whip are hard to see and
seeping red drops fake the look of ink
The half closed eye is leaking little rainbows
made from seven shades of ebony
that fall and ****** on the carbon floor
as the clump of misery refolds itself
in ever smaller, tighter packets tied with screams
that ricochet into the vastness of forever.

No White Knight or Unicorn
will ever find the corner
The spotlight of humanity
sports a burned out bulb
The gentle hand of kindness
is rolled into a fist and stuffed
into a pocket of uncaring.
The corner was
The corner is
The corner ever
more will be
             ljm

*******!  In my mind a hundred times a day it caws,
A black and flapping creature hopping awkwardly
Across the even furrow of my love.
Dining on the choicest seed, uncovering the rest,
Making sure no crop will ever flourish here,
As I stand and gaze,
Too weary from the endless days of planting all alone,
Too hungry from the meals I've missed to care,
I turn into an ineffective scarecrow
Who just watches.
                        LJM

I think I turned too sharply and missed a step.
I didn’t trip, but I did slip and took a fall.
Now I find myself in the Twilight Zone
Without Rod Serling here to guide me.

I look around to read the words
But they are missing letters.
None of the names are known to me
All are new and foreign

Where are some of the names I know
Ones I read and write to
The ones who read the words I post
And join me on my journey.

Was there rotation of the troops
That I didn’t arrive in time for.
Am I in the wrong battalion now
Headed to places I’ve never been.

Where is Angstrom, Kortas and Omni
Where are Steve, Santita, P Paul
I don’t see Johari, Pradip or Bayan
Did they leave town with Traveler and M-E?

Looking for Fawn, and Graff 88
Ben Noah and Carlo and Walter H
Missing the add-ons of Temporal Fugue
Why are their fingerprints missing?

Who are all those honored poets
With names I’ve never heard before
How did they lap the regulars
In a daily race for notice.

Am I asleep - will I wake up
And find that it was just a dream
And now I’m back with names I know
And no more need to feel alone.

So I will I stay here with my pencil
Posting small bits of my soul
With never a thought to unknown names
Or whether mine will be remembered.
ljm

The drums of war pound once again
While war hawks screech high overhead
In a very crowded sky.
Goliath Rolls it’s heavy tread
Over David’s hapless sling
And doesn’t leave a spatter on the soil.

The Evil One puffs up in pride -
Him of the sly and snake-like eyes -
He didn’t break the Olympic Truce -
A tiny sop to salve the hatred
Roiling in frustration and despair
At lack of the ability to stop him.

The watchers huddle breathlessly
With wringing hands and hopeless eyes
Threatening to take away allowance
If one more tank should rumble over
The chalk mark on the wounded landscape
That denotes the aspiration to be free.

The great unwashed pray to Dow Jones
And check the prices at the gas pump.
Worried that the Safeway may run short
Of toilet paper, beans and Spam
And merchants will hike prices higher
And how will this affect our road trip.

Hoping that the promise holds
Of no boots on that foreign soil
We take our children to the airport
Sending them to Germany  for
Seats along the 50-tank Line
Praying that the game gets called.

People who report the news
All turn the volume up or down:
“It’s just a little foreign scuffle”
Or “Oh my God - it’s World War Three”
Neither of them are on the mark
And we must sort it for ourselves.

And all the while their windows shatter
While rockets flare across their sky
And children who can’t go to school
Must take their naps in subway tunnels,
Cradled by their fearful mothers
While their fathers shoulder guns.

The Great Bear of the East is Hungry
And Ukraine smells like frying pork chops.
ljm

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

Like a mouse in a maze that has no openings
I scurry around this way and that.
Only bumping into walls and dead ends.
I run til I’m completely exhausted
But I never come across an exit
And just to make it so much worse
I also never find a crumb of cheese.
            ljm

Harried, Harassed, Hassled and Hounded-
These are the H-words I work by.

Harpies and Henchmen, Harridans and Heathens-
These are the H-folk I work with.

Hubbub and Hokum and Hurly-burly-
These are the places I do it.

Hoodlums and Hooligans, loaded with Hubris-
These are the clients I deal with.

Heartless and Horrible, Hateful and Hurtful
These are the attitudes around me.

Hopeless and Hapless, Haggard and Helpless-
This is the way I usually feel.

What happened to Happy, and Hopeful and Harmony-
These are the H-words I search for.

Hinder and Hobble, Heckle and Hamper-
These are the Hamstrings that trip me.

Heaven and Harmony, Humor and Honor-
These are the things that I strive for.

Havoc and Hades, Hurt, Hate and Hauteur-
These are the H’s that I have to conquer.

Hope, Help, and Herculean effort-
Is How I will finally get myself Home.
ljm

The moon, a slender eyebrow in the morning sky,
Ducking in and out of clouds that look
Like scattered pieces of charcoal,
Is as thin as the cover on my soul,
Which shivers in the icy wind
And ponders the unthinkable.

The moon was skinny yesterday
And several days before, as thin
As all the options now lined up
Like bottles on the fence posts of my heart
Waiting for a well tossed stone
To cause a resolution.

The moon has always been my friend
As I grow fat it waxes thin
And does not always answer if I call
Because I know it rides the sky
Like a golden palomino mare
That often won’t take me along.

The moon is shadowed by the storm
That roils the peaceful morning sky
And mirrors all the thunder in my mind
That follows lightning flashes of resolve
To once again become Selena’s mate
And course the planes of dawn together
                        ljm

The sagging bunting has faded
The flags are growing frayed
There’s lots of litter in the street
A breeze makes little whirlpools

The confetti has congealed
Itself into clumps of color
Balloons are tangled on
The fancy arms of streetlights.

Everything the eye can see
Proclaims the party’s over.
The crowds have melted into mist.
The music faded with the band.

There’s nothing to be said or done.
No words that can be said…
We have to face the dismal truth -
That Queen Elizabeth is dead.
                 ljm

When I have said the last thing
That I ever need to say
I will lay me down to die

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

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

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

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

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

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

And not until.
ljm

I heard him say what’s killing us
Is nothing but a myth
And that he has a lawful rightMore
To make my mother sick

He will not cover up his face
Though everybody does
He swears the constitution says
He needn’t.... just because

He wears a seatbelt on a plane
And also in his car
It seems that safety matters there
But only goes so far.

He knows that life is full of rules
And laws he must obey
And whether he approves of them
They guide him every day

But suddenly the healthcare guide
No longer causes him to jump
He’s free to make the whole world sick
Just like his idol, Mr. Trump.
ljm

The feast is over
All the guests have left the table
I hung around until the very end
But never got invited
Looks like I’ll have to make my dinner
From the crumbs.

The party’s ending
The orchestra has packed it’s violins
I kept the beat and wore the smile
But no one signed my card
And I suppose I’ll have to hum the tune
And dance alone.
                                  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

Starting from well behind the line
I ran the race as best I could.
I do not have the newer shoes
But I have legs both fast and strong.

I held my own through
The very first curve
And pulled ahead
On the straightaway.

But then the oval straightened out
And it became an endless road
So my advantage faded off
And others started catching up.

In fancy shoes
And running clothes
They gained on me
With every step.

Now in the middle of the pack
I felt the breath of those behind
Who wanted me out of their way
And nudged me over to the edge.

The tatters of my shoes fell off
And I was running barefoot
Over rocky ground that cut my feet
Not on the turf inside the track.

The race went on and I fell back
With with each and every painful step.
I was last of all the rest
As everybody passed me

The finish line came into sight
And though I had a painful limp
I struggled on to get there
The cheering was for someone else
But I was still a winner.
ljm

Word challenge using the words Rattletrap
                     fleabag, tatterdemalion, jalopy, squalid,
                     dilapidated, down at the heel. Vintage words
        
It was kind of dilapidated
But it still ran fine
It wasn’t a total rattletrap
No matter what people said.

I would like to have a new car
But I’m down at the heels right now
having lost my job last month.
I live in an aged fleabag flat
In a squalid neighborhood
Until I get back on my feet.

Everyone calls me a tatterdemalion
But I pay my own way.
And when my old jalopy died
A piece of me died too.

I  loved that little ‘0-two Jetta;
I’d get in and it would  go
The best art of it all was this-
It always brought me home again.

I couldn’t face the breaker’s yard
And see her all torn down for parts.
I donated her to charity
To help pay for someone’s brand new heart.
ljm

Who are these people?

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

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

Who are these people?

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

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

Who are these people?

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

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

Who are these people?

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

It seems as though I live my life
Downstage right and closest to the footlights.
I need the warmth of those glowing bulbs
To thaw a sometimes frozen heart.

I’ve learned my lines and know the scenes
But the blocking still confuses me
And I’m not sure which way I turn
To delver my soliloquy.

I know this drama has four acts
But this is intermission
And I’m waiting for the lights to dim
And call the audience back inside
To watch until the final curtain.
     ljm

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

ljm

In a world with far too many people
With way too many things to do
In so many places that are
Just too hard for them to get to,
We can only wait.

The traffic lights are slow to turn
And the phone is never answered.
The vending machine does not give change
And Fed-Ex never stops out front
Even though we wait.

In a world where real is mostly fake
And Fake becomes a brand name,
We spend the funds we do not have
On things we’ll never ever use,
Not even if we wait.

The processes that make things go
Are grinding to a halt.
The future mimics yesterday
And we can’t see tomorrow.
So we can only wait.
   ljm

I think I’ve come to believe in God
And that He did indeed create the Earth.
But I think He created lots of Earths
And flung them across the galaxies.

I think perhaps He had some off time
And idly rolled up ***** of clay
Each one different from all the rest
Each with its own pattern of life.

I think He had a wonderful time
Draining His imagination
Of all the possibilities
For sentience of various kinds.

Like a crafter making quilts-
Each pattern varied from from the rest,
The planets took on different forms
And life evolved down many lines.

That’s why the cosmos puzzles us
And makes creation hard to grasp.
We need to spend a lot more time
At art and crafter’s shows.

ljm

My mother would have loved this house.
All she ever wanted was a fireplace -
And I have one that’s never held a fire.

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

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

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

She died without a fireplace of her own.
Because of that, I’ll never light the one included
In this house that far exceeds what I deserve.
                                ljm

Like an old fashioned clock
That has been wound too tightly
And too many times
I don’t always get it right.
A few minutes fast
A few seconds slow
But the sun always sets
When it’s supposed to.
ljm

Every night their cherished homes
Are scattered like spilled toothpicks
Across a wounded land that
Shudders under angry skies.

Every morning raging water crashes in
And floats away the little things
That added pleasure to their living
And leaves behind just soggy sadness.

Every afternoon the smoke filled skies
Make breathing in a dangerous thing
And leave scorched nothingness behind
To proclaim the power of that inferno.

Every dawning brings new hope
Like Manna from the Bible shining on
The plans and dreams of those
Who aim to vanquish all the tragedies

And make a tiny corner of the world
A cleaner, better, safer place to be;
Kinder to the injured spirit and the broken soul -
A healing, hopeful ointment for a wounded planet.
ljm

The tipping point for Gaia
  Stares us boldly in our faces.
   And yet we try to look the other way,
    Seeing only what they want us to see,
     Believing all the lies they tell us daily.
      How deep into destruction must we fall
       Before we realize we’re doomed and
        It’s too late to pass the blame
         And far too late to fix things
              ljm

My little brush with small dustpan
Is called a Table Crumber.
But I do not do fancy meals
That worry about bread crumbs

Instead it often sweeps behind
The Kitchen cupboard baseboards
For all the bits that fall that way
While I’m preparing dinner.

The standard broom is way too big
To get into those corners
To find the crumbs and bacon bits
That fly off of the counter.

So while its job is alternate
And not in fancy settings
My little brush is valuable
A fact Im not forgetting.
                             ljm

On this day of gratitude and thanks giving,
I want to say that I'm insanely grateful for
Hello Poetry and all the poets who share it
with me.  Knowing I can write my feelings
and emotions and share them with other
like-minded souls has been an almost religious 
 blessing in my life.  And I want to thank you
all, each and every one of you.
And wish you a very
                         HAPPY  THANKSGIVING

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I want my words back, Lord -
The ones you’ve locked
Up in the furthest corners
Of my wounded mind.

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

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

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

So on my knees beseeching you
Unlock the vault that hides my words
And let me be who I once was
So I can find my way back home.
ljm

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

Scissors roam my hallways
Cutting through the spindly legs
Of things that want to harm me-
Things that wear a different face
Every time I meet them.

Hammers gather in the yard
That’s overrun with trouble,
Ready to march up and smash
The jagged rocks that trip me
And would ******* me forever.

Saws line the bedroom walls
Where nightmares lurk in corners,
Hoping to devise a way
To spring to life in daytime.
But the saws keep them at bay.

The scythe hides in the garden shed
Keeping watch for dangers,
Waiting for the purple moon
That signifies the time is right
To sally forth and take me.
ljm

Like a Gingerbread village
Smashed by an angry child
The
     broken
                  pieces    
                            lay
Scattered across the desert.
             ~/#^//~•º#~

Every shard a broken dream
And hopeless vision of the future.
Every
            pile
                    of
                          crumpled!rubble
Hides beneath it bleak tomorrows.
                  ~/#^//~•ª#~

What can ever be constructed
From the
                frac
                        tur
        ­                        ed
                                      shards of
Hopelessness and heartless evil.
That bar the road to being whole again.
                           ljm

Across the street is our old home
But we don’t live there any more
Another couple starts their life
As we did many years before

It doesn’t look just as it did
They changed things here and there
They’re putting their brand on the place
And doing things we didn’t dare

Solar panels on the roof
The lawn an arid scene
They’re into Big Ecology
They will be living green

I thought to see it would be pain
The home I did not want to leave
But it no longer looks the same
So I no longer need to grieve

It’s just another pretty house
I have one of my own
Mine’s in a lovely desert place
That happily I now call home.
ljm

Spirits soaring
Twinkling star
Love awak'ning
Meteor

Gay abandon
Deep repose
Frangrant lilac
Wilting rose

Tendrils seeking
Drawung bacj
Great abundance
With'ring lack

Surging upwards
Windswept sray
Rise to Heaven
Fade away

Seek a rainbow
Sparkling hue
Find a diamond
Drop of dew

Wings of silver
High above
Be the emblem
Of my new love
            ^^^

TRADE IN

I hate all this business
Of trying to do
What I want to do
And hampered by a
Creaky old body.

It ****** me off
When something hurts
And gets in the way
Of doing the things
I had carefully planned.

I want to complain
And go pound on God’s desk
And ask him for a refund
Or at the very least
Refurbishment.

I haven’t got time
To fall down in pain,
I’ve got hills to climb
And rivers to swim.
I can’t do that if I am crippled.

So dig out the warranty
Read the fine print
See how to get
Some replacements
So I can continue
To conquer this world

As the force of nature
That my Mama loosed            
On creation that
New Year’s day
Eighty-three long years ago.
     ljm

I hurt four people
         So I could be wounded by two.

I thought it was a bargain at the time
But I forgot the service charge and fees.
ljm

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

This morning a jet from the Air Force Base
Split the sky in two with a contrail
Set ablaze by the rising sun.
It cut a line across the clear blue sky
And disappeared beyond the far off mountains.
I watched it as those razor edges
Yielded to celestial winds
And began the transformation
Into wispy clouds across the heavens.
It wasn’t long until the jet’s invasion
Of the peaceful dawning of the day
Disappeared, and only I
Was witness to its transgression.
ljm

The slate is clean, as it should be.
The chalk’s beside it on the table.
But this is not a quiet room in
Peaceful calm surroundings.

The table is knee deep in mud
Of the most obnoxious ugly kind,
Spread deeply as far as eye can see
That must be somehow waded through,

Avoiding getting mired in it or even
Falling down and getting coated
With the muck that won’t come off
And will smear the pristine slate

To make unreadable any words
Of kindness, justice or fair play
That those unsullied might have written there
In hopes that all the fear was fog

And somehow we will find a way to
Sweep the mud into the drain
And justice wash away the stain
So Democracy can rule again.
        ljm

The Iambic well is a writer’s Hell
It has captured many a poet
And often those not on their toes
Fall in before they know it

Through forty years of smiles and tears
I’ve struggled to avoid it
I’ve danced around that killing ground
Which only just annoyed it

So it sent out a water spout
That grabbed me by the ankle
I fought it off and lived to scoff
Which caused that well to rankle

I got away but to this day
I find my lines Iambic
It’s such a shame my verse is lame
I’d hoped it would be tantric.
ljm

So many things need to be said
And shouted from high places.
This is not the time for words
To fail me in my anger.

What kind of mongrels have we become
That all precepts of decency
Have fallen by the wayside;
That codes of honor and propriety
Don’t scan in our computers.

It’s now alright to load a gun
Into a car and drive across state lines
To prance amongst an angry crowd
And wave it til someone gets ******
And reaches for it, thus providing
Legal grounds to shoot him -
And two more for good measure.

What kind of wimps have we become
That a kid who swings a skateboard
Becomes a lethal threat and hence
Is suddenly OK to be murdered.

Seven women and five men
Abandoned any common sense
Or rational intelligence
To vote that one who starts the fight
Is justified in feeling thereby threatened
And allowed a wanton ******.

What on earth have we become
And can’t you see where we are going?
Vigilante posses chasing pregnant girls
And legitimate protestors.
Three murderers may well walk free -
One more miscarriage of rightful justice.

Changing rules so blacks can’t vote
Disdaining to protect our dying planet
Playing at adult Lord of the Flies.

God has turned his back on us
So we created another One
From hate and greed and lust
We worshiped it full faithfully
And this is where it got us.

Afraid to mingle in a crowd
For fear that we’ll be shot.
Afraid to walk the streets alone
For fear that we’ll be *****
Afraid to help someone in need
For fear it is a scam.
We don’t answer phone or door
For fear of who might be there.

No wonder we are all depressed
And everyone is angry
There’s very little pleasure left
And life has lost its meaning.
Perhaps the world is suffering
From no pandemic but the wrath of God
And we all had it coming.
                        ljm

In the winter of
My darkest sadness
A candle glows,
Tiny and so far away.
It gives the darkness
A focal point and I
Struggle my way towards it.

Another candle lights my way.
I don’t know where it came from
But it makes a fearful journey
So much easier to manage,
And I eventually will dance
On thistledown to
The music of the Skylarks
In a sun-filled, cloudless sky.
  ljm

We’re in a very darkened place.
The Sun is absolutely gone;
An angry wind is howling.
All the butterflies have flown;
The birds are hiding in the trees.

There is no music in the brook.
The lovely Marigolds are dying.
The candles that once lit the way
Have been blown out repeatedly
And not a matchbook can be found.

Random bursts of angst and fear
Throw black paint over hopefulness
And there are no stars in the sky.
We stand stock still and hold each other
Soon to learn which doom is ours.
ljm

Pray the rain won't spoil your picnic
As you scan the morning sky
Take an extra rainproof poncho
To keep the picnic table dry.

As you scan the morning sky
Look for red clouds in the East
And recall the Sailor's warning.

Take an extra rainproof poncho
Maybe an umbrella too
And one of those big blue tarpaulins

To keep the picnic table dry
Then have faith that God still loves you
And the sun will shine all day.
                       ljm

When the road curves out of sight
And you're not sure how far to go
when what awaits you is a puzzle
No one else but you will know.

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

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

No one else but you will know
If it's a prize that you have won
Or if the lock won't come undone.
                           ljm