Your tragic family:
The little wealth
You had is gone.
No place
To call home any more.
No welcoming friends
To take you in.
There’s nothing left to do
But leave.

Leaving should be
Very easy.
Theres nothing left
For you to pack.
Nor any trunk for
You to put things in.
No need either
For a suitcase -
You’re wearing
Everything  you own.

Who can help you -
They need help too.
Who can find
An answer in the ashes
That are the tombs
Of relatives,
Cremated
With no prayers spoken.

How is it
You must fly away.
You have no passport;
You have no funds
Beyond the dollars
In your pocket
When you ran.
You can’t go to
The bank for more
The contents of the vault
Are charred.
And papers with
Your name on them
Are gone.

You cannot call.
The wires are down.
The towers melted in the blaze.
The Post Office
Is in ruins.
And no one answers
When you shout.

You have friends
And relatives
In other places
That are safe.
The only thing that you can do
Is wait
For them to come and save you.
I hear jet engines
Revving up.
Hope must not be
Let to die.
             ljm

~
Saturn Jupiter Mars,
three blind mice running
up the clock to find freedom.

starlight stairs in abyss,
cities of the interior ring
carry a dangerous cargo: citizens.

t-minus one/this is fear

I am no astronaut,
I'm a refugee, bleeding hands pressed
tight to the barbed-wired fence.

we play charades from the window,
lunar phases keening
in the tender light of these infant wars.

t-minus one/this is fear

farewell threshold on laudanum,
the grifted gift of the Joe Blakes
painted from memory.

the far off observation
telescoping my fear, leading me
to believe I'm hiding in plain view.
~

thin. paper thin.
here is a bonus. (or is it bogus?)

the order of release.
the order of dead pages gliding in the wind.

advertisements for adopting a lonely asteroid or building fire extinguishers in your spare time.

the rain of acceptance comes with dark clouds of shipping and handling.

just check the appropriate box and send it in. send it in now!

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

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

When everything is monetized
And only tears are free
I think it’s time we realized
That’s not how life should be.

When you post your life on line
In hopes of earning cash
It should become a flashing sign
That it will one day crash.

Important things will fade away
In the rush to make a buck
Your only purpose every day,
To have financial luck

You’ll conjure up click-worthy memes
And pay no mind that they’re not real
That nothing’s really as it seems
As long as it’s part of the deal.

The boom will fall, that’s how it goes
And you’ll be left out in the rain
To learn what everybody knows
The lust for loot just causes pain.
                 ljm

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

On the day I come unglued
And finally slip away
I hope the sky is freshly blue
Without a wisp of gray.

At the moment when my concert ends
And the final note is sung
I  hope I am with caring friends
And no black crepe’s been hung.

I want to simply disappear
To mingle with the wind.
I hope I sense when time is near
To bring things to an end

I’d hate to leave in gloom and rain
And hate it more in snow.
I do not want to cause more pain
Because It’s stormy when I go.
                                        ljm

~
Dead ahead
The target is always
On a similar horizon
It's about surviving
Every blasted thought
More than eliminating all threats
When they strike
They form castellated holes
That network new fears
To long existing trauma
Careening off the deep seams of life
In intervals of jagged breath
I become part of the debris
A genuine tourist attraction
The size of a crater
Even after nothing else
Remains of my former self
~

Boy meets girl.
Girl marries boy.
Baby comes nine months later
— blessed little killjoy.

Boy neglects girl.
Girl henpecks boy.
There'll be hell to pay
for slighting Helen of Troy.

Such an elegant fear,
this alliance, and yet,
when it's held in selfish hands
it merrily dissolves,
turning as tedious
and drab as Shakespeare.

Boy annoys girl.
Girl leaves boy.
It takes a special kind of madness
in building to simply then destroy.

Turn the other cheek
and Judas will kiss that one too,
reduce the bairn's fever
by visiting daddy's igloo.

Weekends are pay toilets
and happy meals,
frustration is a word all too real.
When did antipathy begin to rule?
About the time diplomacy was forced
into playing the fool.

The good times no one catalogues,
this life has gone straight to the dogs.
The Iditarod Trail extends
from Seward to Nome.
Run the race and make believe
the kids are tucked in safe at home.

According to Dorothy
there's no place like it.