They carried us
Through gestation,
Or adopted
Without hesitation.
Our coming
Was a celebration,
Mothers are our affirmation.
They deliver.

When we were quiet
From travails,
She made time
For school-yard tales.
The warmth of sunshine
Shyly pales
To her prevailing arms.

They nurtured us
Til eyes dried out;
Cried alone
When we left
The house;
They waited by the door,
Like a living cure.

When Moms do well
All can tell
The madonna like connection:
No need to forgive them,
Will always grieve them;
They've loved us
Since conception.

The extraordinary man
woke up as ordinary
as a ***** shirt,
checked his horoscope
which told him
to go back to bed.

He ignored it like
a weather report
just as often
wrong as right.

His coffee tasted
flat as ironed dreams.

The world
appeared unchanged.

But he was exhilarated.

He reveled in his
new ordinariness.

It hinted at a rebirth
of possibilities:
new boots, new roads,
a new moon
at which to howl.

A new way to be
in the same world,
but reborn.

An unspoken prayer
somehow answered.

Nothing is
ever over
until it is.

  ~mce

There is a subtle grace
To the whispers veiled
In caress of autumnal promise
Would that I could offer their solace
Where all seems beyond repair

So much light hidden
Where it once shone brightly
Your touch offers strength, always
Taking this mind, this soul, this heart
Offering something needed, something new

So perhaps it can forever dwell in the senses
That have long ago left to dwell with stars
For there was a time when sorrow yielded
To a future soundscape of colour and intrigue
A desire called destiny that called to me

In tears we paint the future
On a landscape of sorrows
Building towards the clouds above
Searching for a glimpse of the sun
For we share ourselves reluctantly

What else is there to do?
But take the moments
Seize the hurt and watch it die
For in its death
We shall liberate our cries

Set free the chaos of emotions
Where bonds were created
On the power of friendship
Throwing off our shackled lives
To be free, to be at peace

After dining at the finest of Maw and Paw restaurants
Frequented by men in trucks
Outside I slipped on the gravel drive
And as would be my luck

The LARGE cowboy belt I'm so proud of
Latched on and then got stuck
Now I'm off to see America
From the front grill of a Big Mac Truck

From the plains of Plano, Texas
To the hills of Hoboken Plantation, Tennessee
There's not to many places
That Big Mac Truck did not take me

To other motorists I was Mr. Friendly
With my arms flapping in the wind
They all would honk and wave and smile
As I smiled back with my bug filled grin

For weeks and weeks we went from coast to coast
Hollywood, California is where I made my mark
Someone happened to take my picture
Which made me an instant star

So I hooked my buckle to the front of a limo
As crowds started to recognize me
A Big Mac Truck would no longer do
When your a Big Time Celebrity

I was on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno
He interviewed me from a parking lot
The limo would not fit on the couch
Plus I can't get the buckle to unlock

Now when my limo pulls up to crosswalks
Pedestrians ask for my autograph
Before the light turns green and me and the bumper we  leave
I tell a few jokes and we share a few laughs

As life's fortunes would have it
I can't believe my luck
The day I tripped on that gravel drive
And fell into the grill of that Big Mac Truck

Sheila waits
by the school bus
where she'd seen
the boy John

leave that morning
and she thinks
that if she can see him
before he gets on the bus

she might settle
for her mind and heart
how he feels
if he feels about her

other kids are coming out
of the school
some going home on foot
some getting on

to school coaches
or buses
she adjusts
her thin wired spectacles

on the bridge
of her nose
pulls her school tie neater  
and pats her hair to tidy

she focuses
on the entrances
and exits
but still no sign of him

she's nervous
and uncertain
of herself
or her mission

it seems to her
as if the boy
occupies
her whole mind

at that moment
she feels as if
her life is upside down
and she hasn't

even spoken to him yet
just seen him pass by
and he seemed -
she's certain-

to smile at her
she doesn't know
what to do
with her thin hands

she tucks them
into her coat
out of the way
like unsettled children

then she sees him
coming out
of the exit
with a boy

named Rennie
they pause
laugh and talk
and laugh again

then part
and Rennie goes off
his own way
and the boy John

comes towards her
she's unsure
if she can speak to him
she panics

looks at him
he approaches the bus
and she says
can I speak with you?

he stands there
gazing at her
for a moment
sure but it'll

have to be quick
as my bus goes soon
he says
she walks away

a bit from the bus
and he follows
can I hang around
with you?

she utters shyly
hang around?
John says
she flushes red

be your friend?
she says
looking at his
brown hair

with a quiff
and his hazel eyes
peering at her
he studies her

looks at the bus
at her again
what's your name?
he asks

Sheila
she says
he smiles
sure

but we'll have to talk
about it tomorrow
as I must go
he says

and he touches
her hand
then climbs the bus
and walks along

the aisle
and out of sight
on the bus
she stands there

gazing up at the bus
wondering if she'll
see him
but the bus starts up

and drives away
and she looks hopefully
at the bus as it departs
but there is

no sign of him
at the window
so she holds onto
his image

and watches
the bus go.

Agnes McDuff collected strange stuff,
Or so the story goes:

There were old pots and pans,
String, rubber bands,
Boxes and boxes of clothes,
Newspapers, plates,
Books stored in crates,
And candlesticks lined up in rows.
Some mason jars,
Toy trucks and cars,
A model train with a whistle that blows,
Needles and spools,
All kinds of tools,
And shoes with holes in the toes.

There were tables and chairs,
Bookends in pairs,
A grandfather clock that was broke,
An old brass spittoon,
Some Sunday cartoons,
And a bicycle mssing a spoke.
Four or five hundred old wooden blocks,
Twenty-three pair of grey woolen socks,
A Christmas Edition bottle of Coke,
A board game missing directions,
A bat, a ball, a catcher’s mitt, two baseball card collections,
And a great big rusty tuba.  What a joke!

There was other stuff, but you’ve heard enough;
About what was stored in
The Attic of Agnes McDuff.

Part 2
Agnes’ attic was quite special
But not for the things it contained
But for how she had to get there
Please let me explain!

Agnes had a one-story house
A flight of stairs led to the attic.
When she opened up the door,
The light came on automatic.

It opened to a hallway
Where there was another door
Another light, another hall, and more stairs, which
Led back down to the first floor!

Where an elevator waited
To take her up again?
But it had just one button
And it was numbered “10”.

When she pushed it, it was crazy
The elevator turned upon its side,
Grew wheels and drove out on the street
For an amazing ride!

Across a long suspension bridge,
Then underneath a tunnel,
And then it went around and round
Like circling down a funnel!

It dropped upon a railroad track
Hooked onto the caboose
And followed to the roundhouse
Where it finally broke loose.

It turned around a couple times
And ran out toward the street
The elevator ran, of course
Because it had grown two feet!

It ran across an avenue,
Around a lake, and through a park
And then through another tunnel
Where it was very dark.

A mile later it emerged,
At Agnes’ house, by her front door!
The elevator walked inside,
And was on the second floor!!

So that’s how Agnes reached her attic,
Perhaps someday you’ll go there too,
Push the elevator button,
And you’ll find my story’s true!

Part 3
Agnes stood there in her attic
And smiled at all her stuff
That almost ends the story of
The Attic of Agnes McDuff.

But Agnes’ story can never end
Her smile turned to a frown,
Because you see poor Agnes
Forgot how to get back down!!
PwL  May 1, 2015

He's a one hit poetic wonder
Where this one rhyme is all that he has
He feels no need to go any further
Since he's already given his best

He about sold his soul for this one piece
Blood, sweat, and tears in every line
So why in the world would he need
To try and do it another time

He has no problem with being known
As the one hit wonder, he is fine
For what took him only the one poem
Others have been striving for, for life

"There's no such thing as a witch,"
Martha told me smiling
trying hard to hold the corners
of her lips from turning up
and holding her hand
over her pentagram
silver-necklace.
She dropped
a chicken foot
right next
to a circle of
six smoldering candles
& a burnt tarot card.
I knew then
it was time for me
to leave her premise.
I scooted across her yard
& locked the gate
behind me
feeling strange,
as if I were lying,
placed
under a spell.