A blank page blinks
Begging words to appear
I can't seem to think
Months lapse into years

Shake the ink from the pen
Alchemy art from grieving
Change a loss to a win
Turn that mill for demons

Crank out another liter
'Til the pump's run dry
Claw up one last meter
Over that ****'s the sky

Grew up avoiding “I can’t”
My father told me never to say or believe this contraction
Despite and in spite of hiccups and wrong turns
What one puts into matters is as much as what one gets out of the effort
There are situations and outcomes
Does one gamble?
Does one give up?
Choices and Options
The words “I can’t” just don’t compute or connect
You must keep trying to make things happen
There is no room for excuses or “I can’t” in anyone’s life
No room for it

C@rainbowchaser2024

On the bike the rider is a blazing glory
winds to him whisper hair raising story
whizz past houses, trees, and towns
wheels giggle joyous with the ups and downs.

Girls on the sidewalks look up in awe
as the speed streaks on the wrong side of law
the copper burnt hands grip the baby tight
to ride away from dark and into the light.

Through the flash of clouds, torrents of rains
sun on the mountain, sunset's pink stains
piercing the wind, cutting across rainbow
steams the metal man, in seamless flow.

Days nights roll, beneath the grey arch
on an intense pursuit, one frantic search
he looks for a place where a loving hand
will open the door to the God's resting land.

From my 20’s through my 40’s I was the very definition of svelte. Willow thin but shapely, smartly dressed at all times in what would be the next new trend coming down the fashion pipeline. I mingled with people who dabbled in fame and some of it rubbed off on me. In those days I moved in exciting circles. It was painful to watch the years take it away, one increment at a time.  The waistline expanded, new styles appeared ugly, and star studded lovers moved on. I did what I could to hold onto the shine, but I found other mountains to climb.  I conquered new vistas and gathered some trophies, while minutes and years slipped away. So subtly I didn’t pay much attention, I became an old lady who hates having to dress for her age. And refuses.

I still have the photos that prove I was lovely, but no one is asking to see them. I still have the outfits that no longer fit me; they hang in the closet to taunt me.
I’ve learned to make peace with the milieu I live in.  I’m still the svelte damsel inside. I dress in bright colors and billowing fabrics and leave the self judgement behind.
ljm

I want to be your playmate
Dancing on the bubbles of our joy.
I want to be your everything
Providing all you need and more.

        I want to be your hiding place
        When storms of life surround you.
        I want to be the face you see
        When you wake up forever.

                 I want to be a steady beam
                 To light the ways we travel.
                 I want to be part of your life
                 As long as God will let me
                              ljm