Neither Nightingale or Crow
Neither Whippoorwill or Sparrow
Perched on phone lines, never trees
Still those birds have the right to sing.

Target of bad boys’ B B Guns
Splashed with water canons
They fly til they can fly no more
And tremble in the shadows.

Their feathers have a bit of shine
When sunbeams fall just right
But all too often that just makes
Them that much easier to find

And targets them for hatred rocks
Thrown by those who only
Recognize a Woodpecker
And a Robin Red Breast.

Too bad their music goes unheard
Most often it is beautiful
If they could sing with the other birds
The music would become symphonic.
                 ljm

It may be time to go away
Too many cookies are uneaten
And a few are only nibbled

I baked all night for many days
And used up all my spices
But few customers appeared

I laid them on my very best tray
And priced them as a bargain
Now most of them are growing stale

I think it’s time to close up shop
The other’s cakes were obviously better
Their customers waited in long lines

It will be hard for me to stop
My hands are white with flour
And my apron’s tied so tightly

Still, no farmer wants to plant a crop
That never will be eaten -
Are cookie bakers not the same

Perhaps my wafers were too plain
And lacking decoration
I thought that flavor was enough

But recognition brings me pain
I felt my recipes were special
But everyone had better ones

It seems that I cannot sustain
The dream of being Mrs. Fields
When It comes to writing cookies
               ljm

Be careful
I could not bury you alone
I’d have to join you in the earth.

Keep well
I could not hold your dying hand
Without a way to take the ill.

Be strong
I could not see you on your knees
I’d have to carry you from then.

Stay happy
I could  not blot away your tears
Without outnumbering them with mine.

Stay close
I could not end my given years
Without you at my side.
ljm

Engulf me with melody only for a moment and I'll walk the forest of hunted wolves and despondent lions.

The once ambrosial aroma of frail lilies, a smothering hebenon hand. The rays shy away from the polygamy of reapers and senectitude relishing valiant men.

Immerse me in harmonious symphonies only for a moment and I'll tread the trench terrane with jubilent feet, blind to the alluring viper's habanera under lacerated hearsecloth worn by the forest.

I can't eat Ramen.
Which *****, cuz I love Ramen!
The broth is so good!


Curley fries are great.
They're better than normal fries.
Nobody knows why.


DVD's aren't dead.
I like the commentary.
That's why I buy them.


Thesauruses help,
But is using them cheating?
I will never know.


Okay, I'm done now.
Seriously, you can go.
They're just dumb haikus!

My life has become very like
Ballet dancing in a cactus patch
In the dark of night.

It's better than a mine field
You don't get blown up
But you do get pricked a whole lot more.
                       ljm

Collapsing under its own gravity,
The sun dies a little every day.
Every morning is a reminder,
Of its resilience,
Every night a tale of its loss.

A star shines brightest,
The more closer to death it gets,
Every constellation is a reminder,
that art wears melancholy the best.

Leaning in for a kiss,
The moon creates ripples in the sea's heart
Always reaching out, but never touching,
Every full moon is a reminder,
That it's possible to find contentment
While still longing.