When love has been tested
And found not wanting,
It's tempered
In flames of despair and loneliness;
Hammered on the anvil of desire;
Polished by the cloth of reciprocity.
Love shimmers under the golden shield,
Glitters beneath the night's scimitar.
Defending.
I know.
I am loved.
Tested and found worthy.

My love has been soundly tested.
It is not wanting.
It is tempered in the fires of despair and lonliness;
Hammered and fashioned on the anvil of desire;
Polished mirror-like by reciprocity.
I display my love on high,
Where it glimmers
Under the sun's shield and the scimitar moon.
Love is my defense held against all detractors,
For I too am loved,
I have been tested and found not wanting.
I am worthy.
I am Love.

I thought that we were lifelong mates.
We built sand castles in the air
We rode the Ferris Wheel up high
And looked down on the park below.
We raced the horses on the carousel
And it was always you who won.
I counted days between playdates.

We had so many things alike-
Ideas, dreams and silly games,
I never thought an end would come-
That you, with no farewell, would go
And leave me in the park alone.
You cannot have a tug-of-war
With no one on the other end.

The music lost some of it’s bounce
The horses didn’t prance so high
I never really understood
If it was something I did wrong
Or some other outside force
Had pulled on you to walk away
And leave me in the park alone.

Then suddenly you reappeared
Brand new hair style, altered name.
I knew at once that it was you
And ran to fetch the ball and jacks.
But after just a dozen games
You whispered  “time to go again
And this time with no coming back."

I stood forlorn and watched you leave.
The other kids were saddened too
But I, who walked-the-dog with you,
Was torn in places I thought safe.
I loved you like a special friend.
Your leaving was a kind of death.
I’m orphaned now in painful ways.

I thought a year or maybe two
Of growing up and moving on
Would cure the hollow space you left-
And to a small extent it did.
But every time I pass the park
And hear the carousel begin
I’m taken back to those good times
And I cannot but cry again.
                                                  ljm

Cult lickers are exclusive.
They're not black or brown,
But Greene with envy, marginalized at every turn.
They paid up for a briny Cruz, but came away infected.
They don't shut-up Gaetz, so the sheeple meekly escape.
They claim to be God-fearin', but they'll never cross the Jordan.
Like Graham crackers, they are dry, spineless wankers.
And if you've a limp Johnson, keep a stiff upper lip.

We deserve sounding boards of truth,
Not sponges of deception.

My head is full of lies, equivocations and beguiling stories.
Who can I trust?
The poor?
The limb-lost warrior?
Residents in Cell Block A through Z?
Patients found out but can't breathe.

We must be sound,
And let the voices of truth echo.

My new windows are transparent,
Free from smudge and tarnish.
I was clear-eyed gazing out,
Reflective peering in.
Two-sided.
Finger prints have been wiped free,
But around the edges there are still ridges,
Evidence of being opened and closed,
Unbroken in their sturdy frames.

But time is no friend to glass.
Winds assail it, birds bounce off at break-neck speed,
Dust accumulates, it becomes opaque.
Missiles assault its permanence,
Shattering the pane into foreboding shards, like a shell.

Some desperate glazes never get replaced,
They invite stone-throwers.
Then the building becomes derelict, untenable.

One stone can break a window,
Or fell a giant.

Strange guests appear on Christmas Eve,
Entities, more real than seems;
And POTUS soon will get three visits,
From three well-known, transparent spirits,
That call as an unholy host.
Stormy, his first ghastly ghost,
Then Moscow Mitch to **** his boast;
But the ghost of Christmases to come,
Is New York's Vance; there's scary fun.