You chatter away like
an angry squirrel,
I watch you scamper
off and finally resemble
a fading flower.

You took a selfie yesterday
And this is what you saw
A woman with the saddest eyes
Trying hard to make a smile.

Your face was etched with weary lines
Though your complexion was still fine
You looked as if you’d seen the world
In all its ugly guises.

Pain and utter hopelessness
Had left tracks on your spirit -
And dimmed the sparkle in your gaze
To just a faint remembrance.

You looked like you had fought a war
And were forced to sign a treaty
That left you with no place to go
And no more foes to conquer.

Your eyes, the mirror of your soul,
Projected only sorrow -
Yet somehow they produced a glow
That said you have hope for tomorrow.
                  ljm

I’M THE MOTHER OF A ***** -TONK GIRL.  ANNA MARIE is out DRINKING TEQUILA and doin’ THE HILLBILLY WALTZ every night.  She’s turning into a total ***** and I’m HURTIN’ INSIDE.  I constantly tell her I LOVE YOU but it’s just as if MY LIPS ARE SEALED - She doesn’t hear me.  If HEARTACHE IS THE FASHION, I’m right in style.  It doesn’t do me a bit of good to ask WHAT WERE YOU DOING LAST NIGHT?  She won’t tell me because she was with MEXICAN JOE and I’d tell her HE’LL  HAVE TO GO. I’d like to ground her between her own FOUR WALLS and keep her HOME, but I’d just be BEATIN’ ON THE DING ****. I don’t understand why she can’t date that nice BILLY BAYOU.
She laughed when I asked her AM I  LOSING YOU, and said, Mom, you’re WAITIN’ FOR A TRAIN that’s never gonna come. So I’m left with just one question:  WHERE DOES A BROKEN HEART GO. I guess it’ll be a case of MOTHER WENT A-WALKING and maybe THEN I’LL STOP LOVING YOU and just climb aboard a slow boat to TAHITI because thats where I’D LIKE TO BE  until I can begin to feeL as though I’M BEGINNING TO FORGET YOU.

Like blood slowly
ballooning into a tiny orb
from a pin *****.

It simply swelled
and bulged…

As it clung precariously
upon the tip of my nib.

A slight tremble,
almost a hesitation -
seemingly afraid to take
the leap of faith.
Afraid to take the plunge,
only to wilfully break
the expanse of blank parchment.
Afraid to taint the whiteness
with the ruthlessness
of indelible black.

I just have to write.
**** everything else.
I've suffered for my art,
and there's no doubt that
I will suffer more.
We all have our agony,
that's life and I accept
my plight.
I am what I am
(as Popeye would say.)
And I couldn't change
it if I wanted to.
I remember one night,
staying in an abandoned
house.
I wrote some poems on
the walls.
I saw the words in
the moonlight through
a broken window.
Even though I was famished,
I hadn't eaten in
three days,
at that moment, I became
full and complete.
I knew right then,
as long as I had the words;
my words, I would never
feel empty again.
My black satchel full of
writing and the clothes
on my back were all
I owned.
I had no idea where I
was going at dawn,
but I sure the **** knew
who I was.