You know what's harder than falling for the bad guy?
Falling for the others
The seemingly nice ones
The good guys

The signs are all there afterall,
Everyone can't stop raving about how wonderful he is
The ideal nice guy

And for a moment
Just one moment of blindsidedness
You believe it
You let it consume you
Revelling in the positives
Lacing together each moment spent together
Into a beautiful story

The perfect beginning, middle and end
Designed intricately by yours truly
A potential work of art
Destined for greatness perhaps
Isn't it?

The pride of your masterpiece
destroys you
Engulfing your sense of reality
Blinding you from the truth
The falsehood of it
A piece that depicts nothing
Nothing but an illusion
Another dimensional reality
One you don't  live in
And probably never will

And sometimes
In those rare moments of silence
It comes back
The crushing harsh reality
Your foolhardy choices laid bare
And you admit
Quietly to yourself
For who else can your true self be revealed to?

Maybe
Just maybe you were wrong
Those masterful strokes of perfection
The gleaming knighthood of it all
Just a lie?

A veil drawn over your sense of truth
So strong it blinded you
Completely
Drowning you in its falsehoods
The shores of reality no more than a distant memory

You know what's worse than falling for the bad guy?
Falling for the right one.

I found it on the floor of
the women’s dressing room
after a concert.
The ladies were long gone
and I was clearing up.
It was one inch long and
the wings were one inch wide.
The dragonfly had
two overlapping oval wings
on each side
and a long curved tail.
The body and tail
were set with butterscotch
yellow rhinestones.
The wings held chartreuse stones.
Two white rhinestones were the eyes.
The quality of the stones
was extraordinary
though the setting
was not really gold.

When I took it to my office
to put it
in the lost and found
my extra many ceiling lights
made it sparkle
like in a jewelry store display.
I put it on a stack of tissues
I keep at the ready on my desk
so I could see it
any time I wanted.
When I moved my head
just slightly, it would make
the sparkles seem to move as well.
It made me very happy
just to look at it
and I have no idea why.

Nobody called to claim the pin
It’s value is likely very small
But it’s come to symbolize some of
The shiny things I hope to capture
In the time remaining of my life.

It won’t be long ‘til I
am forced to
spread my own frail wings
and fly
from this cocooned
career of work.
Perhaps the dragonfly
will be a talisman
and lead me to
the meadows
I have dreamed of:
awash in creativity,
accomplishments rewarded,
and never any gales
of jealousy
or the thunderclouds of
evil that
rattle my windows here.

On the day when everything
is packed and shipped, my
keys turned in,
lights turned off
for the last time
and I am free, I will pin the
dragonfly
to my collar and
and take us looking
for that meadow.
             ljm

This morning the roses in mama’s garden
Bloomed with a brighter hue than is usual.
I heard them giggling too, passing onto
Each other the age old secret of youthfulness and allure.
Once they’d spotted the chivalrous bees
In their escapades, they puckered their lips almost automatically
Their eyes bright and expectant, arms clasped
All about them an air of finesse and grace
Seemed to buoy their spirits making them glow iridescently.
And so the bees like iron fillings to a magnet
Found themselves “finding comfort” amidst the
Beautiful roses and thus I opened my eyes
To a rather awesome realization
About the spirit of intimacy.

that spark or fleck of dust,
another metaphor for my love!
your glimmer must be a hallucination.

i just have a problem.

but maybe my problem is that i met you
when i was yet a green colt
(something i know you treasured dearly)
and did you see in me, something glimmering
any hint of the future man i'd be, the one
who, shaking his head and wiping his brow,
lopped the overgrowth from the Way
and paved the road for dainty feet?

but to speak of your soul, sweet-
heart, you walk upon this earth with a womanly power
as i have never seen, and it turned me on
to the sky!

or maybe my problem is letting go,
old sparkling fleck of dust.

maybe long the time is past
when i should trust you to the wind, entire
and dance-less shadows cast.

i'm too far from that special fire,
so bring the garden ashes from
that cold and restful pyre.

Where others beat--
you touch...
a beautiful order.
Put in motion
when neither you,
nor I were looking.
We accused one other
of being godlike at the
same time.
As all is well remained
in the present tense, till
further notice went
unnoticed.
Some call it peace.

the magic of poetry.
is that it makes everything
beautiful.
it fills your lungs
like air.
it turns your soul
into a sky full of stars.
your heart
a field of wildflowers.
you.
into a poem.