Which face will I wear today
    The face I wear at work
          Cheerful member of the staff
          Underpaid - unappreciated
           Tiny office with no window
           Paperwork nobody looks at
           Rules just for the sake of rules

Which face will I wear today
      The face I wear at home
            Always tired, depressed, besieged
            by a thousand minor ailments
            All the things I'd like to do
             crowded out by other things
             I have to do that are no fun.
      
Which face will I wear today
      The face that sports a poet's cap
            Gel filled quill pen clutched in hand
            Trying every format I can learn
            Gleaning from the published experts
            Writing happy after years of sad
            Finding sunshine in the shadows that I live in

Which face will I wear today
      The face above the helping hands
            that reach for places to be used
            That garner joy from mucking in
            to smooth the path for others
            Seldom thanked - often refused
            Bucket goal - to save a life.

Which face will I wear today
      The face that looks back from the mirror
            Mapping all the tracks of age
            Searching for the sparkle in the eyes
            that joined hands with my youthful looks
            and did a conga-line away

Which face will I wear today
      Picasso portrait of them all
            Ill and hale - strong and weak - sad and glad
            When seen together in the mirror
            it's a face I do not know
            and someone I don't care to meet

So check the clock and choose a face
    Paste it on and smooth it out
        Comb hair over all the edges
             **** the light and close the door
                 And take this face out for a walk
                       See if anybody says hello
                                           ljm

Where the sunlight splashes through
The barely moving branches of the Magnolia tree
It makes a fascinating pattern on the patio.
Amy Lowell wrote of patterns in a lovely, angry verse
When she was writing about how she hated war.

I bend to trace the patterns with my toe
And focus on the possibilities of now
With monster canons rolling down the boulevards
And goose-step imitators marching by
While in the stands a devilishly evil Buddha smiles.

A zephyr gently stirs the leaves
And all the patterns rearrange again
I look at them with half closed eyes
And I can’t find the symmetry
That I saw just an hour ago.

The Kraken still is held by chains
And though he gushes fire and venom
The patterns on the wall contain him
As he thrashes to replace the sun
With a new one of his own creation.

Amy walked a peaceful garden path
In dappled sunlight long ago
Creating lines that live today.
I trundle down a brick-lined walk
And hope that I will have tomorrow.
                         ljm

At every forking of the road
I took the one less traveled.
And then I found to my dismay
The reason it was bypassed.
ljm