Whose breaths these are, oh, yes, I know
And on the laptop they will show
With lines and graphs so all can cheer
Each breath of mine I huff and blow

My little dog must think it queer
To sleep with a machine so near
Sighing all night without a break
Every evening throughout the year

She gives her collar bell a shake
To ask if there is some mistake
The only other sound’s the beep
Of mechanical air intake

Breathing is lovely, counting sheep
And I have life to love and keep
And hours and hours of healing sleep
And hours and hours of healing sleep








All honor to Robert Frost, to the scientists and medicos who invented CPAP and BIPAP machines, to the makers of those little life savers, and to all medical workers.

In the cartoons and in family lore snoring is amusing; in reality snoring indicates a lack of oxygen to the brain and the body’s struggle to make it good.  Snoring = oxygen deprivation, which leads to stroke and / or mental issues, and a too-soon death.

A sleep study involves no needles or indignities, only a night’s sleep with some flat little electrodes taped to one’s chest and extremities. Early in the morning the nice technician will bring you a cup of fresh coffee.  Now that’s my kind of medical care!

Digging through the trash.
Maybe it’s in the trash
Maybe it’s in the trash
Maybe I threw it away
I've looked for it everywhere
It’s lost and it’s nowhere
I can’t find it anywhere
Maybe I threw it away
Is it in the trash.
I’m now digging through the trash
Looking for it.
I’ve become - It’s made me become
Wanting it - has made me
Made me look through my trash.
The worst is when you keep going, now you are in everyone else’s trash
Our Trash- theirs and mine
Now I’m in here and now I’m trash.
My wanting to find it has made me trash

You thought that I was talking *** -
Funny that never crossed my mind.
I was sorting scattered comments,
Trying to see the road ahead.

I thought you would be seeking money.
Previous scams have made me cautious
And sudden friendship rings a bell
That warns me to be careful.

I said perhaps I saw what’s coming
And that the answer would be no.
I didn’t expect your vitriol
And angry doorways slamming shut.

It’s probably all just as well.
We don’t speak the same language
And always will misunderstand,
So let us go our separate ways.
ljm

It's been a strange week
Hospitals and birthday parties
What a contrast
I hope for a quiet week next week
but not too quiet

"Cried so hard, that my face was wet,
in "Five Years",
I still won't  forget,
I just thank God you fell to earth,
An alien...you were the first,
"Aladinsane",
You went so far,
Conquering demons,
and "The Spiders from Mars",
My "Thin White Duke",
You helped me believe,"We begin and end..in eternity ".

To enjoy the past without the need
Of moving there with trunk and suitcase.
To recall any tragic times gone by
Without the gasping tears of sorrow.
To relive the many precious moments
But not put up a tent and stay there.
To fight the long ago won battles
Once again without the hate and malice.
To revel in the youth and vigor
Of another long gone time and day,
But only stop by for a visit there,
To spend a pleasant while and leave.
To travel back to now and be content.
Remembering the purple velvet petaled pansies,
And the roses in the silver moonlight,
But then go out and water the petunias of today.

ljm

In a house that is not my home
On a cookie-cutter street
Battered by the sun, the wind and rain
I wonder how I got here and how I can get out.

All my stuff is scattered everywhere
And hanging on the walls in rooms
That hold no trace of me
Or who I am or want to be.

The neighbor’s floor plan is the same
I could walk in her house blind.
I push my furniture around
But there is still no sign of me.

Everything of who I was
Is boxed and stashed away upstairs.
I’ve never had a house with stairs
And that makes this more foreign.

This house is full of all my things
Shipped across the miles
But I forgot to pack myself
And I am still back there.

In a  home with character
And charm that I created
On a quiet tree lined street
Shared with other kindred souls

The one who wanders through these rooms
Will not admit to being me,
Or breathe life into this address
Nor paint her spirit on the walls.

A guest in my own final home
My name is on the deed
But it belongs to someone else
And I must find a way to live here.
          ljm