"Transporting a Dream" by Old Poet MK, brought back to mind an episode when I was in my 20’s, and working in an insurance office with a coffee house side job.  I was in love with a wandering folk singer who was then performing in a club in Oklahoma City and I missed him terribly.
He called late one Friday night and said why not come there and drive back to California with him.  At first I told myself all the reasons it would be impossible. Then my heart told me I had to find a way to do it.  I called my supervisor and told a fib about my mom having had a stroke and I had to fly to Washington State for a few days.
I emptied my piggy bank and the tip jar from my coffeehouse side job, but I didn't have enough for the ticket. I had a series E savings bond tucked away, but no where to cash it in on a Friday night. This was before I had a computer, so I had only my land line phone to help me.  
I called Greyhound and got their schedule and the stops they made along the way to Oklahoma City.
As it happened they had a 15 minute rest stop in Mesa, Arizona at 10:15 AM. which was about as far as my gathered money would buy a ticket for. Good enough!  I grabbed some clothes and raced to the bus depot. I gave them all my money, much of it in coins, and bought a ticket for Mesa, which was as far as I could afford to go. When the bus was loaded I settled in, and it rolled on through the night.  Too excited to sleep, I wrote several poems along the way.  When we got to Mesa for the rest stop the next morning I leaped off the bus and flew into a nearby bank (Talk about miracles - it was just across the street from the depot ) I pleaded with them to cash my Savings Bond. The handsome teller listened to my story and then called the bank manager over to hear it as well. That was the day I learned that pretty girls can do things ordinary folk could never manage.  Without knowing me or really checking out my ID, the bank manager and handsome teller actually cashed my savings bond for me.
Had they not done that I would have been stranded alone and penniless in a strange city.  Only the confidence of youth could lead someone into a situation like that.
I raced back to the bus as it was loading again and bought my way on to Oklahoma City. I wrote some good things as I looked out the bus window. on the way.
There was tragedy though. I filled one little note pad with  poems and was well into another when it came time to change busses.  I somehow left the first notepad on the bus as I got off and didn’t realize it until on the second one and away. All I could do was write a poem about lost poetry - which I did.
When I arrived I was met with love and wonderful moments.
The drive back to LA. was exciting and romantic.
What an adventure that was. The folksinger was a lovely period in my life, but alas, not permanent. He didn’t last but the love of Folk music music did.

Twenty five years later a similar adventure befell me, but that’s a story for another time.
LJM

Holding on so tightly to the final shreds of me
    I need to run and howl the forests down.
        I need to pound into submission
            Everything that jumps to bite me.
               I need to find a breath not gasping,
                  Hand on heart that isn’t racing,
                       Stomach free from panic acids.

Calamity stacked on disaster
   Perched atop catastrophe;
      Mishaps nestled in misfortune-
         Contretemps my middle name.

Fourteen traumas in a listing -
   Some stretch over several years.
     Stress points top the nation’s debt.
       Hated where I should be loved-
          Pushed harder when I should be resting;
             Attacked when I should be applauded-
                 Do I live in the Twilight Zone?

With the end of weeping, silence-
   Save the endless humming in my ears.
      Eyelids sore, too red and swollen
         Let the door and phone bells ring
            I have no things with which to answer.

How can fate keep spawning badness
   Coming up with innovative forms
      To slither out and trip me as I stagger by
         Trying to create tomorrow from the wreckage of today.
ljm

Like a giant crystal chandelier
Suddenly dropped from altitude
The flimsy walls of distant Turkey
Now lie shattered on the ground.

All the promise of tomorrow
Was cruelly ended yesterday
When forty thousand lights went out
And hope was buried in the rubble.

The miracles have come and gone.
No one survives beneath those piles.
New holes are filled with lives cut short
With sorrow shoveled over them.

There is no point in cursing God
What’s broken down must be rebuilt.
The Bible warns of things to come
And Turkey is a diverse place.
ljm

My precious Baby
My wonderful child
My headstrong teenager
Gone radically wild.

My breathtaking grownup
My source of delight
My hope that tomorrow
Makes everything right.

The decades have trebled
My efforts have failed
My key cannot open
The place where I’m jailed.

She’s made me a stranger
To the life she’s created
She claims that she loves me
But I sorely debate it.

She married in secret
I’ve not met her groom
I don’t think we’ll ever
Be in the same room

She says I am toxic
All know I am not
Her shrink is the villain
And ought to be shot.

I live on the outside
And only look in
On the life I created-
A game I won’t win.

I’ll swallow my heartbreak
As I’ve always done.
Still reach for redemption
And settle for none.
ljm

Playing near the giant
I thought it fun to pirouette
        And seem to stumble,
Hands thrown out
And thus be captured.

Oh the shrieks and moans
Til I decided it was time
To be set free, and tried
         To twist out of that grasp
That never once relented.
ljm

Writhing sea of dancing faces
Roiled by electric currents
From a storm that I can’t see-
No high, no low, no ebbing
Just tumaltism from
One Sean cut to another.
In the middle is a wooden box
Painted big and black and square.
On it is a Nereid
Arms out flung, long red hair flying
Turning in the basting of the spotlights
So willow-thin above the starfish in the tide pools.
Powered by the lack of sun
She floats her rhythms
On the breakers
And becomes a beacon
For lost eyes and hopeless dreams.

How I wish I was her sister
Cousin or best friend.
How I’d love to fusion with her
Show her where she got her licks.
But I hold back- I don’t dare it
My time was yesterday
Today is hers alone
I must be jetsam on the shore
So sad that my tide’s moving out as
Hers is rolling in.

If I could only be her peer
Instead of Sea Waif’s mother.
ljm

I’ll be there when you call
I’ll be there if you fall
In you I’ve found my future
I’ll be there
I’ll be there

I will watch while you sleep
I will hold you when you weep
My eternal love won't fail you
I'll be there
I'll be there
ljm

The  purple ripples in the air
Advise you that there’s anger there
Anger that is not contained
By someone who was anger trained.

Listen to the things he shouts
He’s mad as hell without a doubt.
Here he comes towards your door
What is he so ******* for.

You didn’t barge into his lane -
To cut him off would be insane.
You only gently honked your horn
And now you get his shouting scorn.

He bangs the window of your car
And you now know he’ll go too far.
It’s clear he is a total ***
So stomp your foot down on the gas.

Leave him in a cloud of smoke
And give yourself the final joke.
Leave him shouting in the street
And tell yourself “Revenge is sweet”
ljm

When the rising winter sun
Whispers a blush of peachy pink
On the evening’s steel blue clouds,
I know that I am home and safe,
In my small but ever busy world.
ljm

The
        sudden chill
    that marked
the
     end
  of last
         month
      surprised me
   because
   the weather
     forecast
  said
      it would stay
warm
  perhaps
warmer than
  was
   comfortable
     for
   this time
    of my year
I was surprised
but not
dismayed
       because my
   summer
   clothes
      were packed
     away a long
   long time ago
   and
I was not
          sure
If I’d find
something
safe for me
             to wear.
     ljm

The  purple ripples in the air
Advise you that there’s anger there
Anger that is not contained
By someone who was anger trained.

Listen to the things he shouts
He’s mad as hell without a doubt.
Here he comes towards your door
What is he so ******* for.

You didn’t barge into his lane -
To cut him off would be insane.
You only gently honked your horn
And now you get his shouting scorn.

He bangs the window of your car
And you now know he’ll go too far.
It’s clear he is a total ***
So stomp your foot down on the gas.

Leave him in a cloud of smoke
And give yourself the final joke.
Leave him shouting in the street
And tell yourself “Revenge is sweet”
ljm

With just
Two words to use
To say the things I must
I find my dictionary closed.
I’m lost.

A ghost
In search of words
That hide from Poet’s pens
And make contact impossible
For friends.
            ljm

The Clock Eater loves the taste of fine time
Sauteed in juicy New York minutes and served
With seconds spiced with instants and moments.
He’s a founding member of the Clean Plate Club.

The Clock Eater does not wear a watch.
To him there is only this moment in time,
Like a freshly baked roll it’s aromatic
Impatiently waiting to be devoured.

The clock eater has an evil, hungry soul
And he hides in unexpected corners
Waiting for a precious leisure moment
To stuff into into his greedy face.

The Clock eater doesn’t often share
The banquet that is on his plate,
Perhaps a nibble now and then
To ease the other diner’s wait.
ljm

Time for the sadness to find an end
Time for the hateful words to hush
Time for the wounded to find a balm
Time for universal love to blush

Time to find abandoned paths
And travel on them once again
Time to lend a helping hand
And plant new courage deep within

Time to act when there’s a need
To be the person who steps out
To bridge the rivers yawning wide
With cataracts of fear and doubt.

Time for the star that glowed one night
O’er the hills of little Bethlehem
To work a magic in our souls
Eliminating “us and them”

Time to bathe in gentleness
And soak in honesty
Time to set the world alight
With all the things that ought to be.
ljm

Whispers that morph into screeches
Disturb the strands that tenuously hold
The ragged edges of reality aloft
In storms of self recrimination and regret.

Slender stalks of rationality bend down
Beneath the weight of foolishness
Grown fat and heavy in indulgence
That is justified by cobwebs of desire.

The music in the background plays
On bagpipes and a penny-whistle band
While the conductor tries to turn them in
To violins and harpsichords, and fails.

A river jumps it’s muddy banks
And floods the playing field with muck
As strands and stalks give up their load
And it all falls to nothingness.
ljm

Dear Father
I’m alone in a very scary place
And I’m not certain how I got here.
I lost sight of the footprints I was following
And wandered off the pathway you laid out for me.

The wind is cold and the sky is dark.
I just heard screeches from the nearby woods
And this path ends in only brambles.
Kneeling on the rocky ground
I beseech the Lord to rescue me.
He either doesn’t hear my cry
Or this is where I need to be
To learn to never take my eyes
Away from the light that guides me.
ljm

In a world with far too many people
With way too many things to do
In so many places that are
Just too hard for them to get to,
We can only wait.

The traffic lights are slow to turn
And the phone is never answered.
The vending machine does not give change
And Fed-Ex never stops out front
Even though we wait.

In a world where real is mostly fake
And Fake becomes a brand name,
We spend the funds we do not have
On things we’ll never ever use,
Not even if we wait.

The processes that make things go
Are grinding to a halt.
The future mimics yesterday
And we can’t see tomorrow.
So we can only wait.
   ljm

A warm and welcoming word
To one just learning to speak,
One treading timidly on grounds
Being trod by more poetic feet.

A kind and steady presence
To encourage and support
The growth of words as flowers
In the gardens of my mind.

He often here  wrote of planting things
And thoughts that came to bloom
In lines that will be evergreen
To those who will remember.

Above all things, a kindly man
Of wit and inspiration
Lake Windermere will miss his words
As I will here in far Nevada.
                             ljm

On this day of gratitude and thanks giving,
I want to say that I'm insanely grateful for
Hello Poetry and all the poets who share it
with me.  Knowing I can write my feelings
and emotions and share them with other
like-minded souls has been an almost religious 
 blessing in my life.  And I want to thank you
all, each and every one of you.
And wish you a very
                         HAPPY  THANKSGIVING

All that I am I give to you this day,
That you may share in all that I ever shall be.
                                      Ls

I knocked on numerous doors before
But never was let inside
Until I found you.
Now I discover pathways open
That were invisible to me before,
And thank you.

I turned away from so many things
That couldn’t be understood
Before I knew you.
Now suddenly a pattern forms
And life begins to make sense when
Shared with you.

I gave my memories away
To people who couldn’t use them
Previous to you.
Now each episode becomes a part
Of the growing treasure that is my
Life with you.

I was hungry and cold and sad and tired
Before you saved me.
Now I’m filled with warmth and joy and strength -
All the gifts you gave me.
Ls

In a bowered place that only
Pixies know about
Tucked down between
The weeping willow’s boughs,
And not far from a singing rivulet
There lives a butterfly with gorgeous wings,
Transparent in the morning sun  
And luminous at twilight.
Her wings are patterned in chartreuse
With royal purple fantasies
That end in trailing gossamer.
Feeding on the buttercups and clover,
Her afternoons are bathed in a tranquility
That obviates the need to fly.
And so the gentle butterfly does not,
But rests and ponders what is on the breeze
That transforms air to symphonies
And blends with everything nearby
To make a perfect potpourri
Of serenity and peace.
ljm

Small pages, rimmed with foreign sounding orders
Splash on ink to make them monumental.
Block the wind that wafts them into yesterday
Where all the pills can’t heal a ****
That will not hold the stitches.

Little notebooks filled with sentences
Dug at great pain from a bruised and bloodied brain
Determined to lock away any sheen and glitter
On the every day and Sunday-Go-To-Meetin’ words
That put emotion on a platter instead of in a locked vault.
ljm

She wondered if there’d come a time
God wouldn’t call her any more.
A time he’d say “I’m done with her
She won’t give up her sinful ways”.

She puts on holiness like rouge
And thinks good works will pay her way
But in her heart duplicity
Obscures the path she needs to walk.

She reaches out with ***** hands
To touch the spotless hem of faith
In hoping for a miracle -
That God still recognizes her.

But God has turned his face away
He’s knocked her door too many times
To find it opened just an inch

My life, she said, is so akin
To a twisted, knotted piece of yarn
Tied around an unknown object
Hanging from a broken limb
Blown by whirling, dusty wind
That never ever makes a sound.
                           ljm

Because I’m sore afflicted
And burdened with many ills
I seek to find a hem to touch
From a Spirit passing by.

Mustard seeds don’t work for me.
My faith is like a summer breeze
That gently sways the blossoms
But is often deathly still.

I need vast hurricanes of trust
If I have hopes of healing
But I reach out to emptiness
And my candle doesn’t waver.
ljm

I enjoy all kinds of music
Though Country suits me best
I like to dance the Two-step
To the rhythms of the West

I  do enjoy Top 40
I play Long Hair in the car.
But when my heart is breakin’
I want to hear a steel guitar.

Jazz is not my thing at all
Least favorite by far
There is no sound in music
Better than a steel guitar

I went and learned to Disco
Though the two-step’s more my style
And I can handle RB sounds
If it’s only for a while

When I’m happy, I like boogie
When it’s played loud in a bar
But if my heart is achin’
Nothing beats a steel guitar

When everything’s considered
I like all the songs there are
But when my soul gets weary
I need to hear a steel guitar.
                            ls/ljm

I live in a wretched place
Where only hookers wear perfume
And nobody even seems to own
A proper pair of shoes.

Neither of two department stores
Bother to sell dresses,
And women get lots of their attire
From the nearby Goodwill store
Which sometimes sells remainders
Along with what’s been used.

Jeans are formal wedding clothes
And the minister is armed.
So is the bridegroom’s mother
And several of the ushers.
When the Bride lifts up her
Online-purchased wedding dress
The guests all hope they see
A lacy garter on her thigh,
And not a little derringer.

Guests drive to the wedding
in honkin’ ******* trucks
With mud up to the wheel caps.

Decorations on those trucks
Are often in the form of flags
Mounted by the tailgate hinge
On forty-eight inch metal poles.
Some of them have stars and stripes
Some recognize the Bride and Groom
But most of them are Rebel Yells
Or praises for a disgraced shyster.

Why on earth do I live here?
It all comes down to weather
Not the heat or scorching wind-
that’s just the price we have to pay.
It’s all the stars that hold me here.
I walk at dawn to see them shine
And bathe in Sunrise glory.

I spend the day beneath white clouds
That so resemble whipping cream
That’s been flung against the sky.
As evening comes I do a dance
Beneath the sunset’s flaming glow
When all those puffy clouds catch fire
And tumble down behind the moon
Then rising from the jagged mountains.

This may not be a perfect place
I’m sure those don’t exist
But this is where I’ll end my race:
The desert land I can’t resist.
          ljm

Who nudged that very first domino
Those thirty years ago when
The Klaxon first rang out.
ljm

I want my words back, Lord -
The ones you’ve locked
Up in the furthest corners
Of my wounded mind.

The ones I have to search
For endless seconds to discover
Hiding in the brambles and the fog
That renders me an imbecile.

I need to have my language back.
There are visions I must paint
In vocabulary’s medium
On the canvas of my life.

Please give me back my words again
I can’t go on while this bereft,
Not knowing what to call a flower
That I planted years ago.

So on my knees beseeching you
Unlock the vault that hides my words
And let me be who I once was
So I can find my way back home.
ljm

Wasted paper - murdered trees
Must such beauty die for memos
Write a line and toss the page -
One more branch is sacrificed
To fill the dumps with litter.
Copy things no one will read;
The forest is diminished
And all that we have left to breathe
Is the death sigh of the Amazon
ljm

A pure white dinner taper candle
Sits in a rusty old tin soup can.
It does put out a brilliant light,
But who will ever see it
In this rubble of a desert
Where the tortoises hold sway.

Who lit the flame and walked away?
Who did they think the light would save?
They must have known how hard the wind
Rampages over empty land
And that the flame would disappear
In less time than it takes to sigh.

And yet somehow the candle glows
Impervious and proudly tall.
It’s shadow dances on the sand
And flickers in the breezes.
There must be some soul healed by this
And I suspect that one is me.
ljm

if I could only find my way
Through the gullies dug between my eyes
To quell the anger seething there
That blocks my view of Marigolds

If I could figure out a way
To navigate the wrinkled brow
And gently smooth away the frown
That generates the thunder

If I could calm the troubled orbs
That see the roadblock not the road
And show them how to look again
To see a new reality

Than I would have a mended face
To offer to the world at large
And maybe they would see the change
And welcome my serenity
   ljm

She stands before the bathroom mirror
Creating several different faces
Tryng to find the one that doesn’t
Make her look so tired and old.

Some of them make her look ill
A couple more look silly.
The one she finally settles on:
A wan and disappointed smile -

Accepted as least ugly of the bunch
It’s not the face she’d hoped to wear
In this the Autumn of her life.
She expected some small trace
Of former beauty to remain.

She tried to make a little sparkle
To liven up her somber eyes
And find the muscle in her cheek
That lifts her lips into a grin.

A sorry rictus of despair
Was all that effort brought her
So she gave up and threw the switch
And slipped away in darkness
ljm

Fictitious love was all you had
You offered it like it was gold
But it turned green in my warm hands
And all my happiness turned sad
It wouldn't do much good to scold
For not becoming wedding bands

Common people called him stingy
And with his funds he was.
But he was parsimonious
In areas that they never saw.

                Epitaph
True, he never spent a dime
If he could get it free.
He never wasted any time
That anyone could see.

He didn’t have much love to give
And wanted no love back
He had a certain way to live
Laid out in white and black.

He didn’t give and didn’t take.
He had no use for friends.
He died alone and that’s the way
This kind of story ends
                      ljm

This year’s Estival
Was supposed to be the best of all
But a Chinese pandemic
Gave us something not to mimic
ljm

Time
A crooked line
Connecting then and now
Never quite achieving the conjunction
That would build a bridge
To somewhere over there
And make a path to
What could be a better sometime
      ljm

Lured by the understated enticements
Of the fog that curls around my efforts,
I’m wondering if that could be the answer
To the questions that I’ve never ever asked.

There doesn’t always seem to be a floor
At the very bottom of the staircase,
So I’m wondering what what I will find
When I step off of the bottom step.
            ljm

The sagging bunting has faded
The flags are growing frayed
There’s lots of litter in the street
A breeze makes little whirlpools

The confetti has congealed
Itself into clumps of color
Balloons are tangled on
The fancy arms of streetlights.

Everything the eye can see
Proclaims the party’s over.
The crowds have melted into mist.
The music faded with the band.

There’s nothing to be said or done.
No words that can be said…
We have to face the dismal truth -
That Queen Elizabeth is dead.
                 ljm

Gently in your hand
My heart
Softly in my mind
Your will
Forever

Deep within your love
My own
You and I and He
Who made us one
Forever
        Ls

I do not plan to exit meekly.
I aim to be drug into that twilight
Tightly clutching the shirt-tails of my life
Hanging on by teeth and toenails.
ljm

You may feel so young and strong today
But eventually the years will have their way.

Youth is a gift that is often wasted
Thrown away before half of life is tasted.

Old Sol’s shadow moving on the sun dial
Won’t stop though you try using guile.

Time is a thing more valuable than gold
Money can’t keep you from ever growing old.

Puppies will grow old and die
Reminding you time’s passing by.

That means not a thing to you today
You’re all dressed up to go out and play.

Shadows are for old folks’ eyes
You know that you can win the prize.

You are full of vim and vigor
You know that your life will be bigger.

Nothing now can trip you up
You will win the loving cup.

And so you charge full steam ahead
With dreams of glory in your head.

You ramble through productive years
Engendering more smiles than tears.

You think it will go on forever-
Times of joy and proud endeavor.

You don’t see the years slip by
They pass in blinkings of your eye.

Then suddenly you’re sixty-eight-
They put retirement on your plate.

They do not need you any more
And show you to the nearest door.

You say that’s fine and you’ll just chill
But all too soon you’re falling ill.

One thing goes wrong then several more
Your favorite shop is the drug store.

With creaking joints and aching back
You face senility’s attack.

You wonder how the time has flown
And relish happiness you’ve known.

Until you hear the final gun
And know your race has all been run.
ljm

Footprints in mud or sand don't last.
They fade with time and tide.
Footprints on the heart are
Concrete and somehow abide.
                       ljm

Life was fine for just a little while
Until it wasn’t pretty any more,
And I remembered how
The Sea sends waves
Across a rugged beach
I can no longer get to,
And the bottoms of my feet
Are aching for the sand.
The seagulls know the answer
To this problem
But they will almost never tell
       ljm

It’s all being taken, bit by bit
And the part that should be railing
Declines and finds it hard to care.

First the beauty slipped away
Followed by the figure.
Memory then tagged along
Searching for the smartness.

On the stroke of one midnight
It all turned even grimmer.
I 'd slept through the afternoon
While I became a lesser person.

Helicoptered New Year’s Eve
Began a never ending list
Of things diminished - or all gone
Discovered in the passing days.

Time drags on and so do I
Uncovering new losses
Of things I never will get back
And striving not to miss them.

My goal is further down the road
They say it is too distant
But battered though my life may be
I still intend to make it.
ljm

Been gone two weeks on a pleasure trip
Had a good time and laughed a lot
Danced a lot with a brand new love
It was exciting until the time
He turned into a heavy load
I needed to put down and rest.
He's packing up his things to go
And I just really feel relieved.
He's no one I'd want you to meet,
For Mr. Covid is his name.
                                    ljm

Gotta get out of this desert place
With cloudless sky and burning sand
With lizards under every bush
And crows in every withered tree.

Wanna go where the air is cool
And soft refreshing breezes sway
The tendrils of the flowered vines
That climb the branches of the trees

But Kismet’s karma has decreed
I need some more of hot and dry
The place I go will be the same
except for one small saving grace.

The sun takes all the heat along
When it decides to go away
So things cool down at evensong
And I can live another day.
ljm