What might we find if there were no lessons needing
learning,
no bait to not wait for ever to be
re
alized in the blink of an eye,
likka polish, a gloss
light flash active

pop

The shining being more subtile than any beast, eh?
You gnowad eyemean, o yew don'.

Once more, book of life with us in it, as words
and nada mas,
reconciled via bluetooth, keys to kingdoms
flow from my finger tips,

knocks are-were an swered swern sworn in a-mode, e-mode
zero-mode

ah, modern linguistics link us back the Burns and
wee beasties makom plans,
happy natal day misstress riddell
"'Tis done!" says Jove; so ends my story

I wish it would blizzard
Building forts is my forte
I live in Nevada
So no hope for a snow day
                     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

A rose blooming in a summer rose bed
stops to envy you as you smell the roses.
For two beauties sit in the picture,
but neither is the rose.
The sight of you is a wonder to my eyes,
one that keeps me warm through winter days.
The grace inside you is as beauty
and beyond my words to explain.
So when I fumble my syllables,
embrace me as the rose embraces the rain.

I.

This, a final offering,
before the clipping of wings.
A love like blood,
oh anathema.
A grey declined to black,
oh herem.

It means salvation
knelt with darkness.


II.

So it be!
So it be!
So it be!

Ring the bell,
close the book,
blow out the candle.

Douse the sacred sun
and find belief caught in fishermen's nets.


III.

In silence of angels,
climbing broken ladders,
no ascent, no longer.

Salvation has
knelt with darkness.